Master of His Fate

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Outside on the pavement, Maude double-locked the door. Then James helped her and Rossi into the hansom cab. He heard his mother tell the driver to go to their destination as he climbed in behind them.

  James was amused at the trouble everyone had gone to in order to keep the secret. He had arrived from Hull on Friday night; nobody had given in to his mild badgering, refusing to discuss his party. But they had welcomed him with joyousness; their faces filled with smiles. He had responded in the same way, happy to be in the midst of the Falconer clan again. There was an enormous amount of love in his family, which he considered to be not only special, but quite unique. Was there any other like theirs?

  As the carriage went through Camden Town and across Chalk Farm Road, his mother and sister made idle chitchat, including him at times in their meanderings. He replied to their questions and comments, amiable and friendly, all the while glancing out of the window, endeavoring to ascertain where they were going.

  It soon became obvious to him that they were not heading in the direction of Regent’s Park but were driving toward the center of London and the West End.

  For a moment, yesterday, he had believed that his grandparents might be giving his birthday party at the Montague home, but Eddie had whispered that this was not so. Then he had refused to say another word, suddenly guilty about what he had let slip out already.

  They were going to Mayfair. James realized this before they were crossing Oxford Street, and soon they were pulling up outside the Bettrage Hotel on Davies Street. Obviously, his grandparents and Harry were not cooking tonight. This pleased him. He did not want them slaving over hot stoves for him.

  “The cab’s paid for,” Maude said after they had alighted. The uniformed doorman opened the hotel door and the three of them went into the lobby.

  It was relatively empty, and James immediately noticed there was no sign of his father and Eddie.

  Noting his puzzlement, Maude said, “The rest will be here any minute, James. Your grandfather told me that Rossi and I should wait here for them, and you’re to go up to room one hundred ten.”

  James glanced at his mother and frowned. “Oh, why is that?” His blue eyes pierced hers. “Why aren’t you coming?”

  “Your grandparents want to give you your birthday present, and once you have it, we shall all meet and…” She smiled at him, and added, “And start to celebrate your birthday.”

  He grinned, nodded. “Then excuse me for a moment, Mother, Rossi. See you back here, I suppose.”

  “That’s right,” Maude replied. She and Rossi went and sat down on a small sofa to the right of the hotel door.

  It was his grandfather who greeted James when he arrived at room 110. Phillip was in black trousers, a white shirt, and a bow tie, but no jacket. “James, there you are, my lad,” he said, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

  James did so, and glanced around. “Where is Grans?” he asked.

  “She’ll be back in a moment or two. In the meantime, I want to show you something.” As he spoke, Philip closed the door and walked into the room. He opened a wardrobe and took out a black frock coat. He showed it to James and explained, “Your grandmother and I bought you an evening suit as a birthday present, James. And you will wear it tonight, as I will be wearing mine.”

  Taken aback for a split second, James stared at the frock coat and then at his grandfather. “But that’s an expensive thing to buy, Grandfather! You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, we did. We wanted this birthday to be special, and we know you’ll have great use for an evening suit in the next few years. So it’s money well spent.”

  A wide smile spread across James’s face and he said, “Thank you, Grandpa. Thank you so much. Where is Grans? I want to thank her, too.”

  Philip chuckled. “She went to get something, as I told you. But she also wanted to give us privacy so you can change your clothes, get into the evening suit. And by the way, she made you an evening shirt.”

  Philip handed James the frock coat, which had matching trousers and a white shirt. On top of the shirt, there was a silver-gray silk waistcoat.

  “Best go into the bathroom and change into these clothes. Oh, and wait a minute, I have the black bow tie for you.”

  Somewhat overwhelmed by all of this, and still filled with surprise, James did as his grandfather had instructed and disappeared into the bathroom, clutching the clothes. Philip followed him and gave him the bow tie.

  Once he was alone, Philip Falconer finished dressing, slipping into a black waistcoat and then his frock coat. There was a mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. He glanced at himself, saw he looked fine, and turned away. A moment later, there was a light tap on the door.

  “It’s me,” Esther said. “Can I come back in?”

  “Yes, yes. James is in the bathroom changing his clothes.”

  “Was he surprised?” Esther asked, looking at her husband warmly, her eyes twinkling. “I bet he was.”

  “Very much so, and I think he’s really happy with the suit. I didn’t get a chance to mention that the other men will be wearing evening suits.”

  “You can explain that when he comes out,” Esther said, and then looked at the bathroom door as it opened. James was standing there. After a moment he walked into the room, his face lighting up when he saw Esther.

  “Thank you, Grans, for the suit … how do I look?”

  Esther could not speak for a split second, genuine astonishment registering on her face. The elegant frock coat had turned him into another person, someone she didn’t know. He had not been born an aristocrat, but he looked like one, as if he had just stepped out of a stately home. She stared at Philip and let out a long sigh.

  Philip said, “I know what you’re feeling, Esther, because so am I.”

  “Is something wrong?” James asked swiftly.

  “No, everything is absolutely right!” Esther answered, walking over to him, giving him a hug. “Happy birthday, James! And you look wonderful. The frock coat suits you, and it seems to give you a certain maturity in a way.”

  Philip added, “You’re a handsome devil, my lad, and I’m happy and relieved the suit fits you so well. A friend of mine works at a gentlemen’s establishment in Savile Row, and for years he’s been making things for me. It was Tony Fletcher who hand-made the suit and waistcoat for you. He’s done a superb job.” Taking James’s arm, he led him to the mirror on the wardrobe door. “Take a look at yourself.”

  James did so and was actually as startled as his grandparents had been, for a moment not recognizing the image staring back at him. The evening suit did change him somehow, did make him look more grown-up. He turned to them, his face glowing, and said, “Thank you again … you both spoil me.”

  “You’ve worked hard up in Hull and succeeded well. You deserve it,” Philip said. “You’ve done us proud.”

  James said, “But what about Dad and my uncles? Aren’t they going to look out of place tonight? Won’t they be a bit upset—”

  “Not at all,” Philip cut in. “Your father and uncles will also be wearing evening suits. These ready-made clothes, flooding the market these days, have been a godsend to men, and one company now sells an evening line. A longer jacket and narrow pants. They each bought one, and they’ll be wearing bow ties as well.”

  “I’m glad of that,” James replied, and went back to the mirror, stood staring in it. His eyes took in the whiteness of the linen shirt with the small, stiff collar, the black silk bow tie against the stark white, and the silvery sheen of the gray silk waistcoat. Perfection, he thought, how they blend so well together. He liked the satin lapels on the frock coat and the way it flared out at the hips. That was why it was called a frock coat, he supposed.

  He shot his shirt cuffs down, saw how well the gold cufflinks worked, and then glanced at his feet, relieved he had been wearing black shoes tonight.

  Suddenly, he turned around and asked, “How did your tailor friend manage to make everything fit me so wel
l? It’s almost a miracle. I never had a fitting.”

  Philip began to chuckle. Esther said, “I wrote to your aunt Marina and asked her to get a tape measure and measure one of the suits you took to Hull. She did so and sent me the longest list of measurements I’ve ever seen. But Tony was appreciative, I can assure you of that.”

  James started to laugh and so did they. Then he went and hugged each of them again. Gazing at Esther, admiration filled his face. “You look beautiful, Grans,” he said. He noted the happiness on her face, her shining silver hair piled high on her head, the elegant purple silk gown, very tailored, long-sleeved, and with a small train. “I’m so proud of you, Grans, and you, too, Grandfather. What a wonderful couple you make. But then you’re Falconers.”

  Thirty-three

  There was no sign of his mother and sister in the lobby. None of the Falconers, in fact. As he glanced around, James decided not to say a word. He would let the surprise be a surprise.

  The gift of the evening suit from his grandparents had taken him aback. He was touched and grateful to have received it. He smiled inwardly as he thought of his grandfather’s comment that he would need it during the next few years. He would only hope that was true, because then it denoted success.

  A few heads turned and people looked at them as they crossed the lobby. James and his grandparents were striking in appearance and their clothes were elegant, and so they drew attention. James realized that they were heading toward the corridor which led to the main restaurant in the hotel. It was called Quadrille, and Philip knew the head sommelier. James’s grandfather had taken him there for lunch several years ago, and he had enjoyed it.

  James knew he had made a wrong guess when they walked past the entrance to the restaurant. A moment or two later, Philip stopped in front of a closed door.

  Stepping forward, his grandfather knocked on the door, immediately opened it, and led Esther and James inside. Everyone, who had been totally silent, waiting, cried, “Happy birthday, James!”

  Indeed, he was surprised. His grandparents had hired the private dining room of the hotel, and there they were … the remainder of Clan Falconer. His parents, siblings, and two uncles. How smart the men were, and even little Eddie, now almost fourteen, was in a new dark suit, white shirt, and black bow tie.

  James couldn’t help it. He clapped his hands, laughing with happiness, and then turned and hugged Esther and Philip.

  “Thank you! Thank you so much,” he said to them. His blue eyes were sparkling and slightly moist. “And you really and truly have surprised me…” Staring at his beloved family, his gaze loving, he said, “How wonderful it is to be with my ilk … to be a Falconer is to be the best.”

  “No, we’re better than the best,” his father said, and came over, hugged him, and stepped back, staring at him. “You look astonishing in evening dress, quite the toff.”

  Glancing at Philip, Matthew added, “It’s true. You can always spot a bit of pure Savile Row, Dad. James is wearing a superb piece of impeccable tailoring. Tony’s a genius.”

  “He certainly is,” Philip said. “Considering James never had a fitting.”

  “But Tony did have every measurement known to man,” Esther exclaimed, laughter in her voice. “Marina didn’t miss an inch of the jacket she found in James’s room in Hull. She even included the length of a flap on the pocket. Which obviously Tony didn’t need.” Everyone laughed.

  His uncles, George and Harry, came and greeted him. Philip motioned to the two waiters at the end of the room, standing near the bar. They came over with glasses of champagne, and fruit juice for Eddie and Rossi.

  After toasting James and saying “happy birthday” yet again, Philip led the family to the other end of the room. He waved his hand at the table. “The hotel’s done a beautiful job, just look at this table. The flowers, the candles, the crystal … everything is perfection.”

  Esther came and stood next to him, her eyes roaming over her family. “Your grandfather and I wanted to do something special for your eighteenth birthday, James, rather than waiting until you were twenty-one.” She shrugged. “Who knows what can happen in three years! We wanted to give you a dinner at a grand place. Then we realized we wanted it to be private, just us, the family. Philip had the idea of hiring a private room in a hotel. Great food and wine and service. What could be better?”

  “Your surprise is wonderful,” James interjected. “Thank you again for doing this, going to all this trouble, and for choosing the Bettrage Hotel.”

  * * *

  After chatting to each other for a while and drinking a second glass of champagne, the family sat down at the round dinner table which Esther preferred, believing it was more congenial. The menu was composed of their favorite dishes. Cold vichyssoise soup, rack of spring lamb, new potatoes, and peas. The food was thoroughly enjoyed, the fine wines commented on, and then they settled back, wanting to relax, talk and catch up before dessert was served.

  It was Esther who suddenly asked everyone to be quiet, explaining she had something special to tell them. The room was instantly quiet. All eyes were focused on her.

  “I want to propose a toast to George. So please lift your glasses to congratulate him on his wonderful promotion at his newspaper.”

  “Oh, Mum, really, don’t make a big fuss!” George protested. Nonetheless, he looked happy and was smiling.

  “Congratulations!” They toasted him and sipped.

  It was Rossi, seated next to him, who asked, “What is your promotion, Uncle George?”

  “I’ve been given a new job, sort of, and a new title. I will now have the byline of ‘Royal Correspondent.’”

  Maude exclaimed, “George, that’s marvelous! That means you are covering the royal family, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, at least many of the events they attend. When the Prince of Wales travels, I shall be in the press corps. Perhaps even when he takes trips abroad, I’ll be going along.”

  “You won’t be writing much about Queen Victoria,” Rossi announced. “She doesn’t travel anywhere. She’s always stuck in Scotland, at Balmoral.”

  “That is true, yes,” George answered. “But, in a way, it’s because of the queen I got my promotion.”

  “Really!” Eddie cried. “Do you know the queen, Uncle George? What’s she really like?”

  Laughter erupted. A moment later, when everyone was quiet, George turned to his nephew. “No, I don’t know the queen. I can’t claim to know any of the royal family. But last year I wrote a story about the queen’s Golden Jubilee. There was an enormous reaction from the public, a lot of letters from readers, and my editor was also pleased with it … touched, he said. Hence his decision to assign me to cover them.”

  Maude said, “I remember reading it. It was touching, that’s true … I think you made the queen appear to be more … real, more like ordinary people.”

  George nodded. “I know what you’re getting at, Maude. I think I showed her being … a mother as well as a queen.”

  “Some mother!” James exclaimed, and then stopped abruptly. Looking across at his uncle, he said, “I’m afraid I missed that story, but I’d like to know what you wrote, Uncle George.”

  “Then I shall tell you.” George glanced around the table. “Is that all right with everyone else?”

  They all agreed and looked at George with bated breath, wanting to hear the story, even those who had read it in The Chronicle.

  George said, “Last June, June the twenty-first in 1887, to be exact, I was in Westminster Abbey for the queen’s Jubilee. There were nine thousand people, if you can believe that, all squeezed in together. Many of them were in specially made wooden galleries built up against the walls. I was on the ground floor, being part of the press group. The queen sat in the Coronation Chair and was all alone. I was disappointed that she wasn’t in her crown and robes of state. She would have been more like the queen and empress she is. But no, there she was in her mourning black dress and bonnet, trimmed with white lace. Anyway,
as the service progressed I saw that the Queen was very involved and quite affected by the ceremony…” George broke off, sipped his red wine, and continued.

  “The person standing closest to her in the Abbey was her heir, the Prince of Wales. To me he seemed anxious about her, kept looking at her intently and very warmly, I thought. Once the ceremony was over, the prince was the first member of the queen’s family to walk forward. After bowing to her, he kissed her hand. And then, much to my amazement, and everyone else’s, I think, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. A journalist friend told me that it was totally out of order, that she had broken protocol. But anyway, she did it on the spur of the moment. I believe it was prompted by great emotion. Then to top it all, she kissed all of the other princes and princesses with genuine affection. Never been done before, and perhaps never again.

  “When I got back to the paper, I wrote a story that was about a queen who was a mother. As I read my notes, I began to see so many little links into that angle. The end result? Readers loved it, and, most importantly, so did my editor.”

  “I read the story myself and was moved by it,” Philip said. “And rather a proud father that day, George. As for this promotion, you deserve it. Congratulations again!”

  “Thanks, Dad,” George said, and looked across the table at James. “Why that odd comment about the queen?”

  “I think she’s treated the Prince of Wales very shoddily, and I don’t believe for one minute he caused his father’s death. Prince Albert died because he got sick and probably wasn’t given the correct treatment by doctors.”

  “I agree with James,” Rossi announced.

  “You always do,” Eddie muttered.

  James said, “I have a lot of admiration for Bertie and many of the things he’s done for the country. You’ll see one day, when he comes to the throne, he’ll be a good king, if not, in fact, a great king.”

  “Oddly enough, I tend to agree with you, James,” George replied. “About Bertie being a good king, although there are those who won’t. Unfortunately, there have been too many scandals…”