A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [55]
The Members’ Entrance was crowded with politicians, and a roar of noise was audible even from fifty feet away. The porter, waving away their identification, said, “You oughter have come earlier, for shame, sirs,” and pushed them into the throng of people.
“This way!” shouted Edmund. “Let’s slide through! I made sure we could both be in the Commons! That way we’ll get to see the Queen!”
“Why will we get to see the Queen?” asked Lenox when they were through to a quieter corridor. “And why on earth won’t it be jammed?”
“Most people are in the House of Lords—where they give the speech, you know—or in the Queen’s Gallery”—the hall that connected the Lords and the Commons. “Only a few dozen of us will be straggling around the Commons. Look, here it is.”
They took their place on a green baize bench. Lenox was, to his surprise, rather fluttery in his stomach. “Edmund, how will we see her speech, if it’s in the House of Lords?”
“Let’s talk of other things for a moment—I want to hear about Ludo Starling.”
“But—”
Edmund smiled fondly. “Let it be a surprise, Charles.”
So they talked of Ludo Starling, Freddie Clarke, and Jack Collingwood for some while, pausing occasionally to greet a Member they both knew, or more often one that Lenox knew by reputation and with whom Edmund exchanged a few cryptic words about various bills in the offing for the new session. Strangely enough the room was indeed empty but for a dozen or so men.
Edmund was asking questions about the case when there was a hush. A man in tremendously ornate garb appeared at the door of the chamber, and to Lenox’s shock a gentleman at the far end got up and slammed the door in his face.
“My G—”
“Shh!” whispered Edmund urgently.
Then there was a very loud rap at the closed door of the chamber. Lenox jumped a foot in the air. Edmund laughed into his sleeve.
“That’s the Lord Great Chamberlain,” he whispered. “It means the Queen has entered the building—through the Sovereign’s Entrance, of course, on the other side from ours—and taken on the Robes of State. We slam the door in his face to show we’re independent—that we don’t have to listen to a monarch.”
Another loud rap. “What do we do?”
“Now we’ll go. Wait—the Speaker leads us.”
So they processed down the silent Queen’s Gallery, and through to the red-benched House of Lords.
Suddenly there she was, in her person; Lenox, no great admirer of power, was so enchanted he could barely stand when he saw her on her glorious golden throne: the Queen.
“Bow at the bar!” said Edmund urgently. “We must bow!”
They bowed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She was a roundish, placid, unbeautiful woman; in her youth she had been not pretty but slim and eye-catching. Now she contained all the majesty of England in her rather waddling gait and intelligent, indifferent face. She had survived half a dozen assassination attempts, given birth to children, and seen empires fall. Whether because of her position or her person, she was captivating to behold.
The speech addressed a number of issues for the Houses to take up. To Lenox’s annoyance Edmund kept whispering questions about the case. These received at best a nod by way of reply, but still Lenox found himself missing chunks of the speech. It was nearly the end when he could concentrate.
“My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I pray that the blessing of Almighty God may rest upon your counsels.”
With that the speech ended, in the same words it did every year. For the rest of the day there were a thousand things they did, each of which half confused and half delighted Charles. They elected the Speaker (a reelection, and a matter of no drama) and then, per tradition, several Members “dragged him unwillingly” to the Speaker’s bench.
“Ages ago it was dangerous to be Speaker—you could be killed if you said something to displease the monarch—and that’s why we do it. Daft, of course, but good fun when the Speaker is such a