Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [94]
‘Come in.’
She was sitting at her dressing table in her petticoats with a silk wrap over her shoulders and her maid brushing her hair. A tailor’s dummy covered with a dust sheet stood beside the dressing table. She saw me in the mirror and, without turning, said to the maid ‘You can go, Fanny. I’ll ring when I want you.’ The maid put down the hair-brush and left. Celia spun round in her seat and held out her hands to me.
‘Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m so scared. Feel – I’m trembling like an aspen.’
I took her hands. Indeed, they were cold and trembling.
‘Then put on something warmer.’
I went to the wardrobe and found a blue velvet pelisse with white fur collar. She let me drape it round her and clutched the fur to her chest as if it were a warm and living animal.
‘I wish you’d told me more,’ I said.
The conversation with Daniel had hardened me. I was still sorry for her, but angry at what was going on round her.
‘More of what?’
‘Queen to His Majesty King George the Fifth, was that the idea?’
‘The creature’s name is Harold, so it would be Harold the Second, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t my idea, you know that.’
She stared back at me over her fistfuls of fur.
‘How long have you known?’
‘About the Harold creature being the rightful king? A month or two. My stepfather told me when we all knew King William was going to die soon.’
‘Miss Mandeville, he is not the rightful king at all. It’s utter nonsense about Princess Charlotte being poisoned and the baby saved.’
‘How do you know? Nobody can.’
‘Even if he were – which I don’t believe for one minute – what is your stepfather doing? If he tries to put this Harold on the throne, it may mean another civil war.’
‘But there’ll be one anyway. My stepfather says unless somebody takes a stand there’ll be a civil war in England, just like France. It’s happening already. People have been stirred up by agitators so that they aren’t content any more. They march and burn things down until they’re given votes, then when they’ve got votes they’re not satisfied with that and demand other things …’
‘Like food for their families. Miss Mandeville, your stepfather’s talking nonsense. There won’t be a revolution here.’
‘That’s what they said in France. And little Vicky won’t be able to stand up to them because she’s a girl and even younger than we are, so she’ll do whatever the politicians tell her’.
‘What about Queen Elizabeth and Queen Anne? In any case, can you see your bonnie prince Harold standing up against a revolution?’
‘You know very well he’s not my bonnie prince anything. If people like my stepfather help him become king, he’ll have to be grateful to them and do what they tell him.’
‘Including taking you as his wife?’
‘I’m not going to marry him. I find him entirely loathsome whether he’s king or not, and that’s an end to it. Two days from now I’ll be married to Philip, and nobody will be able to do anything about it.’
I realised it was useless to be angry about her political naïvety.
‘And that’s really the wish of your heart?’
‘More than anything in the world. Sit down and I’ll show you his letter about meeting me tomorrow.’
‘I don’t think …’
But she was already up and rummaging in a drawer. I settled in a blue armchair and she watched, smiling, as I read. People’s love letters should not be inflicted on the public, so I’ll say only that it was brave and loving, with a bedrock of commonsense to it as well, and altogether the kind of thing that every woman should receive once in a lifetime. As I handed it back, I was annoyed to hear myself giving a sigh of envy.
‘Yes, I think your Philip really loves you.’
‘Of course he does. Now, where are you and I to meet tomorrow night? Philip will have the coach on the back road from nine o’clock onwards.’
‘Let’s meet at nine then, or as soon after as you can slip away. In the stableyard.’
‘How