A cup, as big as a bowl, blue and white, was filled and handed to her.
âThe King?' queried Major Mearns. âBad with the drink again, is he?' Mindy took a long draught of tea. âHe has never been well, takes no notice of the doctors; he'll go like his father, but this night was beyond anything.' She finished her tea then put the cup down where Denny refilled it.
Taller now, slim and handsome, she was hardly the girl any more who had come to Windsor to work with Miss Fanny Burney (with whom she still corresponded). She wore a simple shift-like dress with an apron tied around it; but it became her, as she well knew it did. She slipped her shawl from her shoulders.
âI believe the Queen, his mother, will leave Windsor and go to Kew. She is so cross with her son and he does not make her welcome.'
âWill you go?'
âI don't know yet. I may stay to be with Princess Adelaide. Lady Severn will stay. But the other Princesses will go with the Queen if she goes.'
âAnd his Majesty?'
âHe will stay behind with his six keepers â or “Men” as they are called.'
Denny leaned against the window which looked out
upon a covered way and then down to a small courtyard. âHis Majesty was very noisy again all yesterday.'
âHe attacked his wife again last night,' said Mindy bluntly. âEveryone in the Castle will know, so it's no secret ⦠He does not want to take up his part as a husband, but thinks he should be with her to get a son. Queen Charlotte says she has a disgust of him.'
âUnderstandable,' said Mearns.
âNow when the old Queen retires, two of her German ladies and several of the Princesses go with her and stay with her until the King leaves ⦠But last night, divorced or not, he wouldn't have any of it, or tried not to, and he attacked her. She should not have come back to the Castle. She liked Blackheath, but she was tempted.'
âYou saw him?'
âHeard the screams and the noise ⦠Lady Lorimer saw. And the doctors â they rushed in. Lady Lorimer says that Dr Willis and his helpers wrapped him up again in a kind of shroud so that he couldn't move â not a finger. They did it with the old King, you know. To think of it all happening again.'
âHenry VIII would have had their heads off for that,' remarked the Major.
Mindy finished her drink. âI must go.' She wrapped her shawl around her. âYou must never say. All is secret.'
Except from Lord Castlereagh.
âIt looks cold out there,' said Denny from his window perch.
Although it was still early morning, he could see people moving around in the courtyard. He knew most
of them by sight, men and women both. This was one of his uses to Major Mearns; he never forgot a face.
He watched Mindy's graceful, strong figure swing out of sight. She had learnt how to bargain for a good wage from the Queen's household since Miss Burney had departed. The Queen could be generous, even handing on clothes that had served their time. The shawl, for instance, that Mindy was wearing that morning had probably started life over Royal shoulders.
He turned to the Major. âLooks peaceful out there.' âThat's how I like it.' Like most old soldiers, they preferred a quiet life. âWell â to work! What is it today?'
âI will take our tray back to the kitchens and talk to Barber; he always knows what is going on. If the Queen is off to Kew, it would be best to know for sure.'
âDo so,' Mearns nodded. âAnd let him know we are short of ale. After that, if it proves the Queen is on the move, then you might ride over to Kew and make our dispositions there.'
Denny nodded. âAnd what will you be doing?' he thought to himself. âReading the King's paper and smoking your pipe?'
Mearns read his thoughts. âThe King can have his paper back. I will deliver it myself.'
âNot to him in person?'
âHe won't be awake. No â in the tray to his dressing room. And then I will return here to write my report and get it sent off. Lord Tom is Messenger this week and I can trust him to deliver it.'
Lord Tom was not a peer, nor the son of one, but a
rider from the stables who was sent on commissions by the Household. His name was one of those jokes that big households, like big families, spawn; his real name had been forgotten, but âDuke' came into it somewhere. As the Major knew all the sins and crimes of everyone living in the Royal Household â knew of their lies, thefts, adulteries and even murders â someone he trusted with an important errand was not likely to betray him.
He knew in this instance that Lord Tom had killed an officer in the wars recently concluded. An unpleasant officer; a coward and a bully. But it would have been a shot in the head for Lord Tom and no more heard about him if he had been discovered. Even now, with victory and peace declared, it would have prevented him getting a job in the Royal stables, despite his skills with horses and guns.
The Major speculated that it had been some letters found in his victim's pocket that had eased Lord Tom's way into the stables, but on this there was silence.
âAnd what do they all know about you, Sir?' Denny had asked humbly at the beginning of their working relationship.
âNothing,' the Major had replied in a sad voice. âThere is nothing to know.'
This Denny did not believe.
After delivering the tray back to Barber, who, for once, was not informative, Denny took himself off for his usual early morning walk â which was in part a pleasure to him and in part a duty. He did not always
take the same path because he must not be expected; but he always looked about him with observant eyes, ever noting and checking. This power of reading a scene had been invaluable to him as a soldier, saving his life more than once.
He walked out of the immediate Castle grounds towards the Great Park; then he debated whether to walk ahead or swing left to go through Shaw's Farm and then push into the Park. He must be brisk, anyway, as the Major would be waiting for his daily report. The Major had never got over his military way of expecting a succinct report, and quick too.
The park was heavily wooded, reminding him that this was once the hunting ground of the first Norman kings. Not an imaginative man, Denny did not waste much thought on the Normans. They hunted for food â no need for King George to do that; but the monarch enjoyed a ride himself when fit, and he still went out when he could escape his doctors, riding until the men of his Household were exhausted.
Denny looked about him, then decided to take a path through dense bushes and trees. He walked down through a leafy dell. He slowed his pace; he sniffed. He smelt death. Pushing his way through the bushes, he stopped suddenly. At his feet was a pool of blood. It was a kind of basin in the ground which was lined with dried leaves so hard and dense that the blood had not drained away.
Or not as yet, he thought â but soon it would, becoming thick and sticky.
Keeping his feet clear, he circled the bloody area. But there was nothing to see except the blood. He considered what he had seen as he walked back to the Castle.
Mearns was in his room, at his table, writing.
Denny spoke at once and bluntly: âI have come across a pool of blood in the Park.'
Mearns barely raised his head from his writing. âThe remains of a fox's kill,' he said without interest.
Denny rapped on the table and stared Mearns in the eye. âYou and I have seen plenty of blood. We know how it falls. This is no blood from a fox's kill. Too much blood, and it would have fallen in pear-shaped drops, with a smear as the dead animal was dragged away.'
The Major stood up. âWe must look around, Denny.'
All the time there was a parcel on its way to be delivered to Major Mearns.
A dead weight, he joked when it was handed over to him.
Â
The London to Windsor Coach arrived on time in the late afternoon. It stopped in the Market Square in sight of the Castle; the High Street ran into the Square. Here the coach stopped in front of The Royal George, the big inn which was its staging post before going on to Ascot.
The coachman climbed down, slashing his whip in the air. âOn time.' Punctual to the half-hour, this was promptness enough. The clock was not watched to the minute. With horse, hills and foul weather, you took what came.
The passengers descended from the coach, each one stiff and cold, glad to have arrived. The first to disembark was a woman. She was young and sprightly; she leapt down onto the paving stones, waved goodbye to the coachman and sped away.
âGoodbye, Miss Fairface,' the coachman called. She was an actress, about to perform in the new play at the Theatre Royal.
The three men who next appeared were slower, especially a plump, well-furred man to whom the others gave way.
âAfter you, Mr Pickettwick.'
The coachman touched his hat and pocketed his tip. âThank you, Sir.' He shook Mr Pickettwick's hand. Then he began to turn the coach in the direction of the stables where he would change the horses.
âStop, stop,' cried Mr Pickettwick. âMiss Tux is not out yet.'
Miss Tux. Tall, thin, more bone than flesh, bonneted and shawled, she was at the moment being lowered out of the coach by her maidservant who had a firm grip from behind on her elbows. âNow don't pull away, Miss, or I'll drop you in the mud.'
âLibby, Libby, handle me gently,' a high, old voice was wailing.
Miss Tux was deposited, upright, on the ground, with Libby still holding on.
âCome along now, Miss Tux; let me take you in and see you get a little refreshment. A hot one, I advise. Mulled wine is good. And your chair is coming ⦠I
think I see the men pulling it up the hill now.'
In a low voice to one of his fellow travellers, Pickettwick explained: âA lady of some substance in the town â¦'
There was one other passenger on the coach, and as it lumbered round to the stables, he poked his head over the top where he had been sitting.
âSo you're still there, you little varmint,' growled the coachman.
âComing down, don't you fear. Frozen, I am.' It was a young voice, full of spirit. The lad was small, with a shock of dark hair and an expressive face.
âTook a free ride, you did, young 'un. What's your name?'
âCharlie.'
âRight, Charlie, so you can pay for your ride by helping me with the horses.' The coachman's voice was gruff, but he was worried about the youngster. âDo it well and there might be a penny or two for you.'
âOh thank you, Sir.' Charlie sneezed, then pulled a grubby rag out of his pocket to blow his nose. A small silver coin rolled out onto the floor.
The coachman looked at it, accusation in his eyes. âWhere did that come from, lad?'
âMiss Fairface gave it to me at the stage in London. She said it would start me off â¦she's a kind lady.'
âAnd what was you a'doing at the stage in Holborn?'
Charlie put his head down. âLooking for somewhere to go ⦠Your Windsor coach had no outside passengers to tell on me â¦'
The coachman grunted, and no more was said while the horses were freed of the harness and led away to be fed and watered, while fresh horses were coupled. Charlie did his bit, proving surprisingly strong and manipulative considering his size and age. Ten or so, the coachman had thought, judging him by the wary, adult gaze. Been at adult work for some time, he assessed. Child and adult all in one.
One of the ostlers who was helping muttered to the coachman: âAn old 'umman came in here and left two parcels for the Castle â¦asked if I could deliver them. Said she wasn't strong enough.'
âAnd you said “Yes”.'
The ostler nodded.
âAnd she paid you?'
Another nod.
âAnd you can't do it?'
One more nod.
Not a man to talk much, thought the coachman, but he knew the ostler of old. âI can get it done.' He held out his hand.
The ostler passed a few coins across to him.
âIs that all?' asked the coachman, still holding out his hand.
After a pause, the ostler passed another coin into his palm.
The coachman nodded. âThat'll do.' He turned towards the boy. âCarry them up to the Castle gate.'
âThey are labelled,' said the ostler.
âLeave them with the guard.'
The coachman sorted out a couple of coins from those he had been given by the ostler.
âTwo more when you get back.'
Charlie picked up the parcels, which were long and sausage-shaped and wrapped in sacking. âHeave,' he said, hoisting one on each shoulder, then staggering slightly.