London, England
April 2014
Portraits hung in empty halls
"Rilla?" asks Di warily. "They're looking at us."
"Ignore them," I tell her without turning my head.
"But they're taking pictures of us!" protests Di.
"Ignore them," I repeat.
It's not like she can do anything about it anyway. Tourists will photograph anything they consider mildly interesting (or, really, anything their guide book tells them to) and unfortunately, there's more than just a mild interest in us.
Di glowers at a group of young women who excitedly wave their phones in the air and chatter in what I think is Spanish. Thankfully, Nan quickly puts an arm around her twin and pulls her along. No-one wants a glaring Di to feature on the holiday snaps of some random Spanish tourists.
Taking my own advice to ignore the crowds that are always gathered in front of Buckingham Palace, I lead my sisters onwards. We weave through the melee of people until we've reached the North Gate, where I signal for them to stop.
"Hello," I greet the uniformed guard brightly.
"Miss." He nods in greeting, clearly recognising me.
"I'm here with –" Frowning, I interrupt myself. "Wait. Am I even allowed to bring people here? If not, maybe you could phone inside and have someone ask Ken – I mean, His Royal Highness –"
"No need, Miss," the guard assures me and though his expression remains professionally neutral, I think I can see an amused glint in his eye. "Your security clearance permits you to bring visitors."
Well.
Well.
"In that case… these are Mrs Joyce Raine and Misses Anne and Diana Blythe." I gesture at the respective sister as I list their names, feeling very much like a character from a Jane Austen novel.
"Very well, Miss." The guard steps aside to let us through the gate. "I wish you a pleasant day."
"You, too," I reply quickly, only belatedly realising how weird that sounds. After all, he'll spend the day guarding this gate, which mostly means that he moves very little and gets photographed a lot.
Still, no chance to take the words back, especially as my sisters now follow me through the gate. Nan looks up at the looming façade of Buckingham Palace, her eyes wide. Di throws a suspicious look over her shoulder, though whether at the guard or at the tourists, I can't tell.
Joy, meanwhile, leans closer to me to ask, "So you can just march in here whenever it pleases you?"
I shrug. "I appear to have clearance for Buck House, KP and Windsor," I explain quietly, feeling a tad uncomfortable. "I don't know about their other places. Osborne, Sandringham and Balmoral are private residences, after all."
"Wouldn't make sense to keep you locked out of those," Joy points out, not wrongly.
"Especially as they also let you bring in random people," adds Nan, taking her eyes off the facade. (It's impressive more than pretty, if you ask me.)
"Hardly random," I object.
We walk through one of the arches and Di turns back to the front, obviously deeming the distance between us and the people on the outside of the fence to be large enough. "Even so," she insists, "you could bring anyone in here. Imagine if you were some kind of spy or something."
"Or a murderer!" Nan sounds unreasonably fascinated by the idea.
"Maybe they think that if I were out to murder any royals, I would have done it by now?" I suggest, sarcasm lacing my words.
Nan shakes her head decidedly. "Not if you were out to murder them all! The entire royal family!"
She smiles happily and I'm not sure anyone should rightfully be so cheerful when talking about murder. Especially not when we're technically discussing regicide.
"Continue talking like that and you'll not only scupper all my non-existent plans of murder, you'll also have my security clearance revoked, including the part that lets me bring guests," I remark drily. "If that happens, it spells the instant cancellation of your palace tour."
"Ken would get us in," counters Joy blithely, sounding absolutely convinced of the truth of her words.
(And with good reason, too. He totally would get them in.)
"Probably," I concede. "And speaking of Ken…" I point to the other end of the quadrangle, where Ken is indeed waiting by the thing I learned to call a porte-cochère. When he sees us looking at him, he raises a hand in greeting.
Thankfully, that draws my sister's attention away from their half-baked plans of murder or high treason or high treasonous murder. Instead, both Di and Joy wave back at Ken, while Nan takes in the sight of the buildings enclosing the quadrangle.
"This is some courtyard," she point out to no-one in particular, sounding impressed.
"It used to be open on one side," I explain, trying to remember what Owen told me about the building of the palace. "The East Wing wasn't built until… sometime in the 1800s." At least I think it was sometime in the 1800s.
"Built between 1847 and 1850, then remodelled in 1913," chimes in Ken who has crossed the quadrangle to meet us halfway. He smiles and nods at my sisters in turn, before placing an arm around my waist and kissing me briefly.
(We were very good about not making a peep last night, but this morning, when my jet-lagged sisters were still fast asleep, we tested my theory about the shower comfortably fitting two people. Turns out that it totally does.)
"Not that old then," comments Di, raising an eyebrow.
Ken shakes his head. "Certainly not when compared to Windsor. There was an older house on this site, but Nash didn't start working on the current palace until 1825."
Someone did his homework, I see. There's no way Ken just knows these facts without having looked them up. I bet he spent the time we were on Portobello Road Market doing some research. (It's kind of sweet.)
"It's smaller than Windsor Castle, too," I supply. "Not even 800 rooms, when Windsor has more than 1000!"
"Not even 800 rooms? How do you survive?" Joy asks Ken, winking to show she's joking.
"Just about," replies Ken, laughing, and extends an arm towards the palace entrance. "Shall we?"
"We shall," confirms Nan.
And thus, we cross the quadrangle to step inside the porte-cochère.
"Imaginatively, we call this the Grand Entrance," explains Ken, before directing us to climb the steps to our left. "And this is the Grand Hall, which connects to the Marble Hall. This part of the palace still shows a lot of Nash's design."
As we cross through the Grand Hall toward the corridor-like Marble Hall, Di extends a hand and knocks on one of the columns. "These are marble, I presume?"
"Made from a single block of marble each," I answer in Ken's stead.
Nan quickly turns to look at me. "How do you know this?"
"Because in another life my father would have become a tour guide and right now, Rilla is his favourite victim. He drags her through every house and castle we have and piles her with a lot of useless information." As he says it, Ken grins down at me.
"Which is also how I know that the marble came from Tuscany," I add haughtily, making a point not to look at him.
"Useless information indeed," mutters Di, so I make a point not to look at her either.
Instead, I follow Joy to where she's peering through an open set of double doors. "The Bow Room," I explain. "The world's fanciest waiting room."
She raises both eyebrows. "Waiting room?"
Ken comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist. "It adjoins the 1844 room, where diplomats are usually received. They wait here beforehand."
"Why 1844?" Nan wants to know.
"It's when Tsar Nicholas I came to visit," replies Ken with a shrug. "The Bow Room used to be the 1853 Room and we also have an 1855 Room, named for the visit of Napoleon III"
"Napoleon?" repeats Di, sounding sceptical, and makes a motion as if to push one hand inside her jacket.
"Napoleon III," clarifies Ken. "The nephew. He came to live in England after the French chased him away."
"Perils of being a monarch," I remark blithely. "At least they didn't hack of his head."
Ken nods gravely. "That was fortunate for him."
"I'd say," agrees Joy.
"Off with their heads!" quotes Nan, grinning widely. (Trust her to find a way to bring Alice into this.)
"Better not," replies Ken, laughing.
He signals for me to lead the way and we cross back through the Marble Hall and Grand Hall, to the aptly named Grand Staircase. While we ascend one of the two mirroring stairs, Di whistles softly and indicates the paintings lining the walls. "Are those portraits life-sized?"
"I think so," confirms Ken. "They were Queen Victoria's idea. She hung up quite a few of her dead relatives all around the palace."
"Morbid," comments Joy drily.
"And speaking of which," continues Ken, as we reach the landing and move into the Guard Chamber. "These are Queen Vic and her most beloved Albert." He points at two of the marble statues crowding the small room.
Nan leans forward to peer closely at Marble Albert. "Why is he dressed as a Roman soldier?"
Ken frowns. "I… I don't know that. Perhaps he just fancied it?"
"As good an explanation as any," decides Nan and shrugs.
We cross through the Green Drawing Room (the walls of which are hung with tapestries in what is really an unbecoming khaki) and in passing, I point out a frightfully ugly porcelain… thing. "This one belonged to Madame de Pompadour."
"I thought she had better taste than that," comments Nan and shakes her head mournfully.
Ahead of us, Ken throws open yet another set of double doors. "The Throne Room," he announces.
Nan stops to look at the two plushy chairs standing beneath a red canopy, the ciphers O R and L stitched into the back. "Does anyone else think thrones should be more… well, more?"
"More?" asks Ken, looking at her quizzically.
My sister wrinkles her nose. "Just more. I mean, these are just… chairs."
"You would think they'd be bigger," agrees Joy. "And more golden."
"Or made of swords," deadpans Di.
"Preferably made of swords," I decide.
"I shall keep it in mind," remarks Ken, chuckling to himself.
Pointing to the other thrones (chairs) lining the blood red walls, he adds, "These belonged to past monarchs. We have Victoria's throne beneath the window and my Grandmother Alexandra's throne right opposite. No-one has sat on them since their respective owner died."
"Makes you want to sit down just for the sake of it, right?" Di murmurs to Nan, who looks fairly horrified at the idea.
"Behave, you two," chides Joy mildly. Di waits until she has turned away and pulls a face at her back.
Catching my eye, Ken grins at me, before inviting my sisters to move into the next room, which is long and rectangular and lined with paintings.
"The Picture Gallery," he tells them. "It holds just a small part of the royal collection, but among others, it displays paintings by Rubens, Rembrandt, Vermeer and Canaletto."
(He so looked that up beforehand!)
"And when the palace is opened in the summer, the carpet gets pushed in one direction by the many people, making it go all wonky," I supply my bit of useless information. "So the next year, it is turned around and by the end of that, it's normal again."
Joy nods appraisingly. "Nifty."
Nan has stopped in front of a painting and considers it thoughtfully. "That looks like Venice."
"It is, I think," confirms Ken. "Beautiful city, Venice."
"I've never been," I remark pointedly and inspect my nails.
Ken laughs and pulls me closer to kiss the top of my head. "I'll take you."
I beam up at him. "I'll hold you to that!"
Joy inclines her head. "It's lovely, but also pretty crowded these days."
"Somehow, I don't think crowds of tourists are much of a problem for him," counters Di and points her thumb at Ken, who smiles wryly.
(She's not wrong, is she? They'd totally clear St. Mark's Cathedral for his visit.)
Underneath the watchful eyes of dozens depressing and depressed-looking figures that were alive in Holland sometime during the 1600s, we move through the Picture Gallery, the adjoining small Silk Tapestry Rooms and into the East Gallery. (Those royals and their uncreative naming policy!).
"This part of the palace was built by Victoria," explains Ken. "Before that, it was the site of the libraries of George III."
"They tore down libraries to build… yet another long, fancy room?" asks Nan, looking horrified. Di wrinkles her forehead in disdain and Joy shakes her head mournfully.
"The books – over 65.000 of them – were donated to the nation and now form a core part of the British Library," Ken assures them, looking amused. "They call it the King's Library, not to be confused with Old Royal Library as donated by George II."
Di eyes Ken with marked suspicion. "So… various kings gave away books so they can be read by the people?"
"Very democratic of them, don't you think?" I ask brightly and Di nods, though looking somewhat reluctant. I don't think this information fits with her general idea of monarchs.
As we walk through the East Gallery, Ken leans down and murmurs in my ear, "I think George IV mostly donated his father's books to save money and make space."
"Shush," I whisper back. "No need to point it out to them."
He laughs softly, but, as instructed, keeps his speculation to himself. Instead, he opens a set of doors to our left and announces, "The Ball Supper Room."
"The Ball Room?" asks Joy, looking confused.
"The Ball Supper Room," corrects Ken. "They used to serve refreshments in here when there were balls going on next door. Though these days, we usually use the Ball Room for dinner and have the dancing in here."
"It's also used for the yearly summer exhibitions," I add. "They're preparing one called Royal Childhoods for this year. Leslie showed me some of the plans."
"My mother enjoys working with the curators to put on the exhibitions," Ken explains to my sisters. "For the next one, they requisitioned the coronet I wore to my parents' coronation. Teddy gave his old school uniform and Persis lent a very well-worn purple cuddly horse by name of Winnie."
"A purple cuddly horse?" repeats Nan, smiling.
"It used to be a unicorn." Ken shrugs. "Persis ripped off the horn, declaring that unicorns were stupid."
Joy sighs. "I wish someone would do that to Izzie's Elsa doll. If I have to hear Let It Go one more time…"
"It's catchy!" I protest, doing little to hide my grin.
My oldest sister narrows her eyes at me. "I blame you. Just for the record."
I meet her glare with my most innocent expression and start to hum the first notes of the already famous Disney song. Immediately, Joy jumps forward to press both hands over my mouth. Ken and the twins stand by, laughing, even as I start wildly hitting at whatever part of Joy I can reach. She doesn't budge.
"No more!" she demands, though she's barely hiding a grin. "Not that song!"
Only when I raise my arms in surrender, does she take her hands back. "Not. That. Song!" she warns, for good measure.
"Alright," I reply peacefully. "Not that song."
Part of me considers breaking out into Do You Want to Build a Snowman?, but I'm unsure whether I'd survive that, so I don't. This, despite how hypocritical it is, given that my sisters subjected the world to a loud rendition of the Portobello Road song this morning, which was so embarassing! But I know they wouldn't see it that way, so I just smile extra sweetly at Joy, while allowing Ken to take my hand and pull me onwards. My sisters follow on our heels as we enter what is the proper Ball Room.
"This is… big," comments Nan, looking around at the ornate white-and-gold room.
"My flat would fit in here at least four times," estimates Di. Turning to Ken, she asks, "How big is it?"
"Around 6500 square feet," I answer for him. "It fits 160 people for dinner. And that over there is a real organ."
Di frowns and looks at Ken. "Why is there an organ?"
"Why not?" he replies and shrugs. "It came from the Royal Pavilion in Brighton. They had it, so they put it here."
"As good an explanation as any," mutters Joy and yes, it probably is.
It takes us a moment to cross the entire Ball Room (it really is big). In the adjoining West Gallery, Ken opens a set of French doors leading out to a small balcony. In front of us stretches a meadow, lined by trees and with a small lake in the middle. Only the tips of the houses in the distance remind us that we're still in the middle of London.
"Let me guess," pipes up Nan. "This is the park?"
"We call it the garden, but… I suppose it qualifies as a park," admits Ken.
"How big?" Joy wants to know, looking down at the garden. (Park. Whatever.)
"Around sixteen hectares," answers Ken. "It's the largest private garden in London."
Di raises an eyebrow. "You don't say?"
But Ken just laughs good-naturedly. "There are richer people in this city – and not a few of them – but we do still have the biggest garden."
(We're talking about size rather a lot today, aren't we?)
There's not a lot happening in the empty garden (park) and there's a chilly wind going, so we return inside pretty quickly. Back in the West Gallery, we walk onwards to what is the State Dining Room.
"The Hanoverians," comments Ken as we pass a row of life-sized paintings of fancily-dressed men and women.
"Minus the wife of George IV," I add. "They were married for over 25 years, but he had her exiled for most of them. He even barred her from his coronation."
"Not a successful marriage, then" concludes Joy drily.
Ken shakes his head, grinning. "It's hard to say who was more repulsed by the other, but old George is on the record as saying they only, well, lay together three times. How they managed to have a daughter at all is a continuous mystery."
Lay together? Bless him. (Sometimes, he really does talk like someone out of Nan's romance novels.)
The next room is the Blue Drawing Room, though the tapestry is rather too faded to still be called 'blue'. Time for an update, if you ask me!
"You'll like this," Ken tells Nan and points up at the plaster sculptures over the door. "We have Shakespeare, Milton and Spenser up there."
"Really?" Nan looks up, her expression eager.
Behind her, Di mutters something about the appropriation of the arts, though really, where does she think most poets would have ended up without a monarch to champion them?
As Nan continues to study the plaster poets up on the wall, Ken directs Joy and Di's attention to a pair of oversized portraits hanging on both sides of the fireplace. "My great-great-grandparents, King Victor and Queen Mary. She did a lot to build up the royal collection, reacquiring pieces that had left the family under previous generations." Looking at Di, he smiles and continues, "And before you accuse us of enriching ourselves, the royal collection isn't the monarch's private property, it's held in trust for the people."
Di rolls her eyes at him, but I can see that she, too, is hiding a smile.
Pulling Nan away from her poets, we move into the next room. It is round and vaulted and, yes, pretty impressive.
"The Music Room", I tell my sisters.
"Though it's not often used as such anymore," adds Ken.
"Pretty," remarks Joy and Nan nods approvingly.
I point to a clock sitting on a mantelpiece. "There are 350 clocks in the palace. And they have two people employed just to wind them up."
"Just for the clocks?" asks Di, incredulous.
"They're old clocks." Ken sounds a little defensive. "They need attention. Some of them are rather temperamental, or so I've been told. I wouldn't dare touch them."
"Probably for the best," I tease, smiling up at him. He shakes his head, but he's laughing as he pulls me towards him and ruffles my hair. I resist the impulse to pat it back down.
Instead, I grab his hand and pull him forwards, waving for my sisters to follow us. The next room is the White Drawing Room, aptly kitted out in white and gold, with ornaments and swirls and massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
"Do you see that portrait?" I ask. (Rather rhetorically, because the portrait of Queen Alexandra – wife of Edward VII, not Ken's grandmother – rather dominates the opposite wall.) "The cabinet and mirror to her left are actually a secret door. It opens to –"
I break off as the cabinet and mirror do, indeed, start to move.
"What…?" mutters Joy on my right.
The secret door swings open fully, revealing none other than the King and Queen. Behind me, I can hear Nan gasp.
As my sisters stare, I turn around to glare at Ken. "You couldn't have warned us?" I hiss.
He raises both hands in defence. "I didn't know," he murmurs back. "They were supposed to be in Windsor today. There must have been a change of plans."
"Do you think…?" I whisper, looking from him to his approaching parents and back again.
"Knowing my father?" Ken replies quietly. "Entirely probable."
Yeah. I thought so. It would be like Owen to return to London upon learning that my sisters are here today. He has been making noises about wanting to get to know more members of my family and anyway, he actually seems to enjoy meeting people. (Probably a plus, given his job description.)
"Rilla?" comes Joy's soft voice. "What do we do?"
"Just be natural," I advise quickly. "They're nice. No need to be intimidated."
"Easy for you to say," comments Di and I refrain from pointing out that I, too, once met Owen and Leslie for the first time. (And in Leslie's case, under much odder circumstances.)
By now, Owen has reached us, curtailing any more conversation. Ken steps forward and since he's obviously decided to take over introductions, I slip past him and walk over to Leslie, who is hanging back a little.
"Hello Rilla." Leaning forward, she lightly puts a hand on my arm and kisses me on each cheek. (It's a fairly common way of greeting among posh British people, as I've learned.)
"I must apologise for Owen," Leslie continues quietly, casting a look over my shoulder. "When Kenneth mentioned your sisters would be here today for a tour and dinner, Owen decided we needed to come as well. I told him it's not polite to come unannounced, but he thought it would be an amusing surprise."
I can imagine. Remembering my own first meeting with him and how he popped up to meet my parents without any warning, there's little doubt that Owen delights in springing his presence upon unsuspecting people.
"It's fine," I assure Leslie. Turning around, I see Owen shaking the hand of a befuddled-looking Nan. Joy, standing next to her, is shaking her head slightly, as if trying to clear it. Di just blinks.
"I mean, I'm sure it will be fine," I correct myself, smiling wryly. "They just need a moment."
Leslie returns my smile, but hers is a little wistful. "Yes, that often happens when we're introduced to someone new."
I think I know what she means. It must be pretty annoying to have everyone you meet be thunderstruck just because of your position.
"At least there's no-one spilling red wine all over themselves," I remark brightly, in an attempt to cheer her up.
It seems to work, too, because Leslie starts laughing softly. "I still remember when Ken called me the morning after that gala in New York and wouldn't shut up about the woman who saved him from embarrassing himself," she tells me, sounding amused. "How she was clever, funny, brave and very, very pretty. He even forgot to complain about being ill."
I stare at her in amazement. "He said that?"
(Behind me, I can hear my sisters' laughter and know that Owen is working his magic again.)
"He did," confirms Leslie, smiling. "I told him if he wanted to see her again, he'd better make sure to get the replacement dress and go deliver it in person. Evidently, he took my advice."
That was her idea?
I try to blink away my confusion. Leslie, I notice, is looking at me and if I didn't know any better, I'd say her expression was one of fondness.
"He didn't tell much more about you after that, but even then, I had a feeling I'd meet you one day," she states after a moment.
She did?
Taking a deep breath, I nod slowly. "And you were right. I mean…" I wave a hand around haphazardly at our surroundings. "Look at us now. Him, me… this."
(I wonder where we'll go from here.)
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Vincent' (written by Don McLean, released by him in 1972).
To JoAnna:
Are you implying George is getting fat? He resents that! He resents that a lot. At worst, he's... cuddly. Yes, he's soft and cuddly. He is not fat! ;)
Yes, Rilla is doing a lot of growing up right now. In fact, if they aren't careful, there's danger of her growing past Ken at some point, which would certainly turn their relationship all topsy-turvy. (For future use: Ken's full name is Kenneth Frank Edward Alexander. Very effective for scolding!)
Rilla needing a better relationship to her siblings in canon (or, really, any relationship to speak of) is a hill I will die on, so it's important for me to show that while she lives her own life, she's still close to her siblings in this story. (Though having grown up with an older sister, I can tell you it's not all it's cracked up to be either!) Canon also leaves her pretty bereft of real friends, so there's double the need to give her friends in this. After how lonely she was for the past few months, she is, as you said, due a good deal of social contact and support. She's getting it now, from family and friends, from Ken's family and Ken himself. As you said, he's really trying to do better here and not bungling it, so we shall pat him on the back for that. And I love your explanation of how he's feeling about Rilla right now. That could very well be part of it!
As you see, we were indeed talking Buckingham Palace-dinner, not just plain dinner-dinner. Got to make the most out of the opportunities you're given, after all.
To AnneShirley:
This corona thing is really bringing life to a halt, isn't it? We're still allowed on the streets (as of now) and allowed to go to work, but everything else has been closed. Though we're still little optimists about it and have only closed schools until mid-April so far. We may well have to close them for longer, but I don't think we can face the though of months-long closures yet. We're taking it step by step, because baby steps doesn't scare us as much. (Tell your classmates that I Want It All is definitely superior to Don't Stop Me Now. And while North Country Blues is a gorgeous song, it doesn't have quite the vibe I was going for here ;).)
Seven original plots in the world? Sometimes, I'm surprised to think there are that many. I mean, there are still great tales and stories out there, but if you look at what most cinemas are playing nowadays... but I digress. Writing chapters with Rilla's friends and family is always fun for me (with the exception of Nan's Oxford visit, as you said), so I'm glad they're also fun to read! Dialogue comes relatively easy to me when writing, especially when it's light and a bit frothy, so those chapters also tend to write themselves. I don't curse them nearly as often as some of the other ;).
As for Big Brother... it's a TV show that has narcissistic and exhibitionistic people being put in a house together and having their entire move filmed for TV. It's unwatchable, as far as I am concerned, but it's right up Chad's alley. And the first/second floor jibe was because the British call the street-level floor 'ground floor', while in North America it's 'first floor'. Thus, what is the first floor in the UK is the second floor in North America. The sisters were teasing Rilla about using British over Canadian terminology.
I'm glad you think Ken a little more open and more relaxed in this chapter, because I meant for him to. He's had a lot of time to think, up there in the Scottish wilderness, and that thinking included not only Rilla, but also his relationship to his parents, so yes, we'll definitely see a slow change there. And his training is almost over, so yay for that!
