who was the current toast of theatreland;
she'd captivated two of the most conservative peers in the
land. They looked as though they wouldn't tear themselves
away if someone told them they were on fire.
The major domo loomed. 'Young sirs? We have your
places for you.'
Aubrey spent the next part of the evening listening to
a Holmlander accounts clerk telling him of the glories
of the fatherland and how the Holmlander way of life
was the finest in the world. The accounts clerk seemed
to be able to eat, talk and drink, all without interrupting
his stream of praise for his country, its people, its leaders,
its forests, its mountains and its cheese. Aubrey was unreasonably
pleased to see that George was trapped with
a junior under-secretary from the Royalist Party, a
notorious bore who had obviously mistaken George for
someone important, to judge from the way he was doing
his best to impress.
To his disappointment, Aubrey couldn't see Miss Hepworth
without turning his head one hundred and eighty
degrees, something he thought even his Holmlander
dining companion would be bound to notice.
He was, however, able to see the head table. Prince
Albert was obvious from the throne-like seat he was
installed in. Tallish and slim, dark-haired and with refined,
thoughtful features, the Prince was the focus of attention
of every unmarried woman in the room – and their
mothers, who would give anything to match him with
their daughters. He was quite unlike the ruddy-faced and
extravagantly bearded King, having taken after his
mother, who was from Torremain.
Aubrey recognised the dapper, languid Home
Secretary, Phillips-Dodd, and several older military men.
These bearded gents were doing their best not to be
offended by the assortment of Holmland diplomats and
generals who dominated the table. Sir Guy Boothby, the
Foreign Secretary, was seated between the military and
the Holmlanders, no doubt a deliberate arrangement by
Sir William Brasingham.
Sir William was Prince Albert's equerry and the man
responsible for the detailed planning and execution of the
Prince's daily program. He was dressed in the uniform of
the regiment from which he was seconded, the Midland
Guards. His gaze was never still, but instead of roaming
over the guests, as Aubrey's did, Sir William's attention
was on the footmen, the servers, the major domo and
anyone else involved in the running of the evening.
Aubrey could see, even from this distance, that Prince
Albert was nodding his head and wearing the careful
smile that was his standard expression on these occasions.
It reinforced Aubrey's belief that the Crown Prince had
one of the worst jobs in the country. It seemed to consist
of innumerable dinners with guests not of his choosing,
hundreds of openings of buildings he'd never seen and
was likely never to see again, and making presentations to
people he didn't know for doing things he'd been told
about five minutes before the actual handing over of the
diploma, medal, award or whatever it was that day.
Of course, all these duties had to be done with good
grace, without the slightest hint of bad temper or
boredom.
Aubrey shuddered. Even though Prince Albert had
been brought up for this sort of thing, Aubrey didn't
know how he managed it.
Between the first dessert course and the second, the
major domo rang a small bell. It precipitated a mass
turning of heads by those who knew what the signal
meant and a delayed, consequent movement by those
who followed their lead. The final effect was like a breeze
blowing over a field of wheat.
It was time for the Prince to make a speech. Aubrey
sent mental thanks heavenwards, for it meant that his
Holmland dinner companion had to interrupt his litany
of Holmland achievements, just as he was beginning to
delve into pre-history.
'Lord Ambassador of Holmland,' the Prince began,
nodding to the man on his right, 'lords, ladies, friends.
I should like to welcome you here to Penhurst. I hope
you are all comfortable in your rooms
she'd captivated two of the most conservative peers in the
land. They looked as though they wouldn't tear themselves
away if someone told them they were on fire.
The major domo loomed. 'Young sirs? We have your
places for you.'
Aubrey spent the next part of the evening listening to
a Holmlander accounts clerk telling him of the glories
of the fatherland and how the Holmlander way of life
was the finest in the world. The accounts clerk seemed
to be able to eat, talk and drink, all without interrupting
his stream of praise for his country, its people, its leaders,
its forests, its mountains and its cheese. Aubrey was unreasonably
pleased to see that George was trapped with
a junior under-secretary from the Royalist Party, a
notorious bore who had obviously mistaken George for
someone important, to judge from the way he was doing
his best to impress.
To his disappointment, Aubrey couldn't see Miss Hepworth
without turning his head one hundred and eighty
degrees, something he thought even his Holmlander
dining companion would be bound to notice.
He was, however, able to see the head table. Prince
Albert was obvious from the throne-like seat he was
installed in. Tallish and slim, dark-haired and with refined,
thoughtful features, the Prince was the focus of attention
of every unmarried woman in the room – and their
mothers, who would give anything to match him with
their daughters. He was quite unlike the ruddy-faced and
extravagantly bearded King, having taken after his
mother, who was from Torremain.
Aubrey recognised the dapper, languid Home
Secretary, Phillips-Dodd, and several older military men.
These bearded gents were doing their best not to be
offended by the assortment of Holmland diplomats and
generals who dominated the table. Sir Guy Boothby, the
Foreign Secretary, was seated between the military and
the Holmlanders, no doubt a deliberate arrangement by
Sir William Brasingham.
Sir William was Prince Albert's equerry and the man
responsible for the detailed planning and execution of the
Prince's daily program. He was dressed in the uniform of
the regiment from which he was seconded, the Midland
Guards. His gaze was never still, but instead of roaming
over the guests, as Aubrey's did, Sir William's attention
was on the footmen, the servers, the major domo and
anyone else involved in the running of the evening.
Aubrey could see, even from this distance, that Prince
Albert was nodding his head and wearing the careful
smile that was his standard expression on these occasions.
It reinforced Aubrey's belief that the Crown Prince had
one of the worst jobs in the country. It seemed to consist
of innumerable dinners with guests not of his choosing,
hundreds of openings of buildings he'd never seen and
was likely never to see again, and making presentations to
people he didn't know for doing things he'd been told
about five minutes before the actual handing over of the
diploma, medal, award or whatever it was that day.
Of course, all these duties had to be done with good
grace, without the slightest hint of bad temper or
boredom.
Aubrey shuddered. Even though Prince Albert had
been brought up for this sort of thing, Aubrey didn't
know how he managed it.
Between the first dessert course and the second, the
major domo rang a small bell. It precipitated a mass
turning of heads by those who knew what the signal
meant and a delayed, consequent movement by those
who followed their lead. The final effect was like a breeze
blowing over a field of wheat.
It was time for the Prince to make a speech. Aubrey
sent mental thanks heavenwards, for it meant that his
Holmland dinner companion had to interrupt his litany
of Holmland achievements, just as he was beginning to
delve into pre-history.
'Lord Ambassador of Holmland,' the Prince began,
nodding to the man on his right, 'lords, ladies, friends.
I should like to welcome you here to Penhurst. I hope
you are all comfortable in your rooms
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