Voices in a Haunted Room

“Yes, indeed he is. I do wish he were not so involved. These people are dangerous, capable of anything. It worries me ... but this is Dickon’s life. He always has taken risks, and I suppose he always will. Jonathan is the same. I am so glad you chose David. I married two adventurers.”

“And you were happy.”

“My first husband went to America to fight and died there. I worry a lot about Dickon.

But it was worth it. I wouldn’t have him otherwise.”

But in due course the burglary became a nine-days’ wonder and the excitement shifted to Jonathan’s and Millicent’s wedding.

Another wedding was to take place in April-that of the Prince of Wales to the Princess Caroline of Brunswick.

“I thought he was married to Maria Fitzherbert,” I said.

“So he was,” replied David, “but the marriage was not considered legal.”

”Do you remember we saw them once at the theatre? I thought they looked so handsome and so fond of each other,”

‘Times change, Claudine.”

“And they are no longer in love.”

“They say he greatly resents having to marry Princess Caroline, and would not if he could avoid it.”

“Poor kings, poor princes.”

“How lucky we are!” said David. “We should always remember that, Claudine. We should never let anything spoil what we have.”

“We must not ... ever,” I said fervently.

There were to be celebrations for the royal wedding and my mother suggested that we go to London to join in them.

“We could do our shopping during the visit. We shall both need new gowns for Jonathan’s wedding.”

I said that would be wonderful and we could feel quite safe leaving the babies in the charge of Grace Soper, who was proving herself to be an excellent nurse.

“Fashions have changed so much in the last years,” went on my mother. “Everything seems to be so much simpler. I suppose it is something to do with France, as the fashions have always started there. This new simplicity has grown out of the revolution.

I’m glad we’re rid of those hooped petticoats. They were so restricting. I rather like those high-waisted gowns, don’t you?”

I said yes, but did she think Molly Blackett could do them justice?

“Molly’s a good dressmaker. She’ll try. I don’t think she likes the new simplicity though. It makes much less work for her, I suppose, and it is not so easy to hide the little flaws. I thought if we got the material now there would be plenty of time for her to make them up before the wedding. We shall need some lace for fichus and perhaps shawls. The low-cut shoulders can be a little chilly. So you see, we shall have plenty of shopping to do... ?”

“I’ll look forward to it,” I said.

“We’ll go hi good tune. The royal wedding is on the eighth. If we arrived on the fifth we could get the shopping done first. I doubt the shops will be open on that day. Shall we try that?”

I said it would be excellent and as Jonathan and Dickon agreed to the dates, the four of us set out in the carriage. David said he would take the opportunity of going over to the Clavering estate-another of Dickon’s properties-as it was some time since he had been and another visit was due.

I always enjoyed London. I felt excitement grip me as I drove through those crowded streets. There were people everywhere bent on their own business, dashing around as though they were in a mighty hurry. I watched them all with pleasure-the hawkers, the ballad singers, the lavender women, the apple women, the watercress sellers-they were all there. I used to listen to their cries and was delighted to discover new ones like that of the lady with her paper of pins who stood on a corner singing in a high cracked voice: Three rows a penny pins, Short whites and middlings.

There was the Flying Pieman who ran from Covent Garden to Fleet Street between noon and four o’clock crying: Who’s for a mutton or a Christmas pie Buy, buy, buy A piece for a penny, while people stopped him for a piece of his meat pies or baked plum pudding. Won’t you buy my sweet blooming lavender, Sixteen branches one penny, sang the lavender woman.

“Fine fritters, hot fine fritters,” cried out the woman who was frying batter on a tripod over a fire set on bricks.

I loved to hear the bell of the muffin man as he wandered through the streets, performing an admirable balancing feat as he carried his basket on his head.

Every time I came to London I tried to discover a new trader and I invariably did.

I enjoyed watching the carriages trundling through the streetshackney coaches and private carriages, the phaetons, barouches, calashes-and of course the highly polished mail coaches the colour of claret, drawn by four splendid-looking horses driven by the coachman in his box coat fastened by enormous buttons of mother-of-pearl, in his big-brimmed hat looking very powerful and able to deal with any hazard of the road.

And the shops! How I revelled in the shops! We were treated with such respect, and chairs were found for us that we might rest while we studied the bales of material which were brought for our inspection.