Frances rang a small bell. “I told you not to smoke in here.”
“But this… this is way above and beyond the call of duty. How long has he been planning it?” The Prince looked at his sister. “Did you know about it?”
The door opened and Bernard entered the room.
“Bernard, would you get my brother an ashtray please?” The Princess took her last bite of toast, while the Prince paced and smoked. Bernard placed an ashtray on the mantel and exited, which Adrian ignored as he let the ashes fall.
Frances daintily licked stickiness from her fingers, and drank the last of her tea. She dabbed her lips with a napkin.
“It’s clear that Father has been planning this for a very long time, and no, I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Well it’s not on.” He gesticulated as he smoked. “It’s just not on. Father can’t just sweep aside centuries of Parliamentary democracy. It’s not possible.”
“Well,” she said, folding her hands in her lap, “at the moment the evidence seems to be to the contrary.”
Adrian opened the door wide, leaning his head and shoulders out. “Bernard!”
The Butler appeared almost immediately. “Yes, Your Highness?”
The Prince handed Bernard his flask. “Refill this.”
“What with, sir?”
The Prince looked incredulous. “Whiskey, of course. Tennessee, preferably.” He pressed the flask into Bernard’s hand.
Bernard looked from Prince to Princess. She nodded to him. “Yes, sir.” Bernard retreated and closed the door behind him.
“Now sit down, Adrian, and be quiet. You’ve already made me miss most of Father’s speech.”
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, flopped down onto the sofa, and gripped his head in his hands.
***
“If you are with me,” the King said, fixing his eyes alternately on the lords, the ladies, and the television cameras, “we can bring this nation to a new golden age. Great Britain will again be worthy of the name.”
The King sat down. The Lords’ Chamber was silent.
Baroness Overhill hesitantly stood up, looking at the armed soldiers, and then at the King. “Would it please Your Majesty to field some questions from the floor?”
“Oh, perhaps one or two. But we grow tired,” he said with a half-smile.
The lords and ladies clamoured for attention, standing and raising hands, each trying to stand taller than the others.
“This house recognises Lord Wolf Youngblood, Archbishop of Canterbury.”
All the others sat down.
“Thank you, Mrs Speaker. Your Majesty, with all due respect, I would humbly beg you to consider what this plan will truly mean to your subjects, and to your family. If it succeeds then, yes, it could be very good. However, you are sacrificing a position of safety for one of uncertainty. As we are, we are not perfect – Britain is not perfect. Nevertheless, we are the envy of a great many other countries. Their citizens continue to come to us in droves, looking for a better life and greater security. Our economy is stronger than those of most other European countries.
“I maintain that Britain is great. But if not, at the very least it is” – he paused, glancing at the floor and ceiling – “adequate, especially when compared with Spain, Greece, and any Eastern European country.” The Archbishop looked at the ambassadors and foreign dignitaries seated on the opposite benches. “It is not my intention, of course, to impugn the quality of any other nations, but merely to note the current economic difficulties from which they suffer. Britain suffers from some of these as well. Nevertheless, our economy is one of the stronger ones, at least for now.
“Why not leave well alone? Why risk everything on something that could easily fail?
“Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider this course of action.”
The King stood again, and stepped to the edge of his dais. “Thank you, Woollie, for your counsel. I will answer your points in the order you made them.
“I believe I do know what this will mean to the country, as well as to my children. My son, the Prince of Wales, the heir to my throne, will be required to grow up. He has been bred to be King. When greatness is thrust upon him, he will rise to it. It will be the making of him.
“As for the country, you overlook that justly-famous British stiff upper lip. Our people have endured many things over the past centuries, but what I offer them now is greatness. Risk is nothing new to our people.
“The name of this island is Great Britain. If I cease and desist from this course of action, then Parliament will have to rename it ‘Adequate Britain’. That is essentially your suggestion. Then we may be content with mediocrity. But this land and this people are capable of greatness. We should be satisfied with nothing less.
“Do you think I am doing this only for myself? No! It’s for you,” he said, pointing to a lord at random, “and you,” pointing to another lord, “and you,” pointing and fixing his eye on the television camera.
“Western democracies are complacent. I do not say that they are bad. But they are not great. They are not even adequate.
“So, no, my dear Woollie, I cannot cease and desist. Even in these last few minutes I have earned myself a place in the Tower of London, and an appointment at the gallows. English monarchs have been beheaded for less than I am doing right now.
“No. Here I stand. I can do no other.”
The King resumed his seat.
***
Jimmy and his mother sat motionless on the sofa, leaning forward, unable to take their eyes away from the television. Their mouths hung open.
“Blimey,” Jimmy’s mum said.
They both leaned back onto the worn cushions.
“No joke,” Jimmy reflected. “Blimey.”
She looked at him. “So, what d’you think of your precious ‘’is Majesty’ now?”
Jimmy stood up and moved around the room. “’E’s fantastic.” He continued moving, faster now. “Fantastic!” He jumped with a shout, punching the low council-house ceiling with a thump. “That’s me King!” Jimmy pointed at the screen. “I would so die for that man!”
His mother stood, embracing him and burying her head in his chest. “Don’t talk like that, Jimmy. We can’t lose you.”
Jimmy patted his mum’s shoulder. “Oh, I’ll be all right, Mum. Don’t worry.”
***
The Lords’ Chamber was still. The King had finished speaking.
One of the ambassadors, a gentleman in African national dress, raised his hand.
“Dr Elimu Mbiwe,” the Lord Speaker said, “Ambassador of the East African Republic.”
“Do you have a question,” the King said, “Dr Mbiwe?”
The African stood, genuflecting. “Yes, if it pleases Your Majesty. I would like to know how Your Majesty’s plans will affect Britain’s relationship to her Commonwealth partners. Are you proposing a return to British colonialism?” He sat down.
“An excellent question, Dr Mbiwe. Our relationship with the Commonwealth will remain unchanged. It is not our purpose to impose our will on other nations,” the King said, though the curl of his mouth and brow implied that he might have added, “yet”.
“The Commonwealth, if I may be poetic, is a brotherhood with a common purpose and unity which will never–”
The King was interrupted. Someone, a rough-looking man in a suit, was pushing his way past General Montgomery, shouting. The General’s men held the man back.
“Don’t you care, Your Majesty, how your actions are going to affect–”
“You will show proper respect to your sovereign,” the General shouted to the intruder, “by only speaking when you’re spoken to!”
The unidentified man, cowed by the General’s outburst, collected himself, loosening his speckled tie.
All eyes vacillated between the man and the King.
Alfred beckoned the man forward.
General Montgomery escorted him through the throng, to the bottom of th
e King’s dais. The General bowed, and after an uncertain pause the unidentified man did the same.
“I know your face,” the King said, “but not your name.”
“Introduce yourself to your King,” the General said.
“Ernest Essex, MP for Newbury,” he said, gathering courage.
“And what did you wish to say to me, Mr Essex?”
He looked up at the King. Essex was a tall man but the King’s eye level was nevertheless above his. He looked at the crown, the State Robes, the Naval uniform and its medals. The MP re-tightened his tie and straightened his collar.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I represent the ordinary people, not the gentry. I beg Your Majesty to be mindful of the masses, the people who live from hand to mouth every day, wondering if they’ll still have work tomorrow, counting the pennies every time they go to the supermarket to buy food for their children.” Essex squirmed a bit under the gaze of the King, General Montgomery, the entirety of the House of Lords, and the honoured guests. “I’m one of them. My dad – my father – worked as a bus driver for 40 years. My mother stayed at home mostly, but went to work later in life because my dad’s income wasn’t enough any more. They groomed me for university, wanting better things for me, and later I came to Parliament. I’m here to represent all those people who came from the same place I did – the working class.
“What’s your program going to mean to them? What are the knock-on effects going to be for the working man?”
The King smiled at Essex. “I am extremely glad you asked me that. If the ordinary person wants to talk to his government right now, what does he do?”
“Well, he’d probably write a letter to his MP,” Essex said.
“And what happens then? No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. Generally, a form letter comes back stating what the Minister’s official policy is on that issue, and thanking the member of the public for contacting him. But nothing changes.”
“Yes it does. We read the letters, we take them into consideration, and we make policy decisions accordingly.”
The King leaned forward, touched a finger to the side of his nose, and winked. “Of course you do. And a fine job you do as well.
“But now imagine it my way. A concerned citizen applies for an audience with his King. The King listens to him, agrees with him, and makes a decree. The thing is implemented. It is done. No red tape, no bureaucracy.”
Essex scowled. “But that can’t possibly work! The whole point of Parliament is to produce a forum for debate on things that affect the population. Remove that debate, remove the democratic process, and we’re left with nothing less than dictatorship!”
“In reality, Mr Essex,” the King said, “what scares you more is, if I’m dealing with policy matters it may eliminate the need for your – what is it the Americans say? – oh yes, your ‘phoney baloney jobs’.” He unsuccessfully suppressed a grin.
“That is not fair, Your Majesty.” Essex’s face was a mask of damaged pride. A murmur of laughter ran through the Chamber.
“Perhaps I exaggerate,” the King said with a grin. “Nevertheless, this system has survived so long because it encourages comfort and complacency.” He looked beyond Essex, his voice rising. “I am issuing a challenge, and Britain will respond.”
One lord clapped. Then another, and another, until perhaps twenty. Many of the foreigners demonstrated their approval as well.
The greater number voiced their displeasure, though none too loudly, as the armed soldiers looked on.
Many also remained silent.
“I shall retire now. There is much to be done.”
The General and his men saluted as King stood. Alfred returned the gesture. A number of soldiers emerged from behind the throne, forming the King’s bodyguard. He moved back to the door from which he had entered the Chamber.
The pageboys mobilised to carry the King’s train.
Those lords who had clapped for the King now bowed to him as he left. The neutral lords shortly did the same, followed by the dissenters, as the soldiers stood to attention.
***
“I can’t believe it,” Jimmy said. “Everything’s changed, just like that.” He clicked his fingers.
“I can’t believe it neither,” Jimmy’s Mum said. “It gives me a really bad feelin’ in the pit o’ me stomach.”
“Oh Mum, don’t be like that. It’s brilliant! This man – well, he’s more than a man. He’s made o’ titanium. The Americans, the Arabs, the Chinese, they won’t push us ’round no more. Everything’s gonna be diff’rent now, wait and see.” Jimmy looked at his watch. “I’d better get back to barracks anyway.”
“But you got plenty o’ time!”
“Somethin’ tells me I should get back as soon as I can. Sergeant-Major’s gonna wanna discuss this with us, which means a lotta shoutin’.”
Jimmy disappeared upstairs, returning with his Bergen rucksack. He hugged his mother. “Love ya’, Mum.”
Jimmy’s Mum said nothing, clinging to him.
“Now come on Mum, I’ve gotta get goin’.”
She did not release him. “I’m just so scared for ya’, Jimmy.”
“You’re always scared for me, Mum. Be happy for me instead. I’ve got a purpose now.”
She loosened her grip a little, then a little more, until she was standing in front of him with only her feet for support. She offered a halting, quivering smile. “You look after y’self just as well as you look after ’is Majesty.”
“Thanks Mum. Bye.”
Jimmy waved, leaving the room.
Brushing past the coats hanging from hooks in the cramped entrance hall, and avoiding a basket full of shoes and trainers, Jimmy opened the door and was gone.
Jimmy’s Mum shut the door behind him and leaned against it. “God,” she said, inclining her head upward, “Lord, please be with our Jimmy. Look after ’im.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
***
Knocking first as a courtesy, the General entered the Robing Room, decorated with ornate wood-panelled walls and ceiling, dotted with small chandeliers casting ample light. Numerous functionaries hovered around King Alfred.
The robe and the crown had been taken away. The King, still uniformed, slouched in his Chair of State.
He sat up when the General entered.
“So Stewart, is there peace in the House of Lords once more?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the General said. “Everything’s in order.”
“Very good.”
“May I add, Your Majesty, that your performance today was masterly. It was everything we’d hoped it would be, everything we planned.”
The King inhaled, closed his eyes, held his breath.
The General raised an eyebrow.
“I hope that was more than just a performance,” Alfred said. “If this doesn’t work…”
“Er… excuse us, everyone.” The General looked at the others and motioned toward the door. “Leave His Majesty and I alone, please.” They all looked to the King.
Nodding, the King motioned them away with a wave.
Montgomery stood at the door, waiting until everyone had exited, and shut it behind them. He moved to stand next to the seated King. The General knelt, leaning close and speaking quietly. “Your Majesty, don’t lose your nerve. Your resolve needs to be strong, especially in front of those who serve you. Do not relinquish your authority.”
“Or what?” The King looked Montgomery in the eye.
“Don’t mistake me, Your Majesty. I’m not attempting to threaten you in any way. Like you, I believe in what we are doing. And, like you, all my eggs are in one basket now. I will serve you and support you unflinchingly. I will defend you against all comers. And that’s what I’m doing right now. If you have doubts, discuss them privately, with me, or someone else you can trust. Never air them.”
“Very well then. I do have doubts. How can I not? This is easily the most significant, and most difficult, thing I’ve ever done.”
“It’s also the best thing. The Queen certainly thought so. She would have wanted to be by your side during all of this, as you well know.”
“There is no need to lecture me on what my wife would have wanted, Stewart.” Alfred stood and stepped forward. “My resolve is undiminished.”
2 - Risk
People gathered in their thousands. The police found them difficult to manage, breaking their human chain here and there, spectators spilling into the road to be recovered by police and Secret Service personnel. However, the front gates of Buckingham Palace were kept clear, closing behind the King’s limousine once it was inside.
***
The King’s office was light and airy, with little of the classical trappings of the rest of the Palace, including a substantial mahogany desk, leather office-chair, sideboard, and coffee table surrounded by leather visitor’s chairs and sofa. On the table was a china tea set.
Now clad in a grey double-breasted suit, Alfred sat on the sofa and Archbishop Youngblood on one of the chairs.
A ginger-haired young man in a dark tailored suit poured cups of tea. He set one in front of the King.
“Now Blair,” Alfred said, “my good friend Woollie will have his black with two sugars.”
The young man complied, putting a cup in front of the Archbishop.
“Thank you, Mr Lindsey,” Youngblood said
Lindsey moved the tea set to the sideboard, taking a seat in a corner a respectful distance from the King and his guest, opened a leather bound notebook, and extracted a pen from his pocket.
“I think,” Youngblood said, “we could perhaps get you off without the death penalty.”
The King laughed. “I daresay we could. They may just settle for chucking me in the tower and torturing me.”
“Oh no. The instruments of torture bring in the tourists. They are far too valuable to sully with blood.” The Archbishop smiled.
“Royal blood, mind you,” the King said, eyes wide.
The Archbishop and the King laughed.
“If we may be serious for a moment, Your Majesty, you dropped something of a bombshell on us today. You didn’t tell anyone what you were planning.”
Lindsey wrote rapidly, keeping up with the conversation.
“I told General Stewart! And everyone else who needed to know. If I’d told you, would you not have tried to stop me?”
“I would’ve attempted to dissuade you from these Machiavellian machinations, yes.”