The armed guard who escorted them did not utter a single word, nor did the two stoic, immobile guards stationed on either side of the gaping entry. They may have been silent and impassive in appearance, yet no one doubted their alertness or capability to respond swiftly, and brutally if necessary, to any threat. It was a fact both comforting and unnerving, something Lizzy realized she was not alone in feeling when a trembling Georgiana pressed closer to her side.
Fortunately, the tunnel was lit with oil lamps, even in daytime, and not exceedingly long. The expansive courtyard beyond was readily visible, brilliant sunlight shining onto the gray-stone covered ground. Their escort wordlessly indicated the covered colonnade to their right, the wide sheltered piazza spanning the entire western wall of the courtyard. Some two dozen spectators were already present, a few politely greeting the new arrivals as they filled the gap between two of the thick pillars supporting the roof. There were no barricades preventing crossing onto the vacant courtyard, yet instinctively everyone knew to stay behind the pillars. Furthermore, while not completely silent, those who talked did so in soft tones barely above a whisper, including Mr. Darcy, who stood between Lizzy and Georgiana and bent slightly before launching into a murmured commentary.
“On the off-chance my sister’s costly education has excluded this section of our history…” He paused to flash an amused grin her direction. “…allow me to elucidate on a few facts as we wait. First, we are standing in the Colour Court of Saint James’s Palace, so named due to the ceremony we are about to witness wherein the regimental flags, known as ‘colours’ are exchanged. It is necessary to note that while formal, as all such procedures are, the purpose of the guard change ceremony is of vital importance. In brief, the old guard is being replaced by the new guard, that is the regimental troops incoming for the next twenty-four hours. Ah, here they come now.”
Indeed, a line of guards was entering the courtyard via a corner archway. The only sound the rhythmic clap of booted heels on stone, they marched in a single file until standing in an exact square formation evenly spaced to cover roughly half of the open area.
As they marched in, Darcy again bent to deliver a hushed history lesson, as several others amongst the crowd were also doing. “The foot guard regiments that form the household division date to the 1660 restoration of Charles II to the throne, and, in fact, a bit before that, when he raised them while in exile. These designated troops have guarded the sovereign, the royal palaces, and other important places for nearly two hundred years. There are three or perhaps four regiments in the infantry—”
“Wait,” Georgiana interrupted, a teasing lilt to her voice, “is there a fact my learned brother is unsure of? Say it is not so!”
“I confess my military knowledge is incomplete. I leave that field to your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Of course, now that you point it out, a dearth in education is a tragedy which should never be allowed to remain unchecked. Perhaps we should enter into a comprehensive course of study on military history, tactics, and ceremonies. We might as well include the major wars and battles also. How does that sound, Miss Darcy?”
His expression was utterly serious, his brow arched and lips stern, as he gazed down at his no-longer-jolly sister. Even Lizzy was unsure how much of his statement was a jest. Then, just when nearly all color had drained from Georgiana’s face, a smile broke and he laughed. Tweaking her nose, he said, “I’ll spare you the torture of severe lessons, my dear. I do, after all, have much better things to do with my time in the months ahead.”
He glanced at Lizzy, warmth and renewed humor lighting his countenance. “However, if I may continue with the miniature history lesson, without further impertinent interruptions?” Georgiana hastily and vigorously bobbed her head. “I am fairly sure there are three foot-guard regiments in the household division. The Grenadier, Coldstream, and Scots regiments. There are also the household cavalry regiments, but we won’t see those guards here today.
“Now, these regimental soldiers perform many duties, including fighting in times of war, but will always have a portion in London, or wherever the monarch and royal family members are. The primary royal residence was the Palace of Whitehall, of course, until a fire destroyed the bulk of it in 1689. Upon establishing the official royal residence here, the foot guards transitioned here as well, but the processional we are about to see has remained largely unchanged. Now, listen.”
At that exact moment, the bell tower clock struck the eleventh hour, the clangs initially drowning out the sound of music growing louder. The enormous black doors of solid oak and metal marking the main entrance to the palace, which they had so recently passed by to access the Colour Court, were thrown open. The sounds of instruments and marching feet echoed down the tunnel, reaching the excited spectators long before they could see anything.
“The new guard musters in Friary Court, located to the south, on the other side of that building.” Darcy pointed to the three-story high, red brick wing to the right of where they stood. “They march up the alley, past Marlborough House, around the corner, and along Pall Mall before entering through the main gate. They are, as you can now see, led by a contingency of the Coldstream Guards Regimental Band.”
Indeed, all the spectators could now see the leader of the parade. Lizzy’s breath caught as others released gasps and exclamations of awed enthusiasm for his august presence, as well as the personages immediately behind him.
The drum major wore a stunning uniform of scarlet and gold, his chapeau decorated with a profusion of feathers. Behind, in timed-step, were four musicians of African heritage, two with tambourines and two with cymbals. Exotic faces with skin and eyes black as night, they wore magnificent Turkish costumes of white and silver with billowing muslin trousers, vests in scarlet velvet adorned with fringe and tassels, and white muslin turbans festooned with red plumes and jewels.
The quality of their performance was equally as impressive as their appearance. While not a musical aficionado, Lizzy had seen enough minstrels and orchestras in her life to recognize something special was happening before her awestruck eyes.
The ability to play an instrument with skill was an essential factor that lifted one artist above another. However, transcendent mastery meant instrumental excellence in conjunction with an exceptional flair for performance. The Coldstream band was irrefutably in this category.
The tambourine players, for example, did not merely hit their hands onto the flat surface, but also rolled their fingers over the parchment and flicked the bells in varied tempos, all while whirling the instrument around and even tossing it into the air. Similarly, the cymbals of silver—polished bright as mirrors to catch the sunbeams and add glittering sparkles with each strike—were flourished side to side and above the musicians’ heads. The quartet capered rather than marched, and their agility with fingers, arms, and legs was timed to the music.
“I have read of the Janissary percussionists,” Lizzy whispered. “Introduced by the Duke of York some two decades ago, yes?”
“Correct,” Darcy whispered into her ear. “For the guard change ceremony there are only a few, usually just two, so we are fortunate today. Someday, perhaps next spring when in Town for the season, we shall observe the Horse Guards’ Parade, Trooping the Colour, or another performance with the household guards. Then you will witness the full complement of musicians. It is a sight to behold.”
Lizzy could not fathom it and for the present just wanted to relish the extraordinary experience fast unfolding in the courtyard. The rousing martial song was accompanied by musicians playing bugles, trumpets, bassoons, oboes, and an assortment of drums. While marching in a proper formation and lacking the tricks employed by the fantastical percussionists, the artists were every bit as outstanding musically.
As breathtaking as they were, the band served the express purpose of setting the beat for the march of the Household Division of the King’s Guards. The regimental soldiers, two abreast, trailed behind the musicians. Dressed in vividly sc
arlet coats, bleached white breeches and gaiters over glossy black boots, and tall, bearskin, plumed hats, they marched out of the arched portal in perfect configuration, bayonetted muskets held against their shoulders. As with the band led by a drum major, the guard was led by the commanding officer. The sun glinted off the mass of medals pinned to his broad chest and the gold tips of the lance he swung in time to the music’s beat. This was the new guard, as Darcy had informed them, although aside from the slight differences in uniform and banner color, the men were as alert and rigidly postured as the soon-to-be-relieved old guard waiting patiently in the courtyard.
The newcomers lined up facing the outgoing guards, their square formation an exact duplication. The Coldstream Band had marched to the north wall of the Colour Court, standing nearest to the gateway tunnel, and continued to play for an additional fifteen minutes. Then, abruptly and with a crashing crescendo, the music ended.
Into the gradually receding musical echoes, brisk shouts of formal greeting and declaration burst forth from the lips of the two commanding officers. Saluting with their rifles, the captain of the old guard then stiffly extended his arm, the key to the palace gripped tight in his hand. The captain of the new guard grasped onto the key, his hold firm and secure, and only then was the key relinquished. Upon completion of this symbolic gesture, the transfer of responsibility for the palace’s security, and by extension the safety of the reigning monarchy and royal family, was fulfilled.
The entire ceremony was conducted as if not a soul were around except for the musicians and guards themselves. Not a one of them glanced aside or acknowledged the existence of the witnesses. The soldiers of the new guard remained in a rigid pose until the old guard passed through the gates and out of sight, with the military band now trailing behind. In crisp military posture, the new guard scattered to their assigned stations surrounding the gate and elsewhere within and without the palace compound.
The awed spectators murmured if they spoke at all, and slowly moved through the tunnel and past the gate. Once outside, they joined the crowds who had watched the processional from the street. Darcy and Bingley subtly drew the ladies aside, close to the outer wall of the palace, allowing the people to disperse in varying directions rather than fight the press of bodies.
Finally breathing normally, Lizzy squeezed Darcy’s arm to gain his attention, and then asked, “How is it that we were able to watch from inside the palace when so many were outside? Do they not know it is possible to come inside?”
Surprisingly, he appeared faintly embarrassed and stammered as he answered. “The guard is…particular in whom they allow inside. One has to be, approved, shall we say.” At her confused expression, he sighed, then explained, “I made advanced arrangements, once Bingley and I decided on our agenda. It pays to have family in the aristocracy, upon occasion, at least.”
“Oh! I see. Well, this time, at least,” Lizzy laughed, “I am quite happy your relatives are lords and ladies. It was truly a phenomenal experience I shall never forget. A wonderful start to the day, perfect to inspire patriotism and pique interest in exploring more of the city’s fascinating history. Thank you, William.”
As Mr. Darcy would prove over and over during that day, his knowledge of London and English history was profound. It was somewhat daunting, in all honesty, to recognize the breadth of his education and the deftness of his mind. His ability to retrieve statistics, dates, and concise answers to nearly every question she asked was frankly mind-boggling.
Riveted to every word, Lizzy's respect for his intellect increased massively. Bingley, Jane, and Georgiana, conversely, often assumed the glazed, blank eyes of people fighting to appear interested.
In short order, the crowds cleared until average street traffic and pedestrians were all that remained. It was then that the women noticed Mr. Bingley’s landau waiting next to the curb not far from where they had disembarked, only now facing east on Pall Mall
Whether designed for honest exploration or to cause disorientation, the subsequent thirty-minute circuitous ride was enjoyed by all. At a loss as to the carriage's destination, Jane and Lizzy accepted defeat in the guessing challenge for the next round. Instead, they studied the passing scenery and listened to Mr. Darcy's history lectures and fascinating insights.
“Charing Cross, the relatively open space where Pall Mall, Whitehall, and the Strand meet, derives from the ancient village named Charing. It was a resting place between London and Westminster once upon a time, and indeed, there was an enormous cross built here by Edward I. Removed in 1647, according to records, the stones were used to pave the front of Whitehall Palace. Before removing the cross, the statue of Charles I was erected nearby.”
As he spoke, the carriage turned right onto Cockspur Street. The bronze statue of King Charles I mounted on horseback rose high into the sky atop a pedestal of stone. Lizzy knew the history of the English civil wars leading to the abolishment of the monarchy and the king’s execution in 1649, as well as how the statue was hidden away for nearly thirty years until miraculously being “found” after the restoration of Charles II to the throne. Regardless of her knowledge, it was a delight to listen to William’s resonant voice as he recounted the dry facts of history, mingling then with humorous anecdotes and intriguing minutiae, and delivering it all with a storyteller’s flair she hadn’t expected.
The coachman, directed by Mr. Bingley, parked the carriage near the corner of Cockspur and Whitehall. From their comfortable seats, they could leisurely inspect the impressive statue and rows of handsome buildings fronting the bustling intersection. Darcy and Bingley took turns pointing out the various businesses and residences, such as Northumberland House, but of particular importance to Darcy was the Royal Mews.
“The current building houses the horses which belong personally to the king and prince regent. As such, it should more appropriately be called the Royal Stables. However, as the original area and structures were for the falcons and hawks kept by the monarchy for the sport of falconry, from as early as 1377, the term mews has remained. How I wish they were still intact and able to be seen with my own eyes.”
His timbre carried a note of reverence Lizzy had never detected before, and his eyes glowed. Not until after they were married would she learn of his passion for falconry and the mews at Pemberley. At present it was a mystery to file away, the tour commencing with a sudden snap of the reins driving them back into the traffic heading east on the Strand.
Passing by the Savoy and Somerset House, Darcy and Bingley shared the history and personal perspectives of both. Moments later, the carriage turned left onto a narrow, unnamed street. This diverting was followed by a series of left and right turns, Lizzy struggling in vain to reconcile their location with the vague map of London in her mind. Thus far, the ladies were losing the guessing game. Not that they would truly be losers in the end, of course. Nevertheless, there was an element of pride attached.
“Are we to shop at Covent Garden, then?”
Jane’s query was asked in such a calm, indifferent tone that, for a whole minute, no one said a word. Naturally, it was Mr. Bingley who rallied first.
“Outstanding, Miss Bennet! See that, Darcy? I knew we could not fool them.”
“I am sincerely impressed,” Darcy admitted. “Indeed, Miss Bennet, we are nearing Covent Garden.”
Piping up from her cozy spot between Jane and Lizzy, Georgiana implored, “Praise God, a place to find food. I am famished!”
“I fail to see how you could be ‘famished’ so soon after breakfast, Sister dear, but you are correct that we did have the idea of a light snack of fresh fruit or whatever looks appetizing, with a beverage to quench our thirst.”
For over an hour they explored the vast square containing rows of stalls selling fruits and vegetables, as well as the endless varieties of flowers the market was famous for. Darcy offered tidbits of history in between buying anything Lizzy or Georgiana showed the faintest interest in. As for the purchasing, Lizzy’s embarrassment o
ver his inexhaustible generosity slowly faded, primarily due to Georgiana, who was accustomed to her brother obtaining anything she wanted, so she didn’t bat an eyelash. As for the history, while frequently interrupted and often difficult to hear over the clamor, Lizzy soaked it in, along with the exhilarating sights, sounds, and smells.
“The Earl of Bedford hired architect Inigo Jones to create an organized layout for the market. I believe that was somewhere in the second or third decade of the seventeenth century. Jones’s design included the piazza you see along two sides of the square, the graveled central courtyard itself, terraces of impressive houses ringing the square, and Saint Paul’s Church.” Darcy indicated the colonnaded, distinctly Romanesque building in the precise center of the western side. “It holds the distinction of being the first new church built in London after the Reformation. Jones was inspired by Italian architecture, hence the Tuscan porticos and raised arcade. Fire has damaged the church once or twice, with reconstruction undoubtedly altering the original design, but it is still impressive.”
“The whole square is quite lovely,” Lizzy said. “I suppose it is unfair to compare a famed, city marketplace with the ramshackle, country equivalents I am familiar with. Covent Garden is a pleasant surprise.”
“The Earl of Bedford was forward thinking, a trait I admire. Sometimes we forget that London was not always the modern metropolis which now surrounds us. In the era of Henry VIII, the lands separating the boroughs of London and Westminster were considerable. Vast acres of orchards, gardens, meadows, and farming connected to Westminster Abbey’s Benedictine monastery. It is the latter wherein the name comes from, covent being an etymological derivative of the Latin and the ancient French words for a religious house. That random information aside, even a hundred years after King Henry, much of this area remained farmland. The need for a centrally located market for produce was a brilliant idea of the earl’s, and Charles II agreed, with royal Letters Patent granted to him.”