Crown Imperial: An Alt British Monarchy
- Thread starter Opo
- Start date
And a fabulous suggestion it was too! I was encouraged by your post to do a little research into why the custom of commissioning funerary music for fallen Kings and Queens fell out of fashion. I assumed that of all people the OTL Queen Victoria would have insisted on some kind of musical tribute to the Prince Consort. Well, sadly I couldn't find anything beyond what I'd already gleaned from another source; that the Royal Family simply began to use regular set pieces for funerals as they do today with the likes of Land of Hope and Glory, Jerusalem and I Vow to Thee, My Country.
But what I did find was this:
It's Sir Arthur Sullivan's 1872 Festival Te Deum which was especially written to celebrate the recovery of the Prince of Wales (later Edward VII) from typhoid. It's dedicated to Queen Victoria for obvious reasons but this little discovery led me to find that whilst the Royal Family stopped commissioning musical works to record landmark events in their lives, this didn't stop the composers seeking royal patronage by writing such pieces themselves for public performance.
So watch this space and thank you for planting the seed!
GV: Part Three, Chapter One: A Shadow of the Past
King George V
(1827 - 1885)
Part Three
The King Alone
Chapter One: A Shadow of the Past
The Spring of 1842 was not ushered into England’s pleasant pastures green with any of the familiar gaieties the British people so looked forward to throughout the long, cold winter. Whilst the working classes might otherwise have been kept busy making preparations for the time-honoured Spring-tide festivals held up and down the land with all cheerfulness (and eccentricity), all such revelries were cancelled and instead, a kind of grey stagnancy settled as people simply went about their labours as if time itself had been suspended on that terrible first day of February. The upper classes too, who usually saw spring as nature’s reminder that the social season was about to begin, could not throw themselves into the forthcoming round of merriments with quite the same gusto. The races at Aintree and the Boat Race on the Tideway were scrapped and there were even rumours that Queen Charlotte’s Ball, held each year since 1780, may be written off too [1]. This proved quite the inconvenience to those high society matriarchs who had spent time (and money) buffing the rough edges of their spinster daughters ahead of their grand debut, though anybody who even hinted at such sentiments was roundly chided for being so unkind.
Nothing was to be the same that year. The State Opening of Parliament was postponed and Garter Day was cancelled. Theatres remained closed and though public houses and markets were seen as essential to the day-to-day life of the British people, they quickly adjusted to reduced hours even though there was no official directive to indicate that they should do so. The black crepe banners slowly came down from the balustrades of public buildings, yet an atmosphere of melancholy still hung in the air in every village, town and city across the country. The diarist Charles Greville noted that “the only trace of normal activity is to be found in those grand establishments in Brook Street where the dressmakers and milliners of the city cannot possibly find enough black satin to meet the demand for mourning attire. The ladies of Belgravia seem to have decided that if they cannot display their latest fashions at the races or at a debutante’s ball, they shall make mourning a fashionable affair instead”. The country was still reeling from the sudden and unexpected death of Queen Louise and at a time when the British people were far more deferential, the six months of court mourning to be observed at the King’s instruction was respected throughout the United Kingdom as if it had been passed down from the Almighty on Mount Sinai as a holy commandment.
A fashion plate from 1842 showing the styles of mourning dress worn at the time.
Nowhere was this felt more than at Windsor where since the Queen’s funeral, a gloomy air of silence had descended upon the Castle. Those who walked past William the Conqueror’s great fortress could not help but feel a pang of empathy for those inside who were now forced to confront not only the sad reality of what had passed but a future which looked very different from the one they had expected. At all royal residences, courtiers and domestics alike wore black armbands and these would remain in place until an eagle-eyed maid or footman spotted a female member of the Royal Family wearing grey or lilac, an indication that the court was moving into half-mourning. But it should be noted that the Royal Family was not exactly united in grief with those who served them so faithfully. Though they may have felt their loss to be equal, the dedicated members of the Queen’s Household ceased to hold any position at court at the very moment Her Majesty breathed her last. It fell to the Lord Chamberlain to quietly inform them that their services were no longer required and that consequently, that they should gather their belongings and vacate the Castle within a few days.
This meant the departure of the loyal Duchess of Buccleuch from court as her position of Mistress of the Robes no longer existed. So too were the Queen’s ladies of the bedchamber somewhat unceremoniously shown the door. However, they had one last task to perform. The rooms used by Queen Louise in the private apartments were to be respectfully cleared of any indication of the tragedy had occurred, though her personal belongings were to remain untouched with the exception of her clothes which were to be stored in boxes filled with mothballs and tucked away in wardrobes in the dressing room. Once the Queen’s ladies had fulfilled this rite, they left as one through the Henry VIII Gateway, back to the comfort of their country estates or townhouses. Housemaids were sent into the private apartments to cover the furniture with dustsheets, the windows were closed, the curtains drawn and the doors locked. These rooms were to remain bolted shut against the world outside for the next five years. Not even the King entered and eventually, he would move his apartments at Windsor so that he did not have to pass by the suite which held so many tender memories of his late wife.
In the immediate aftermath of the Queen’s death, the King trod water as best he could. Clearly his loss affected him very deeply but from the day Louise died to the day of her interment, he appeared stoic in the face of it. He received the various delegations who came from all over Europe to attend the Queen’s funeral and for a time, he even continued to attend to his state papers each evening in his study. We know this changed because of a note that exists in the Royal Archives at the Round Tower at Windsor. Charlie Phipps acknowledges receipt of black edged stationery and replies by instructing the Master of the Household to see to it that the notepaper be delivered not to the King’s Study in the Private Apartments but to the Cambridge Room on the nursery floor of the Castle. George V moved his desk to this modest salon in the week after the late Queen was laid to rest and this would become a kind of monastic cell where he spent the vast majority of his time. Nobody but Phipps was allowed in and only then to deliver the daily briefings from the Cabinet with news of the ongoing war effort.
Those left behind at Windsor after the private burial service included the Strelitzes, Princess Mary, the Dowager Duchess of Clarence, the Cambridges, the Sussexes, the Earl of Armagh and the Prince and Princess of Orange. With the exception of the Oranges, the last time the family had gathered en masse was for the Christmas celebrations held just a few months earlier when everything seemed so picture perfect. Now there was an unavoidable and painful absence in their midst. But the King too was nowhere to be seen. The little he ate at this time was delivered to the Cambridge Room on a tray and Phipps was ordered to sent a note to everyone in the Castle that they should not walk in the Great Park between the hours of 5am and 7am when the King made his solitary way outside in the morning mist. Naturally George’s family respected his wishes and most were unaffected by the dictate given that most were bedding down at Royal Lodge, Frogmore or Adelaide Cottage. Nobody wanted to voice the obvious; what was to happen next? The Queen’s death had overshadowed the birth of a son and heir both for the public and for the Royal Family and clearly the carefully made plans the King had devised were abandoned. Prince William was not, for example, created Prince of Wales on the day he was born as George V intended. Most expected this would now come at his christening, whenever that may be. Indeed, it was the christening that kept most of the guests at Windsor, all wishing to support the King in what would be a bittersweet ceremony, though some saw it as a convenient line in the sand which might serve as an indication of when they might leave Windsor. But the King said nothing on the subject, neither could Phipps draw him on it.
Grand Duke George was particularly shaken by the loss of his eldest child and it appears that in his grief, he became resentful of the fact that his son-in-law would not show his face. He seemed to latch on to the christening of his grandson too as something that must take place as a priority, not because of any strong religious conviction but because “Sunny would insist upon it”. Grand Duchess Marie agreed with her husband and at Adelaide Cottage, she begged Princess Mary and the Dowager Duchess of Clarence to form a deputation to try and make the King see that the baptism was an essential rite of passage on these grounds. They were in no particular rush to return back to Neustrelitz but at the same time, like anyone in their unfortunate position, they were also looking for some kind of closure which the christening of their grandchild might offer. Princess Mary had installed herself as a kind of matriarch in the days that followed the Queen’s death. It was she who dismissed the Queen’s servants and began to take responsibility for the ordering of meals and other important household duties. She liaised with the government too, the Prime Minister (albeit himself saddened at the Queen’s loss) eager to agree the way forward on the State Opening of Parliament. But as much as Princess Mary tried to forge a path to normality, there was one member of the Royal Family who frustrated everybody with her antics – the Princess of Orange. [2]
Victoria, Princess of Orange.
Victoria had always been prone to extreme moods and grief was no exception. Indeed, she seemed to have a passion for mourning which was so thorough that it became exhausting. Even those members of her family she disliked or did not know particularly well (such as the old Duchess of Cumberland) became saintly figures worthy of excessive praise and profuse outpourings of sorrow. “The King weeps”, Princess Mary remarked, “But Drina weeps louder”. She quickly made a nuisance of herself at Windsor and seized upon the vagueness of when she might return to the Netherlands as an opportunity to settle herself at Windsor as a kind of “Mourner-in-Chief”. She even took it upon herself to order the Household staff to drape the portraits of Queen Louise at the castle with black crepe and to place bouquets of white roses beneath them. She asked the Dean of Windsor to say special prayers for the Queen’s memory at St George’s Chapel each morning which she attended personally; a veiled figure overcome with emotion who more often than not had to excuse herself because she found the experience all too intense. The Duchess of Cambridge suggested that Victoria was not acting out of genuine sympathy but rather from relief because the situation at hand gave her the excuse she needed not to go back to Holland, which was probably a very accurate assessment. [3]
The final straw came when Victoria commanded the architect Decimus Burton to attend her at Frogmore where the Oranges were staying. The King, she insisted, was far too desolate to consider what arrangements should be made for a public memorial to his late wife and Victoria wished to take this burden from him. She proposed a vast monument featuring a 12ft high statute of the late Queen being borne to heaven by angels to be placed in one of the Royal Parks. Victoria told Burton to “discuss all monetary matters with Mr Disraeli, for the government will surely wish to fund such a memorial on behalf of a very distressed nation”. Burton thought he had better check these arrangements with Princess Mary before he began working on any designs. The poor man was so firmly rebuked that he said afterwards that it wasn’t Joshua’s trumpet which caused the walls of Jericho to fall “but the temper of Princess Mary”. Victoria was preparing to receive the Poet Laureate, Robert Southey, to commission some kind of literary tribute to the late Queen when Princess Mary arrived at Frogmore in high dudgeon. Victoria was left in no doubt that she had thoroughly overstepped the mark and that if she did not cease in her interferences and excessive grieving, she would be asked to leave.
Of course, there were memorials for the late Queen already in the offing. Those who could commemorate her life in some creative way did so, most famously the German composer Felix Mendelssohn, who wrote the fugue Music for Queen Louise in March 1842 and which was first performed at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig just three months after her death [4]. The Poet Laureate needed no prompting from the Princess of Orange and set to work on his own tribute Verses for a Beloved Queen whilst up and down the country local officials gathered to discuss how best their own village or town might memorialise the late Queen. The first town to do so was Weymouth, the place where Queen Louise had made her first public appearance in England after her marriage. The Aldermen of Weymouth agreed to set aside £150 which would be used to commission a statue of the late Queen consort which was unveiled in February 1843 at Nothe Gardens (subsequently renamed Queen’s Park). If any of this was meant to bring comfort to the King, it did not do so. Indeed, when Phipps informed him that such efforts were being made across the country, George simply muttered “Very well” and carried on with his work.
As well as keeping her great niece in check, Princess Mary had a far more pressing concern that took up much of her time. Before her death, Queen Louise had agreed with her mother Grand Duchess Marie that the family governess, Fraulein Margrethe Hauser, would be brought from Rumpenheim to replace the outgoing Baroness Fillon as head of the royal nursery. In the first few weeks after the Queen’s death, the King moved his study to be closer to his children but he could not bring himself to actually enter the nursery, neither did he ask that the children be brought to see him. The problem it seemed, lay with the infant Prince William. “The painful reality of it all was that the King could not bear to look at the child”, the Duchess of Buccleuch noted in her diary, “He could only see the late Queen in the little Prince and it took some time for him to be reconciled to that. His Majesty was much changed in a short time thereafter and a great fervour took him when quite the opposite became true. He simply would not leave the nursery staff to their duties and he interfered in everything, causing a degree of unpleasantness - though everybody was surely very sympathetic to the cause of it all”.
One person who was not sympathetic was Fraulein Hauser. She ran a tight ship with the nursery doors closed to any visitors (even family members) but for two hours each evening before the children were put to bed. The new Governess of the nursery thought this should apply to the King too, regardless of the circumstances, and the disruption to her little domain was not at all welcomed when the King found his only real comfort in his children. Just as she became frustrated that George kept popping in and out of the nursery all day, distracting the maids who were too intimidated by his presence to get on with their work, so too did the dour Fraulein irritate the King. He thought her to be “a very cold fish indeed” and so began a series of clashes. When Hauser ordered the windows to be closed and a fire lit, the King had the fire put out and the windows opened. When Hauser ordered that the children must take the air for an hour each day, the King commanded that his children should not be taken outside in the Great Park because it was too cold. Eventually, they reached an impasse that made it impossible for Hauser to continue in royal service. The King wanted his children together, in one place, where he could sleep in a chair keeping watch if he so wished. But Hauser believed that from the very start boys and girls should be separated. “The Princess Royal and Princess Victoria must not be inclined to think of His Royal Highness as a doll or a plaything”, Hauser explained to a tense King George, “Neither must his presence be a distraction to them when they are about other things. It is better that the Prince therefore be kept in another part of the nursery entirely”.
Grand Duchess Marie tried to calm the tensions between the King and the new Governess of the Royal Nursery but to no avail. At Rumpenheim, Hauser had the unusual privilege of having been governess to the reigning Prince and as a result, she could use that affection to get her own way in all things where the nursery was concerned. She was also used to a far grander way of living. At Rumpenheim she had her own modest but comfortable house on the estate and Prince William engaged (and paid for) a general maid who kept the house clean and prepared the meals. In England however, Hauser had no reputation and no rank and thus she was accommodated in a cottage on the Windsor estate which she shared with Araminta Pope, a retired housekeeper who had once looked after Princess Augusta at Frogmore. The two women loathed each other and eventually Hauser demanded she be found alternative lodgings or else she would leave and go back to Germany. The King refused to be harangued by Hauser. Whilst previous Governesses might have been afforded such luxuries, this was because they came from noble families and so could expect a better standard of living and a higher degree of comfort as befitted their rank. They were not considered domestic servants because more often than not, they already had domestic servants themselves. Whilst Baroness Fillon had risen through the ranks and had become much loved (and much cossetted) by the Royal Family, Hauser was not so fortunate. George ordered Grand Duchess Marie to take Hauser back to Germany when the Strelitzes left and asked Princess Mary to find a suitable replacement without delay.
Though King George V kept very detailed diaries for most of his life, his journals of 1842 are incredibly sparse. We therefore must rely on the exchanges of letters between extended members of his family to chart his feelings at this time. In a letter from Princess Mary to her friend and confidant Lady Threadgold, we are told that the King “cannot bring himself to use any of the rooms he shared with the poor dear Queen and so has confined himself to the nursery floor. He even takes his meals there – on a tray if you can believe that – though he eats very little which of such great concern. Might you have a receipt or two to tempt his appetite?”.
The Duchess of Cambridge asked Princess Mary when she thought the christening of Prince William might take place “for as much as we wish to support poor Georgie in his terrible loss, we simply must return to Hanover as soon as possible”. The entire Royal Family were in limbo, carefully picking their way through the aftermath of the Queen’s death; “He is so very lost without her”, the Earl of Armagh wrote to Princess Auguste, “And though he bore the funeral well, I am told that the Cabinet are becoming restless as they have been allowed no audiences, not even the Prime Minister who expected some indication of when parliament might open – though Aunt Mary says the King cannot possibly be expected to attend personally”.
Princess Mary.
The situation was becoming untenable and it fell to Princess Mary to find a way forward. One morning, she resigned herself to the inevitable and made her way to the Cambridge Room, finding Phipps working at a desk in the corridor. Surprised to see her, Phipps jumped up and bowed, hastily explaining “His Majesty is not receiving today Ma’am”. He suggested she make an appointment for tomorrow instead.
“Tomorrow is it?”, Mary huffed, “Tomorrow is today’s luxury, young man. I shall see my nephew now, this instant. There is no need to announce me”.
And with that, the Princess barged her way into the Cambridge Room. Her nephew was sitting in the dark, his collar undone, his hair unkempt, his face unshaven. Mary gave a perfunctory curtsey. The room stank of stale smoke. She wobbled her way to the windows and pulled back the curtains, light flooding in, the windows thrown open to allow cool fresh air in at last.
“I did not give you permission to do that”, George muttered without leaving his chair or moving his gaze, “Kindly draw them back”. Mary ignored him.
“We do not live in the dark Georgie”, she said brusquely, “We are none of us moles”.
Adjusting the lace on her cuffs, she looked about for a chair, plunking herself down with a loud sigh as she fell into a settee facing the King.
“Now then”, she began officiously, “I have just seen Hobart and he tells me that Sunday will be perfectly convenient for the christening”
“Oh. That...”
“Yes, that”, Mary replied imperiously, “I shan’t allow a great nephew of mine to go about the place like a little heathen in a perambulator. It is time a decision was made and the family are all assembled and ready-”
“Not Sunday...”
“Yes Georgie, Sunday. Have you a list of godparents?”
George felt a lump come to his throat. As he spoke, his voice broke slightly.
“Please don’t do this…”
Mary closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath. It took all her strength not to dissolve into tears herself. Her old bones ached but so too did her heart. She had been enormously fond of the late Queen and had struggled much with her loss. But even more painful for the Princess had been the daily sight of her nephew descending even further into grief. Whilst she did not expect him to be unaffected by his loss, she could not sanction what appeared to be a total collapse. For nearly six weeks the Royal Family, the government, parliament, the court and the country had been struck dumb with bereavement, the shock giving way to sadness and the sadness then opening a door to a kind of captivity whereby nobody really knew when life might show the first signs of returning to normality.
Mary knew things would never the same again for her nephew – for any member of the Royal Family come to that – and she did not believe that the King would benefit from being hurried back to his duties too quickly. But neither could she allow the King to wallow in his sadness. If he stood any hope of coping with his loss, let alone recovering from it, he must face the reality of the situation and cling not to a shadow of the past but to look to the future. He owed it to his children, to his people but most of all to himself, to appreciate that whilst his extraordinary lot in life brought many luxuries with it, grief was not one of them. The Queen was dead. But the King lived and he must do what was expected of him if not as a Sovereign, then at least as a father.
“I must Georgie”, she said softly, “We all must if we want to carry on after this…this dreadful thing…I owe it to Sunny. And I owe it to you and that little babe in arms too. So…you will let me have a list of the godparents by Saturday and I shall make all the necessary arrangements”
She did not wait for a reply. She simply hauled herself up on her feet. As she turned to go, the silence of the room was shattered by a sound like a wounded animal. George let out a terrible cry of despair and sank into uncontrollable sobs. Mary rushed forward to her nephew, cradling him in her arms, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh my poor little one”, she cried, “Aunt Mary is here. I’m always here”
Phipps noted in his diary that Princess Mary spent four hours with the King that day.
On Sunday the 13th of March 1842, the Royal Family gathered at St George’s Chapel, Windsor. As they arrived clad in black, they were greeted by the Dean of Windsor who was asked by Princess Mary to conduct the service and baptise the child, an honour usually reserved for the Archbishop of Canterbury. When all were assembled, footsteps echoed in the vaulted ceiling. There, his great aunt holding his arm, was the King. It was the first time since his wife’s funeral that many of those present had seen him. He looked pale and drawn as he made his way to the font where his aunts, uncles, cousins and in-laws stood. Fraulein Hauser held the baby tightly to her but the King retrieved his son from her arms, gently kissing him on the forehead. He looked down to see that the infant was wearing a beautiful new christening robe of Honiton lace. It was strangely familiar. Though Queen Louise had been buried in her wedding gown, the veil she wore that day had been kept back by Grand Duchess Marie. She, Princess Mary, the Dowager Duchess of Clarence and the Duchess of Cambridge had spent the last few days carefully working to turn the veil into a christening gown. This gown would be worn by every member of the Royal Family thereafter until it became too delicate and was replaced by a replica in the mid-1980s.
The godparents were asked to come forward. These were Princess Mary, Dowager Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh, the Crown Princess of Denmark (for whom the Princess of Orange stood proxy), the Tsarevna of Russia (for whom Princess Augusta of Cambridge stood proxy), the Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (the late Queen’s brother), the incumbent Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (the baby’s grandfather) and the Earl of Armagh. The Dean of Windsor asked the King if the child had been baptised before. George could not speak. His eyes were too full of tears.
“Of course he hasn’t!”, Princess Mary hissed, "Now let's have it done!"
Nervously, the Dean began;
"Dearly beloved, forasmuch as all men are conceived and born in sin, and that our Saviour Christ sayth, none can enter into the Kingdom of God except he be regenerate, and born anew of water and of the holy Ghost: I beseech you to call upon God the Father, through our Lord Jesus Christ, that of his bounteous mercy he will grant to this Child that thing which by nature he cannot have, that he may be baptized with water, and the holy Ghost, and received into Christs holy Church, and be made a lively member of the same…" [5]
And at that moment, the little Prince made it clear just how lively he could be, letting out a very loud but very happy scream. The King smiled. He looked to his aunt. She nodded at him knowingly as the Dean asked what name was to be given to the child.
“William George Adolphus Frederick”, she announced proudly. [6]
“William George Adolphus Frederick…I baptise thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen”.
That evening, a bulletin was issued from Windsor.
“His Majesty the King has been pleased by letters patent under the Great Seal, to create his beloved son the Prince William George Adolphus Frederick of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, Prince and Great Steward of Scotland, to be Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester on this, the 13th day of the 3rd month in the 15th year of the reign of our gracious Sovereign King George the Fifth, on which His Royal Highness was received into Christ’s holy Church at St George’s Chapel, Windsor in the presence of the Sovereign and members of the Royal Family hereafter gazetted”.
The King was still some way from accepting the cruel loss that had befallen him. Indeed, 1842 was not a year in which anything felt remotely familiar to him as he saw the absence of his wife everywhere he went and in everything he did. But the christening of his son perhaps reminded him of the continuity of life and that in some way, his wife lived on in their much longed for son. Day by day, George V took comfort in his children and this seemed to give him the strength to at least try to return to some sense of normality. The Queen’s death may have marked the end of a chapter but the birth of the Prince of Wales heralded the start of a new one.
Notes
[1] The races at Aintree (home of the Grand National) became widely accepted as the start of the social season in England from around 1838 onwards. What was a small local affair became a national event as wealthy patrons took a renewed interest in racing and improved transport links via the railway meant that it was possible for spectators from further afield to attend. The Boat Race too had by this time become an established fixture of the social calendar and both events were seen as pre-cursors to Queen Charlotte’s Ball which was the “official” starting pistol for high society to ready itself for a busy summer.
[2] The Princess of Orange title was still used for the wife of the Prince of Orange at this time. Notably it wasn’t used in 2002 when the now King Willem-Alexander married Máxima Zorreguieta who was created a Princess of the Netherlands and a Princess of Orange-Nassau in her own right instead.
[3] Victoria’s excessive grieving didn’t begin with Prince Albert, rather it was always there much to the exhaustion of everyone around her. Stockmar believed it was a symptom of madness, possibly inherited from her grandfather, and when Victoria’s mother died in the OTL he had serious concerns that the Queen might have to undergo similar “treatments” to those applied to George III in the worst days of his illness.
[4] Full credit to @nathanael1234 for this idea!
[5] This is from the Book of Common Prayer 1662 which would have been in use in it's original form in 1842.
[6] William for his late great uncle the Duke of Clarence, George for his father, grandfather, cousin etc etc, Adolphus for his uncle the Duke of Cambridge and Frederick for his uncle the Duke of Sussex.
And so we begin Part Three!
For those who have asked about political developments/the situation abroad, fear not, we'll be returning to those themes in the next few instalments but I didn't want to fast forward from where Part Two left off and that meant we had to spend the first chapter of part three looking at how the Queen's death affected the King, the Royal Family and the country as a whole. And we also couldn't deny the new Prince of Wales his first proper appearance in the TL either!
I'm still working on the summarised timeline for the previous two parts but I didn't want to delay this chapter any longer so for those trying to catch up, I'll do my best to have something with you ASAP.
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Wow! What an update! Great stuff, Opo!
I enjoyed the reference to the famous Honiton lace christening gown. Nice twist to make it made out of Queen Louise's bridal veil.
I enjoyed the reference to the famous Honiton lace christening gown. Nice twist to make it made out of Queen Louise's bridal veil.
Thanks for using it!
A really good chapter. I hope George is able to fully recover from his grief. I think that this whole experience will make him a better person.
Also, Mary has just become my second favorite character(right after King George)
As things pass, so do things begin. Lovely reading.
This comparison with mole rats feels a bit strange to me, as they aren't native nor particularly well known in Britain.
Thank you so much! I wanted to include some little details to link the Queen with the occasion and that seemed the best fit.
You're very welcome! I always love writing for Mary, she's fun but she also offers much needed wisdom at times.
Thankyou so much!
And yes, quite right - corrected!
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I vote that Princess Mary should just become an immortal human who counsels future kings till the end of time
Would be the dream, but we sadly likely only have her around for another 15 years ish. She still has lots of wisdom to give out though, I'm sure
'COLD IS GOD'S WAY OF TELLING US TO BURN MORE CATHOLICS!'
Despite being a fictional character, I think that Edmund Blackadder should make an appearance ITTL. He can be George’s valet that accidentally blows up parliament or something like that
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Ah, wouldn't that be lovely?
With poor Queen Louise now dead and buried, there's very much a vacancy as the nation's hostess to be filled...who better than Mary?
I've now come to think of her as Miriam and even find I write in her voice now. If these were real characters (well, Mary was real but you take my point) and an adaptation was made, I think there's nobody who could portray our Princess like Ms Margoyles!
I wonder if the Blackadder name is common enough to slot it in somewhere without being too obvious? I love the suggestion!
As a heads up, I've been busy working on the next chapter but it'll be delayed until tomorrow or Wednesday as I'm currently having some work done to my house which is proving far more disruptive than I first thought it would be. That said, I'm hoping to get a trilogy out this week so there'll be lots to look forward to.