I have decided to include in my blog a snippet from each of the unedited chapters of 209 A Story... (which ended up being the first edition run of the novel - numbering only 500)... yes... it has been interesting getting the feedback becuase you have some who are SO happy to have a copy of the 'unedited' version... and others who are less than pleased. All I can do is make the most of the mistake and wish them well on ebay... tee hee... I hope u enjoy it... have a good week... Steve
Chapter 1
Balmoral Castle Scotland
15th April 1865
‘Your Majesty’ said Charlotte as she lowered into a deep, respectful courtesy.
The Queen moved somewhat uncomfortably in her seat while appearing to look directly through the pale figure that stood three paces from the edge of her large, cluttered mahogany desk. The momentary silence broken with the crunching sound of the crinolines of the Queen’s black mourning dress as she regained her composure. Wafting pulses of lilac drew Charlotte’s attention to the porcelain vase on a table, off to one side and filled with spring flowers of daisies, early roses, laburnums and, of course, several sprigs of lilac.
‘After I became Queen in 1837, my first Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, suggested that it was impossible for a woman to stand alone for any time, in whatever position she may be.’ Raising her slender eyebrows alluded to the Queen’s opinion of such a statement and a slight dignified smile appeared on the sovereigns lips.
A wave of her right hand was the command for the slight twenty-five year-old to take a seat in the Royal Presence.
That late Saturday afternoon was uncharacteristically warm; especially for the north of Scotland. The pinkish clouds were visible from the large bay window and the manatee, opal coloured sky was a canvas on which the clouds floated without purpose, or direction.
Upon the grey and red tartan covered chair, Charlotte sat upright with her shoulders back. This was generally the way in which she sat but on this occasion she was overly conscious of her posture. Her petite hands nestled into the folds of her full skirt and her blue eyes did not move from the face of her Sovereign who continued to move things around on her desk. Typical of the fashion of the day, her long mouse coloured hair was rolled into the up-swept style and framed a pleasant rounded face, wearing no makeup, for it was forbidden in all Royal Households and the only jewellery being a small silver cross that was attached to a long, thin chain. While waiting for her audience to continue, Charlotte was conscious that her breathing had quickened the instant she walked into the room.
Across the table, lay several leaves of paper; a mixture of hand written and printed text and other thickened cards of various images. On one particular piece was an illustration of a grand celebration at Taymouth Castle; on another a small group of people rowing out across Loch Tay and, quite visible on the third, was an engraving of the novelist, Sir Walter Scott.
The large sitting room at Balmoral Castle in the Scottish Highlands was a welcomed retreat for the widowed Queen of four agonising years. The entire room was furnished in the same tartan; the design of which had been by the Consort himself. The ceiling mouldings were brightly coloured and on the wall were several paintings of stags and local landscapes; all in keeping with the ancient Scottish heritage. It was comfortable, for it was a place in which the Queen worked on her papers, corresponded with members of her growing family, and a place she would often listen to the readings of Dr Norman Macleod, the local minister at Crathie Church, while she would operate one of her several spinning wheels.
Continuing to shuffle papers, purposefully, Her Majesty wrote several times in the generous margins of each printed transcripts. The notes were edits for the first edition of her, 'Highland Journal'.
From left to right the large blotter rolled several times in her tiny hand before straining forward and returning it to its tamarind coloured leather stand.
Atop the fireplace the ticking from a wooden clock set the pace.
‘Charlotte, you have always been very special to me … and to Prince Albert.' she added reflectively. 'The day, on which you were born, was the very same day as our marriage,’ Her thoughts wondered fleetingly to the memory of a cupid writing the date on a scroll placed across its knees that adorned the Queen’s three hundred pound, multi-tiered wedding cake … ‘10th February 1840’.
A brief and somewhat nervous smile now came to Charlotte’s face as she fiddled with a linen handkerchief trimmed with Honiton lace. It had once belonged to the consort of King George III, her namesake, and had been a gift from her own mother.
The Queen remained imperturbable.
‘I have decided that the time has come, Charlotte. That you have stood alone for long enough. I have had word that Baron Rominscov will be in attendance at Balmoral in June before the Court returns to London. The Baron currently holds the title of Colonel of the 1st Guards Cavalry Division of the Imperial Russian Guard and is coming as a Special Envoy to the Czar Alexander of Russia.’
Turning to her left and opening the desk drawer, Queen Victoria removed a dark green felt covered box. She lifted the lid unceremoniously and removed a small miniature from inside and handed it to Charlotte.
‘But, Your Majesty …’ Charlotte did not continue for she knew better than to question the expressed wish of the Queen. This was an asserted royal prerogative not a questionable opportunity.
A strident and somewhat discordant knock at the door interrupted the conversation.
‘Enter’ commanded the Queen loudly.
‘Your Majesty’ bowed the sole Minister of State who was in attendance to the Monarch at Balmoral Castle during Easter Court.
‘Yes, what is it?’ she asked – not at all impressed that her private conversation had been interrupted.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I need to inform you that we have just had a confirmed report, over the wire, that the President of the United States of America… Mr Abraham Lincoln… has died from bullet wounds he received from an assassination attempt.
