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Authors: Caroline Dunford
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little life you will get to play at being a lady. You will always have those memories.’
‘Your brother …’
‘Thinks this is a great laugh and, before you ask, Tippy will do whatever I ask.’
I was trapped. I could see no way out. Like Rory I had a deep foreboding this would not end well. Though I could never have suspected what was to happen.
We arrived at The Court on a sharp summer morning that carried the breath of autumn on the wind. It was late in the afternoon and four days before the wedding. Dinners and rehearsals would take up the next three days.
‘The Court’ is, naturally, not its full name, but were I to give the rest of it many people who might wish to remain anonymous in these pages would be exposed. However, for the sake of readers less familiar with the naming conventions of the English great houses, let me assure you that The Court has nothing to do with the Royal Court. It is simply a familiar abbreviation of the house’s name – for example it could have been Dently Court or some such thing. By dropping the identifying name it is implied everyone in the conversation knows where it is and if you don’t then you shouldn’t be part of the conversation in the first place. The upper classes do love their nicknames. After all nicknames are one of the very best ways to exclude the socially inferior. By this I don’t mean the servants, for the true aristocrat cares nothing for his servants’ opinions 7 , but that awful growing group that is beginning to be known as the middle classes. The Staplefords before the award of their peerage were most definitely middle-class. Of course they knew this, and were among the most vehement in their hatred of the middle classes. But really, I fear I am becoming most radical. I apologise.
In our little motorcade the family was all present. Merry came as lady’s maid and Rory as valet. None of the other servants the Staplefords had could be trusted with the full secret of my impostor charade and, perhaps more importantly, none of the others knew how to behave in such a grand establishment.
As the motor entered the final stretch of the tree-lined drive, I saw Richenda blanch, and even Lady Stapleford appeared a little white about the mouth. I saw an Earl’s residence, much like the one my mother had grown up in as a girl. Before us lay a big sprawling house that needed hordes of servants to keep it working, and a building strictly divided by the green baize door. The life upstairs of the betters and the army of lowers working downstairs. The whole structure was like a giant swan with the aristocratic members living a life of ease and leisure and the servants working like devils from dawn to dusk to make their master’s world a better place. However, it did have a very pretty portico.
The great house threw us into shadow as the car drew up. It was cold enough to make me wish I had chosen a winter dress. Some of the senior servants were lined up along the steps; after all, Richenda was joining the family, even if she would only be the Earl’s great-niece by marriage.
The lady in question looked decidedly green around the gills. ‘There is a question of prescience,’ hissed Lady Stapleford. ‘As bride-to-be, Richenda, you must go first and I will follow.’
‘Actually, we can’t do that,’ I said. ‘If I am a member of a Royal family, even a European one, then I outrank both of you.’
The colour came back into the cheeks of Lady Stapleford and her lips parted to no doubt utter a scalding response, but the butler was already at my door. He opened it and extended his hand. I gave it to him and he bowed very low. ‘Your Highness, Welcome to The Court.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, inclining my head a fraction. I descended gracefully and for the first time in my life felt grateful to my mother for the hours of deportment she had made me practice.
‘Indeed you are most welcome, my dear,’ said an elderly lady dressed in the very best fashion. This
‘Your brother …’
‘Thinks this is a great laugh and, before you ask, Tippy will do whatever I ask.’
I was trapped. I could see no way out. Like Rory I had a deep foreboding this would not end well. Though I could never have suspected what was to happen.
We arrived at The Court on a sharp summer morning that carried the breath of autumn on the wind. It was late in the afternoon and four days before the wedding. Dinners and rehearsals would take up the next three days.
‘The Court’ is, naturally, not its full name, but were I to give the rest of it many people who might wish to remain anonymous in these pages would be exposed. However, for the sake of readers less familiar with the naming conventions of the English great houses, let me assure you that The Court has nothing to do with the Royal Court. It is simply a familiar abbreviation of the house’s name – for example it could have been Dently Court or some such thing. By dropping the identifying name it is implied everyone in the conversation knows where it is and if you don’t then you shouldn’t be part of the conversation in the first place. The upper classes do love their nicknames. After all nicknames are one of the very best ways to exclude the socially inferior. By this I don’t mean the servants, for the true aristocrat cares nothing for his servants’ opinions 7 , but that awful growing group that is beginning to be known as the middle classes. The Staplefords before the award of their peerage were most definitely middle-class. Of course they knew this, and were among the most vehement in their hatred of the middle classes. But really, I fear I am becoming most radical. I apologise.
In our little motorcade the family was all present. Merry came as lady’s maid and Rory as valet. None of the other servants the Staplefords had could be trusted with the full secret of my impostor charade and, perhaps more importantly, none of the others knew how to behave in such a grand establishment.
As the motor entered the final stretch of the tree-lined drive, I saw Richenda blanch, and even Lady Stapleford appeared a little white about the mouth. I saw an Earl’s residence, much like the one my mother had grown up in as a girl. Before us lay a big sprawling house that needed hordes of servants to keep it working, and a building strictly divided by the green baize door. The life upstairs of the betters and the army of lowers working downstairs. The whole structure was like a giant swan with the aristocratic members living a life of ease and leisure and the servants working like devils from dawn to dusk to make their master’s world a better place. However, it did have a very pretty portico.
The great house threw us into shadow as the car drew up. It was cold enough to make me wish I had chosen a winter dress. Some of the senior servants were lined up along the steps; after all, Richenda was joining the family, even if she would only be the Earl’s great-niece by marriage.
The lady in question looked decidedly green around the gills. ‘There is a question of prescience,’ hissed Lady Stapleford. ‘As bride-to-be, Richenda, you must go first and I will follow.’
‘Actually, we can’t do that,’ I said. ‘If I am a member of a Royal family, even a European one, then I outrank both of you.’
The colour came back into the cheeks of Lady Stapleford and her lips parted to no doubt utter a scalding response, but the butler was already at my door. He opened it and extended his hand. I gave it to him and he bowed very low. ‘Your Highness, Welcome to The Court.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, inclining my head a fraction. I descended gracefully and for the first time in my life felt grateful to my mother for the hours of deportment she had made me practice.
‘Indeed you are most welcome, my dear,’ said an elderly lady dressed in the very best fashion. This
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