Read Online The Balmoral Incident by Alanna Knight - Free Book Online
Authors: Alanna Knight
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small crowd eagerly watched us, trying to peer in at the windows, hoping this was a first glimpse of the King and Queen.
Across the road and up the hill to the new kirk which had been dedicated only ten years earlier in 1895. A disappointment in a way and I said I had been hoping for something earlier, a romantic ruin perhaps that had escaped the Covenant. This was Vince’s cue to tell us that there had been an earlier building dating back to the seventeenth century which had fallen into disrepair and become too difficult to maintain.
This new kirk with its lofty and beautiful setting amid birch and conifers was a fitting piece of Scottish fabric according to Vince who gets carried away on architecturalmatters. He sometimes, I felt, regretted his choice of medicine as a career, determined to give me a short guide of Crathie Church.
‘Much thought was given to the planning of the present building, white granite hewn from the neighbouring quarry at Inver and roofed in terracotta tiles,’ he added proudly. We smiled our appreciation and as we approached, dutifully noting that the central tower with its small spire pointing heavenward was based on native rock.
Clean and shining on the outside, all was pleasantly cordial within. A semicircular apse with the Balmoral pews on the right, the woodwork – which still smelt new – carried the rose, thistle and shamrock with the monogram of Queen Victoria.
As we took our places reserved for the royal household, he whispered that the hexagonal pulpit was made of fifteen varieties of Scottish granite. Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll had presented a collection of stones from the sacred isle of Iona which were worked into the granite, and the communion table was also of Iona marble. A rustle of silks and footfalls as, around us, the congregation filed into the pews.
‘Over there,’ Vince whispered. ‘That’s a monument to Victoria, Princess Royal, later Empress of Germany and mother of Kaiser Wilhelm, to commemorate her engagement to Prince Frederick William of Prussia in a glen only a few miles distant. She was the darling of her father Prince Albert, but alas rumour has it that this was the prelude to a less than happy married life.’
The congregation rose as the door opened to admitmembers of the royal family. I am, through force of habit by my career, always conscious of being watched and in this case I looked up and saw the King staring directly across at me. Our eyes met and there was a mere twitch of recognition, for seeing me seated next to Vince and knowing he had an excellent memory, had HM remembered our other encounter in an Edinburgh hotel after he had presided at the opening of a bridge and had Vince as his personal physician in attendance? He belonged to those males who have the ability to strip any attractive young woman naked in a glance as if weighing up her possibilities as a conquest. It had made me extremely uncomfortable. The years had not been kind to him since that meeting; he was larger than life, to say the least.
We stood for the opening hymn and prayers and as I followed the order of service, I hoped that the sermon would not be as long as had been desired and encouraged by Queen Victoria.
It was long enough and Meg behaved beautifully throughout but I was rather glad to hear the announcement of the closing hymn.
The royal party rose and again that rather searching glance from HM as they left. A curtsey from Meg and me. Thanks to the nuns, good manners were part of the syllabus by which their pupils were trained for a woman’s only role in life. Indeed it was what their parents paid for, to catch a husband, although as brides of Christ such skills were wasted on the nuns themselves.
Shaking hands with the minister at the door, his prayers for better weather had not been in vain, for there was evena glimpse of blue hastily concealed by burgeoning clouds. Waiting for our motor car, Meg spotted a pretty collie dog, chained and patiently
Across the road and up the hill to the new kirk which had been dedicated only ten years earlier in 1895. A disappointment in a way and I said I had been hoping for something earlier, a romantic ruin perhaps that had escaped the Covenant. This was Vince’s cue to tell us that there had been an earlier building dating back to the seventeenth century which had fallen into disrepair and become too difficult to maintain.
This new kirk with its lofty and beautiful setting amid birch and conifers was a fitting piece of Scottish fabric according to Vince who gets carried away on architecturalmatters. He sometimes, I felt, regretted his choice of medicine as a career, determined to give me a short guide of Crathie Church.
‘Much thought was given to the planning of the present building, white granite hewn from the neighbouring quarry at Inver and roofed in terracotta tiles,’ he added proudly. We smiled our appreciation and as we approached, dutifully noting that the central tower with its small spire pointing heavenward was based on native rock.
Clean and shining on the outside, all was pleasantly cordial within. A semicircular apse with the Balmoral pews on the right, the woodwork – which still smelt new – carried the rose, thistle and shamrock with the monogram of Queen Victoria.
As we took our places reserved for the royal household, he whispered that the hexagonal pulpit was made of fifteen varieties of Scottish granite. Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll had presented a collection of stones from the sacred isle of Iona which were worked into the granite, and the communion table was also of Iona marble. A rustle of silks and footfalls as, around us, the congregation filed into the pews.
‘Over there,’ Vince whispered. ‘That’s a monument to Victoria, Princess Royal, later Empress of Germany and mother of Kaiser Wilhelm, to commemorate her engagement to Prince Frederick William of Prussia in a glen only a few miles distant. She was the darling of her father Prince Albert, but alas rumour has it that this was the prelude to a less than happy married life.’
The congregation rose as the door opened to admitmembers of the royal family. I am, through force of habit by my career, always conscious of being watched and in this case I looked up and saw the King staring directly across at me. Our eyes met and there was a mere twitch of recognition, for seeing me seated next to Vince and knowing he had an excellent memory, had HM remembered our other encounter in an Edinburgh hotel after he had presided at the opening of a bridge and had Vince as his personal physician in attendance? He belonged to those males who have the ability to strip any attractive young woman naked in a glance as if weighing up her possibilities as a conquest. It had made me extremely uncomfortable. The years had not been kind to him since that meeting; he was larger than life, to say the least.
We stood for the opening hymn and prayers and as I followed the order of service, I hoped that the sermon would not be as long as had been desired and encouraged by Queen Victoria.
It was long enough and Meg behaved beautifully throughout but I was rather glad to hear the announcement of the closing hymn.
The royal party rose and again that rather searching glance from HM as they left. A curtsey from Meg and me. Thanks to the nuns, good manners were part of the syllabus by which their pupils were trained for a woman’s only role in life. Indeed it was what their parents paid for, to catch a husband, although as brides of Christ such skills were wasted on the nuns themselves.
Shaking hands with the minister at the door, his prayers for better weather had not been in vain, for there was evena glimpse of blue hastily concealed by burgeoning clouds. Waiting for our motor car, Meg spotted a pretty collie dog, chained and patiently
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