Sleeping Princess
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the reign of King George IV, the London Season started in April and ended at the beginning of June.
As the years went by, it lasted until the middle of July.
It was the dream of every debutante to be presented at a ‘Drawing Room’ in Buckingham Palace and to attend the numerous balls that were given in the large houses in Mayfair, Islington and Belgravia.
The Drawing Room was a Ceremonial Reception that was, at the beginning, always held in the Throne Room of Buckingham Palace at three o’clock precisely and there were several every year.
Later, they became an evening reception with a buffet of food and drink.
Ladies wishing to be presented could only obtain the honour through a relation or a friend who had previously been presented and with the strict approval of the Lord Chamberlain.
Débutantes, where possible, were presented by their mothers.
The lady who would make the presentation had to appear with whom she presented and in addition both of them must have unblemished characters and their conduct must be above reproach.
There was no question at all of anyone who had been through a Divorce Court being accepted.
At the first Drawing Room of the Season, the whole of the Corps Diplomatique were in full attendance with their elaborate gold uniforms adding to the great glamour of the ladies, who had three Prince of Wales’s white feathers on their heads and a train to their gowns.
Her Majesty would then go first to the Council Room, where she would greet the Royal Family.
When the members who were expected had arrived, the Queen would be warned.
CHAPTER ONE ~ 1875
Amalita opened the letter that had come from France.
She noticed that the envelope was not addressed in her father’s usual strong upright hand.
She thought just for a moment that it must have come from her stepmother.
Then she remembered that Yvette’s handwriting was very different and very French.
‘Who can it be from?’ she wondered.
Then she told herself that she had only to look inside to find the answer.
When she had read the letter through once, she went back to the beginning.
She stared at what was written in a such a way that would have told anyone watching that she had suffered a shock.
Finally Amalita went to sit on the window seat and gazed out into the garden.
It was nearly an hour later when the door opened and her sister Carolyn came in.
She was looking exceedingly lovely with her fair hair curled round her forehead and her face a little flushed.
Her blue eyes were the colour of the sky outside and she was so beautiful that she might have come from the sky itself.
“I have had a really marvellous ride, Amalita,” she said. “I went right up to the Beacon and there was not a soul in sight.”
Then, as her sister did not respond to her, she walked towards her, asking,
“What is the matter? What has happened?”
“I have just had – a letter from – France,” Amalita replied nervously. “Sit down, Carolyn.”
“From Papa?” Carolyn enquired. “So why should that upset you?”
She sat down because her sister had told her to and she chose a chair by the window and the sunshine turned her hair to quivering gold.
“This is a letter,” Amalita said very slowly, “from the Police in Nice.”
“The Police?” her sister exclaimed. “What can Papa have been up to?”
Amalita drew in her breath.
“Papa is – dead,” she told her, “and so is – Yvette.”
Her sister just stared at her.
After a moment she asked,
“Did you – did you say – dead?”
“Yes. According to this letter from the Police, Papa and Yvette went sailing, which, as you know, he always loved. A sudden storm got up and his yacht collided with a – cargo boat – and it sank. Their bodies were recovered, but they were already drowned.”
Amalita’s voice sounded so very strange, as if it was extremely difficult for her to utter the words.
Carolyn put her hands up to her eyes.
“Oh, poor Papa! How could he have gone so far away from us?”
“I find it just impossible to believe,” Amalita said, “You can read the letter for yourself. It is in French.”
“You know very well that my French is not as good as yours,” Carolyn objected. “Tell me what it says.”
“Just as I told you,” Amalita replied. “Papa and Yvette went sailing. They were both drowned and the Police said it took them some time to find out who Papa was and whom they could contact.”
She looked down at the letter again before she went on,
“In fact it was only when they found our letter to him that they were aware of his address.”
“So they wrote to you,” Carolyn said. “When did it all happen?”
“I can hardly believe it true, but it was nearly a month ago,” her sister answered.
“How can they have taken so long?” Carolyn asked.
For a moment Amalita did not reply.
Then after a moment she said,
“It seems terrible to think we were enjoying ourselves and not worrying a bit about Papa and all the time he was dead.”
There was another silence before Carolyn remarked,
“He did not – worry very much about – us after he – married Yvette.”
Now there was a distinct bitterness in her tone, which her sister did not miss.
She jumped up from the chair and moved to put her arms around Amalita.
“I know how upset you must be,” she said, “because you loved Papa and he meant so much to you. But you know, if you are truthful, that we had lost him after Mama died and he married that Frenchwoman.”
