Chapter 6 Capital Exploration #3
At that exact moment, the bell tower clock struck the eleventh hour, the clangs initially drowning out the sound of music growing louder.
The enormous black doors of solid oak and metal marking the main entrance to the palace, which they had so recently passed by to access the Colour Court, were thrown open.
The sounds of instruments and marching feet echoed down the tunnel, reaching the excited spectators long before they could see anything.
“The new guard musters in Friary Court, located to the south, on the other side of that building.” Darcy pointed to the three-story high, red brick wing to the right of where they stood.
“They march up the alley, past Marlborough House, around the corner, and along Pall Mall before entering through the main gate. They are, as you can now see, led by a contingency of the Coldstream Guards Regimental Band.”
Indeed, all the spectators could now see the leader of the parade. Lizzy’s breath caught as others released gasps and exclamations of awed enthusiasm for his august presence, as well as the personages immediately behind him.
The drum major wore a stunning uniform of scarlet and gold, his chapeau decorated with a profusion of feathers.
Behind, in timed-step, were four musicians of African heritage, two with tambourines and two with cymbals.
Exotic faces with skin and eyes black as night, they wore magnificent Turkish costumes of white and silver with billowing muslin trousers, vests in scarlet velvet adorned with fringe and tassels, and white muslin turbans festooned with red plumes and jewels.
The quality of their performance was equally as impressive as their appearance. While not a musical aficionado, Lizzy had seen enough minstrels and orchestras in her life to recognize something special was happening before her awestruck eyes.
The ability to play an instrument with skill was an essential factor that lifted one artist above another. However, transcendent mastery meant instrumental excellence in conjunction with an exceptional flair for performance. The Coldstream band was irrefutably in this category.
The tambourine players, for example, did not merely hit their hands onto the flat surface, but also rolled their fingers over the parchment and flicked the bells in varied tempos, all while whirling the instrument around and even tossing it into the air.
Similarly, the cymbals of silver—polished bright as mirrors to catch the sunbeams and add glittering sparkles with each strike—were flourished side to side and above the musicians’ heads.
The quartet capered rather than marched, and their agility with fingers, arms, and legs was timed to the music.
“I have read of the Janissary percussionists,” Lizzy whispered. “Introduced by the Duke of York some two decades ago, yes?”
“Correct,” Darcy whispered into her ear.
“For the guard change ceremony there are only a few, usually just two, so we are fortunate today. Someday, perhaps next spring when in Town for the season, we shall observe the Horse Guards’ Parade, Trooping the Colour, or another performance with the household guards.
Then you will witness the full complement of musicians. It is a sight to behold.”
Lizzy could not fathom it and for the present just wanted to relish the extraordinary experience fast unfolding in the courtyard.
The rousing martial song was accompanied by musicians playing bugles, trumpets, bassoons, oboes, and an assortment of drums. While marching in a proper formation and lacking the tricks employed by the fantastical percussionists, the artists were every bit as outstanding musically.
As breathtaking as they were, the band served the express purpose of setting the beat for the march of the Household Division of the King’s Guards.
The regimental soldiers, two abreast, trailed behind the musicians.
Dressed in vividly scarlet coats, bleached white breeches and gaiters over glossy black boots, and tall, bearskin, plumed hats, they marched out of the arched portal in perfect configuration, bayonetted muskets held against their shoulders.
As with the band led by a drum major, the guard was led by the commanding officer.
The sun glinted off the mass of medals pinned to his broad chest and the gold tips of the lance he swung in time to the music’s beat.
This was the new guard, as Darcy had informed them, although aside from the slight differences in uniform and banner color, the men were as alert and rigidly postured as the soon-to-be-relieved old guard waiting patiently in the courtyard.
The newcomers lined up facing the outgoing guards, their square formation an exact duplication.
The Coldstream Band had marched to the north wall of the Colour Court, standing nearest to the gateway tunnel, and continued to play for an additional fifteen minutes.
Then, abruptly and with a crashing crescendo, the music ended.
Into the gradually receding musical echoes, brisk shouts of formal greeting and declaration burst forth from the lips of the two commanding officers.
Saluting with their rifles, the captain of the old guard then stiffly extended his arm, the key to the palace gripped tight in his hand.
The captain of the new guard grasped onto the key, his hold firm and secure, and only then was the key relinquished.
Upon completion of this symbolic gesture, the transfer of responsibility for the palace’s security, and by extension the safety of the reigning monarchy and royal family, was fulfilled.
The entire ceremony was conducted as if not a soul were around except for the musicians and guards themselves.
Not a one of them glanced aside or acknowledged the existence of the witnesses.
The soldiers of the new guard remained in a rigid pose until the old guard passed through the gates and out of sight, with the military band now trailing behind.
In crisp military posture, the new guard scattered to their assigned stations surrounding the gate and elsewhere within and without the palace compound.
The awed spectators murmured if they spoke at all, and slowly moved through the tunnel and past the gate.
Once outside, they joined the crowds who had watched the processional from the street.
Darcy and Bingley subtly drew the ladies aside, close to the outer wall of the palace, allowing the people to disperse in varying directions rather than fight the press of bodies.
Finally breathing normally, Lizzy squeezed Darcy’s arm to gain his attention, and then asked, “How is it that we were able to watch from inside the palace when so many were outside? Do they not know it is possible to come inside?”
Surprisingly, he appeared faintly embarrassed and stammered as he answered.
“The guard is…particular in whom they allow inside. One has to be, approved, shall we say.” At her confused expression, he sighed, then explained, “I made advanced arrangements, once Bingley and I decided on our agenda. It pays to have family in the aristocracy, upon occasion, at least.”
“Oh! I see. Well, this time, at least,” Lizzy laughed, “I am quite happy your relatives are lords and ladies. It was truly a phenomenal experience I shall never forget. A wonderful start to the day, perfect to inspire patriotism and pique interest in exploring more of the city’s fascinating history. Thank you, William.”
As Mr. Darcy would prove over and over during that day, his knowledge of London and English history was profound.
It was somewhat daunting, in all honesty, to recognize the breadth of his education and the deftness of his mind.
His ability to retrieve statistics, dates, and concise answers to nearly every question she asked was frankly mind-boggling.
Riveted to every word, Lizzy's respect for his intellect increased massively. Bingley, Jane, and Georgiana, conversely, often assumed the glazed, blank eyes of people fighting to appear interested.
In short order, the crowds cleared until average street traffic and pedestrians were all that remained. It was then that the women noticed Mr. Bingley’s landau waiting next to the curb not far from where they had disembarked, only now facing east on Pall Mall
Whether designed for honest exploration or to cause disorientation, the subsequent thirty-minute circuitous ride was enjoyed by all.
At a loss as to the carriage's destination, Jane and Lizzy accepted defeat in the guessing challenge for the next round.
Instead, they studied the passing scenery and listened to Mr. Darcy's history lectures and fascinating insights.
“Charing Cross, the relatively open space where Pall Mall, Whitehall, and the Strand meet, derives from the ancient village named Charing. It was a resting place between London and Westminster once upon a time, and indeed, there was an enormous cross built here by Edward I. Removed in 1647, according to records, the stones were used to pave the front of Whitehall Palace. Before removing the cross, the statue of Charles I was erected nearby.”
As he spoke, the carriage turned right onto Cockspur Street.
The bronze statue of King Charles I mounted on horseback rose high into the sky atop a pedestal of stone.
Lizzy knew the history of the English civil wars leading to the abolishment of the monarchy and the king’s execution in 1649, as well as how the statue was hidden away for nearly thirty years until miraculously being “found” after the restoration of Charles II to the throne.
Regardless of her knowledge, it was a delight to listen to William’s resonant voice as he recounted the dry facts of history, mingling then with humorous anecdotes and intriguing minutiae, and delivering it all with a storyteller’s flair she hadn’t expected.