Caroline
‘Remember, you have me here, and Lascelles, too.’ The Queen Mother, in a matching, though less elaborate, white gown, inspected her daughter from the side. ‘He’s the captain steering the ship, carrying us safely where we need to go.’
‘But, darling, we have a lot of experience,’ her mother appeased. ‘We can’t have you making mistakes.’
Elizabeth answered with steadiness. ‘Every good monarch has to find his or her own path. I’ve read the books, I know the constitution. I’m ready to undertake this role. I know that the only way to do this is to do what is moral and right, to take the long view, and to put my trust in God.’
In coronation tradition, Queen Elizabeth made her way through the palace in her finery, the Great Hall packed with her staff, the first to see the new queen on this, her most important day.
Four trumpeters heralded her entrance, and there she was, like a goddess, as her gown and jewels glistened in the light of the heaving chandelier.
A great cheer rang out, all the staff, from maids to equerries, from porters to butlers, applauding their new sovereign, the sound intense and moving in the wide space.
The picture of serenity, Elizabeth walked to the wide main door, stopping every so often to greet various servants who curtseyed and bowed as she passed.
Caroline helped her outside and into the gleaming golden carriage, carefully folding the twenty-one-foot train to fit between her and Philip, and the six pale-grey horses drew the carriage gently away.
Almost as soon as they’d gone, Caroline and Miss MacDonald climbed inside the car that would take them through the backstreets to the abbey. They had to be ready and waiting for the queen’s arrival.
By the time they reached Westminster Abbey, the guests had taken their seats. The rows had been lengthened to fit six thousand people, including royals, aristocracy, foreign leaders and statesmen.
The two dressers took their positions beside the entrance, ready to help the queen with her clothing, watching as the final carriages arrived.
The first bore the Queen Mother with Princess Margaret and four-year-old Prince Charles – Anne was deemed too young at just two.
Then came the prime minister, Mr Churchill, in a pristine tailcoat and top hat, inspiring great applause, a testament to his leadership during the war.
The noise grew as the Gold State Coach drew to a halt.
Then, as the crowd held their breath, Queen Elizabeth stepped out, turning to wave with a beaming smile.
An almighty cheer reverberated through Westminster Square, the old parliament buildings coming to life, Big Ben standing tall beside the great river.
The queen beamed and waved before entering the vestibule to the cathedral, and Miss MacDonald and Caroline hurried forward to straighten the gown.
This was their chance to make sure that everything was perfect.
For one moment, Elizabeth’s eyes met Miss MacDonald’s, a flicker of trepidation in that brief connection between them, the young queen and the woman who had been her nursemaid, the one person she could fully trust.
Then the trumpeters inside the abbey began to herald the queen’s arrival, and Elizabeth shifted her gaze to the front.
Miss MacDonald had tears in her eyes as she turned to smile at Caroline. ‘Doesn’t she look a picture. I’m so very proud of her.’
And Caroline realized all that Miss MacDonald had given up for the royals – her own independent life back in her Scottish town, the family she might have had. It was an honour to work so closely with the queen, although Caroline couldn’t help but think about the sacrifice.
The choir sang out as the queen started the grand procession, the maids of honour sweeping forward to take hold of Elizabeth’s train, and the dressers slipped into the back of the abbey to watch.
Graceful yet measured, Queen Elizabeth made her way down the aisle, gazing ahead, steadfast and unswerving. Behind her and her maids of honour came Philip, resplendent in a deep purple robe, and an entourage of white-gowned peeresses and the Knights of the Garter.
It was a sight to behold.
For most women, their one defining day was their wedding.
Yet, for the queen, it was without doubt her coronation.
Caroline saw now that Miranda was right, that women around the world would realize that they, too, could expect more from life.
They, too, could reach into a future where they were welcomed into the world of business and politics.
Instead of staying at home, looking after husbands and children, staying behind the scenes, women could step out of the shadows, become the centre of their own worlds.
They could thrive on their own without needing a boss or a husband telling them what to do.
Ever since she’d left Frank, Caroline had been overcome with an emotion that was utterly new to her: anger. Instead of the meek, subservient wife, she’d realized how much he’d used her, taken advantage of her good, moral nature.
Early one morning, she’d visited a lawyer on the high street and filed for a divorce, borrowing money from Betty. She and Annabel would have plenty to live on now that she didn’t have to finance Frank’s gambling habit. She’d pay Betty back and then start saving for the trip to Yorkshire.
Since she didn’t want a share of the house or any money – she knew there was none – and that Frank would not contest custody, the lawyer told her that the case would not be a lengthy one.
It was a relief. Now that she knew the truth, Annabel was reluctant to spend time with Frank. She had a lot of questions, including why her mother made such a choice – why was it that pregnant women were vilified and forced to take such drastic measures?
Caroline knew that she needed to put her daughter first, to give her time.
Just as she was angry, Annabel was struggling to come to terms with what had happened, with who she was.
She asked questions about Angus, keen to see him again.
She’d taken up gardening, too, and borrowed some books about horses from the library.
It was as if she were trying it on for size, seeing herself in a new, fresh light, something that had always been inside coming to the surface.
The heavy throne stood on the raised central part of the abbey. On one side, the bishops sat in their raiment, beside them the peers and peeresses.
The service was formal, filled with bible readings, hymns and prayers, culminating in the investiture. For this, the queen’s gown was covered with a plain white dress to symbolize purity, and she was then anointed with holy oil beneath a white canopy.
Then she was led to the great throne for the supreme climax.
The organ and congregation hushed, and the archbishop lowered the tall, glittering St Edward’s Crown onto her head.
As one, the congregation chanted, ‘God save the queen.’ The queen was given the sceptres and orb, and there she was, now a true queen, serious and firm in her resolve as she gazed ahead.
The peers came to pay homage, and Philip knelt before her, bowing to his new monarch, then kissing her on her cheek. Even though he vowed to serve Elizabeth as his monarch, he insisted that she was still his wife.
After the dukes and lords had knelt before her, the orchestra broke into illustrious music, and ‘Zadok the Priest’ resounded from the choir as the ceremony drew to a close.
Finally, the procession returned back down the aisle, and the two dressers slipped into a small side chapel, where the queen would stop for a break before the two-hour carriage procession through the city.
As the entourage entered, the dressers hurried forward, removing the crown and golden tunic, and soon the queen was back in her original gown, relieved as she relaxed into a chair.
‘It was so hot underneath all of that!’ she remarked, accepting a glass of water.
There were refreshments, too, the page boys tucking into the sandwiches with a vengeance and the archbishop pulling out a flask of brandy.
The ceremony was exhausting by anyone’s standards.
One of the maids of honour had been saved from collapsing in the middle of the abbey by one of the male courtiers, who propped her up until she recovered.
As the dressers withdrew to give the queen a rest, Caroline found herself looking anxiously through the small crowd in the room.
Now was the time for her to fulfil her special mission.
She saw the woman with whom she needed to speak and, calming her nerves, Caroline stepped up to her. ‘Mrs Villiers, I wondered if I could have a quiet word.’
Tired behind her grey-blue eyes, Henrietta Villiers was neither as good-looking nor as charming as her husband. She said sharply, ‘I can’t imagine what you might want, but keep it brief. Do you need to re-pin my hair? I knew it wasn’t as tight as it should have been.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ Caroline took a deep breath. ‘It’s about your husband.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about him?’
Suddenly, Caroline felt wrong-footed. She thought she was doing this woman a favour, letting her know what her husband was up to when she wasn’t there. But it was Caroline’s word against his. Why should Henrietta Villiers listen?
Underneath, a groundswell of fear built up: she could get fired for this.
‘I, er,’ she hesitated.
‘Well, get on with it.’
‘He’s been playing around with a wardrobe assistant from the palace. I thought you might like to know.’ She looked at her hands. ‘She told me that he’s also having a full-blown affair with a waitress from the Thursday Lunch Club, Nancy Peterson.’
A growing flush came over the woman’s face, and then she swallowed hard, pulling herself together, and it was all Caroline could do not to put an arm around her shoulder. No matter how grand a lady she was, she was still a wife, and one who had just been hurt to the core.
But then Henrietta pulled back, whispering furiously, ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘I thought you should know.’ Caroline leaned forward to insist in hushed tones, ‘Perhaps she could testify, if you wanted a divorce.’
The woman lowered her voice, snarling at Caroline, ‘Do you think I don’t know? I have to look after myself, and if that means overlooking the odd dalliance, that’s what I’ll do.’ Her face formed a sneer. ‘What do you know about anything, you – what are you? A maid?’
Stunned, Caroline staggered back. ‘I apologize. I was trying to help.’
And with that, she went to join Miss MacDonald, a servant back in her station. At least she’d told her. But what use was it when some women only wanted to play the game along with the men, pretend that they’re clever for doing so?
It was time for the dressers to get back to work, reattaching the queen’s jewellery.
The heavy crown replaced with the lighter Imperial Crown, thank heavens.
Elizabeth would also be wearing a pair of pearl earrings that had belonged to the last Queen Elizabeth almost five hundred years ago – a link between the two young queens, both facing challenges of their own.
And as she watched, Caroline nodded with certainty that this queen was ready to rise to the challenge.
Outside Westminster Abbey, the Gold State Coach waited to carry her and Philip through London. The streets were packed with wellwishers hoping to get a glimpse of their new monarch, and Caroline couldn’t have been prouder of the woman ready to be queen.