This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(121)
‘Does the timing work? It all sounds quite demanding.’
‘It’s all rather convenient, actually. I check into St Thomas’s in a couple of weeks’ time, and by the time the novel is published, I should have fully recovered.’
‘Once you’re out of hospital, I don’t think you should come down here. Stay in London where Karin, Giles and I can fuss over you. In fact I’ve already warned my department I’ll be away for at least a couple of weeks.’
‘I think Giles might be away for a lot longer than that.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘There’s a rumour doing the rounds that our ambassador in Washington will be retiring in the spring.’
50
THE OFFICE WAS smaller than he’d expected, but the magnificent wood panelling and fine oil portraits of his predecessors left him in no doubt of the historic importance of his new role.
His duties had been carefully explained to him by Commander Rufus Orme, his private secretary. Like the monarch, he may have had little real power in his new position, but immense influence. Indeed, when it came to state occasions he followed in the Queen’s footsteps, with the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Prime Minister a pace behind.
He was assisted by a small, well-trained team who would take care of his every need, although he wondered how long it would take him to get used to someone helping him get dressed. His valet, Croft, would appear at the same hour every day to perform a ceremony that needed to be timed to the second.
He began to take off his clothes until he was standing in only his vest and pants. He felt quite ridiculous. Croft helped him into a white shirt that had been freshly ironed earlier that morning. A starched white collar was attached to a stud in the back of the shirt, followed by a frilly lace neckerchief where a normal man would wear a tie. He didn’t need to look in the mirror. Croft was his mirror. The valet then turned his attention to a long black and gold silk gown that was draped on a wooden mannequin in a corner of the room. He lifted it carefully and held the gown up so the new recipient could place his arms in the long gold sleeves. Croft stood back, checked his master, then dropped to his knees to help him into a pair of shiny, brass-buckled shoes. He stood up again and removed a full-bottomed wig from the mannequin’s wooden head, before transferring it to the head of the Lord Chancellor. Croft stood back once again and made a slight adjustment, just a fraction to the left.
Croft’s final task was to place the great chain of office that dated back to 1643 over his head, not letting go of it until it was resting securely on Giles’s shoulders. That was the moment at which Giles recalled from his schooldays that three of his predecessors had been executed in the Tower of London.
Once dressed, he was finally allowed to glance at himself in the long mirror. He looked ridiculous, but had to admit, if only to himself, that he loved it. The valet bowed. His task completed, he left without another word.
As Croft departed, Commander Orme walked in. Orme would never have considered entering the room until the Lord Chancellor was dressed in his full regalia.
‘I’ve read today’s order paper, Orme,’ he said. ‘Is there anything I should be concerned about?’
‘No, my lord. Questions today will be answered by the minister of state for health. There may well be some robust exchanges on the subject of Aids, but nothing you need concern yourself with.’
‘Thank you.’ He glanced at his watch, aware that at seven minutes to the hour, he would leave his office in the North Tower and set off on his journey to the Prince’s Chamber.
The door opened again, this time to allow a young page to make his entrance. He bowed low, moved quickly behind him and picked up the hem of his long robe.
‘Thirty seconds, my lord,’ said Orme, moments before the door opened again to allow the Lord Chancellor to set out on the seven-minute journey through the Palace of Westminster to the House of Lords.
He stepped out on to the red carpet and progressed slowly along the wide corridor. Members of the House, door keepers and badge messengers stood to one side and bowed as he passed, not to him, but to the monarch he represented. He maintained a steady pace, which he had practised the day before when the House was not in session. Commander Orme had emphasized that he must be neither too fast nor too slow if he was to arrive in the Prince’s Chamber just moments before Big Ben struck twice.
As he proceeded down the north corridor, he could have been forgiven for wondering how many of his colleagues would be in the chamber to greet him when he took his seat on the Woolsack for the first time. Only then would he discover how his surprise appointment had been received by his fellow peers.
On a normal day, there would only have been a handful of members present. They would rise from their places as the Lord Chancellor entered the chamber, give a slight bow, and remain standing while his old friend, the Bishop of Bristol, conducted daily prayers.
He felt more and more nervous as he continued to place one foot in front of the other, and his heartbeat reached another level when he stepped on to the blue and gold carpet of the Prince’s Chamber with ninety seconds to spare. He turned right and made his way down the long red-carpeted corridor to the far end of the House, before he could finally make his entrance. As he reached the Members’ Lobby, in which the public were standing in silence, he heard Big Ben’s first chime echoing around the building.