GUSTAVE (Part 2 of 4)
by Richard Banks
The journey from Euston
although long was not unpleasant and on arriving at Penrith I was duly met by
Brownlow, Gustave’s man of business, and conveyed to Whinfell Castle in a
carriage that would not have been out of place in the royal mews. Learning that
I had not seen or spoken to his master in many years Brownlow proceeded to tell
me all that was necessary for the role I was to undertake, beginning with the
turn of fortune that had begun his fortune.
On the election of Wilhelm I as German Emperor his niece,
who was also Gustave’s cousin, petitioned her uncle for the restoration of her
family’s estates in
“Oh, what a shame,” I said, referring to his unhappy return
to
Mr Brownlow nodded his head in agreement, but made no
comment except to say that his unruly subjects were once again subject to
Prussian rule.
“Well, serves them right,” I replied in spirited defence of
‘my friend’, whilst thinking that Gustave’s morose disposition would not have
made him the most popular of rulers. Perhaps Mr Brownlow felt the same way for
he quickly moved on to my duties as night sitter. These had been devised by
Gustave himself, and his instructions would be given to me on arrival at the
castle, along with the implements needed to carry-out the checks he considered
necessary.
“Implements?” I said, fearing what might next be said.
“Oh, nothing worth the mentioning: a mirror to catch his
breath, if any, various needles for the drawing of blood, a stethoscope, a
feather to tickle his feet and a magnifying glass for peering into his eyes.
Nothing to worry about, all perfectly straightforward.”
I murmured my agreement, the remuneration for these tasks
now seeming less than generous. The thought that he had died of a contagious
disease and that his final act would be to reunite us forever in the afterlife
produced in me an involuntary groan that had Brownlow enquiring if I was “alright”. Ignoring his question, I responded with one of my own. “And what did
he die of?” If I was blunt and a touch indelicate Mr Brownlow’s reply was
equally blunt and to the point.
“He fell from his horse, Mr Thomas, a tragic accident. We
managed to get him back to the castle but he died of his injuries a week
later.”
“How awful,” I said, my relief at his reply giving way to
genuine remorse. “I hope he didn’t suffer?”
“His doctors saw to it that he was largely free of pain but
there was nothing they could do to save him. Told that he had only a short time
to live he put his affairs in order, gave
directions for his funeral and in the presence of myself and his doctors, passed
away quietly in his sleep.”
Mr Brownlow fell silent and when he spoke again it was to
point out the distant hill on which stood the grey stone walls of Gustave’s
castle, slowly becoming larger but less clear in the fading light. We arrived
after sunset to a reception party consisting of Chambers, Gustave’s butler, and
two man servants, one of whom was holding a lantern.
The house was mostly in darkness,
only the entrance hall and several rooms leading off it being lit, while anyone
needing to go further afield had to light the way with a paraffin lamp. On
being ‘told’ by Chambers that I no doubt wished to go to my room before dinner
I was also informed that it would be served at nine o’clock in the Prince of
Wales Room.
Taking his leave of me with a stiff,
dutiful nod of his head he abandoned me into the care of the man servants who
without speaking began mounting the stairs, one carrying my portmanteau and the
other lighting the way with a lantern. Having shown me to my room on the third
floor landing and, at my insistence, leaving me the lantern they disappeared
into an impenetrable darkness, clinging grimly to the bannister.
The room although less welcoming than
the Margate boarding house I had recently stayed in at least had the modern
conveniences of a wash basin and running water. I therefore lost no time in
unpacking and, after washing and shaving for the second time that day, I changed into my dinner suit and, with lantern
before me, carefully descended the stairs to the entrance hall. Relieved of the
lantern I was ushered towards the dining room where a half dozen persons were
soon joined by another five. They were an odd bunch to be sure, few if any of
then appearing to be persons of quality. Indeed most of them would not have
been allowed beyond the threshold of a City bank. Disconcertingly several of
them were beginning to look vaguely familiar.
Our placements at table were indicated by paper name cards. Mine was between a Mrs Green and a Mrs Skinner who had already taken their seats. On joining them the former greeted my arrival with a squeal of surprise followed by the exclamation, “luv a duck, Ethel, look who’s here, its young Dickie.”
(To be Continued)
Copyright Richard Banks
Nice descriptive piece Richard.
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