No Other Will Than His ...

Yes yes okay so i may have watched a few too many episodes of the Tudors and may or may not be spending too many days in Londons Palaces and mayb ei should stop reading Phillipa Gregory books and watching The Other Boleyn Girl ... but come on ... if Gerry was Henry VIII? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Hope you like it, comments REALLY appreciated!

xxx

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I clasped my suitcase and heaved it through the gates of one of the finest palaces ever built, Hampton Court was something that had thrilled and educated me ever since I first walked across its ground with my father holding my tiny hand; keeping my toddler legs walking forward. Father had been keeper of the grounds at Hampton Court for over 25 years and there was nothing he did not know about its secrets and stories. For years I had sat enthralled as he told me of its deep and tantalising history, the dark and powerful figures that dwelled within its walls, and the tragedies that occurred repeatedly as the monarchies changed.

Now a mature woman of 21 I still feel that childish excitement as I look up at the beauty of its architecture i feel a smile creep over my face. Forcing my hand to pull the suitcase further on I smiled at the guards who all knew me by face and name and walked through into the court to wait for my father. I spotted him straightaway dressed in Tudor finery and leading a group of bored looking schoolchildren towards the Tudor Kitchens. I knew by this that his tour was almost over and he could then turn his attention to me, I had promised to help him out as a guide today before he could give me a lift to Heathrow where my flight would leave for America and I could study History and Politics.

Quickly disbanding of his tour father walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead, 'Why are you not changed?' he cried, looking about him, 'The next tour starts in half an hour'. I smiled up and my clever and steady father noting his greying beard and twinkling eyes. I would miss him more than I dared consider, 'Put the twinkle back in your eye, it will take me ten minutes to change - I have done it before remember?'


Before I knew it my case had been shoved in a staff doorway and I had been rushed up towards the Haunted Gallery and shoved in a secret side passage where my friend Katie was waiting with my gown and a smile. 'As if that is anyway to treat a bloody Queen' I cried, hugging my good friend warmly. 'A dead Queen, a doomed Queen, a very naughty Queen' she reminded me pulling off my jacket and loosing the laces on the stomacher she was to pull over my head. 'Once more time' I laughed, 'I think I am going to miss doing this'. Katie had been my friend since secondary school and had fallen in love with my father's tales as quickly as I had, within a year or so Dad had helped her get work experience at Hampton Court and now she worked here on Saturdays and Sundays and couldn't wait until she could continue full time.

Once fully dressed my hood was finally set in place - a French hood as far back as it would sit upon my head and then I was ready. Standing with my ear close to the door I waited until I could hear fanfare and my fathers voice filled with gloom as he spoke of the deceased Katherine Howard and her wrongdoings to Henry VIII. I was so used to the tale her ghost at Hampton Court that I was silently mouthing the well rehearsed speech along with him. The young Queen Katherine could be heard shrieking down this very Galley late into the night, she cried for her freedom and begged she be spared from the executioner's block but to no avail. I waited a few more seconds until the group had started to follow my father down the galley and slipped quietly out of the doorway. I caught fathers eye and smiled from above there was an almighty shriek - years before the speakers were fitted I used to have to shriek myself and could barely speak at school the next day for a sore throat. Startled the tour group turned and flew at them anger and pain in my eye and ran as hard and as fast as I could as if I had closed the gates of hell behind me - once round the corner and out of sight and slipped quickly into another hidden passageway. I could hear the crowd rush around to see where I had gone and heard young children sounding nervous and adults laughing at the trick.

In the walls of the castle itself I skipped down a spiral staircase which led to the bottom of the castle where Katie should be waiting with my clothes. I wasn't sure of the time and knew we had to leave soon in order to beat the traffic and get to Heathrow with time for lunch, in my hurry I caught the hem of my skirt upon my heel and slipped. I let out a shriek of my own as I fell down the unforgiving Tudor stairs.

I tried to open my eyes and pull my vision into focus, rubbing my head I climbed clumsily to my feet and stared up the winding staircase. I had best not tell Father about my tumble he had warned me so many times about tearing up and down these passageways - plus he might complain I had damaged history. Laughing at the idea of my head destroyed a perfect stairway intact from the 15th Century I pushed open the doorway to the exit and looked around for Katie. There was no sign of her, I made my way to the courtyard and smiled at a few others in costume then realised I hadn't checked if I had torn the dress and prayed to god I was the only thing damaged. Staring around the courtyard I noticed everyone was in costume and there was no tourists. Perhaps it was a staff meeting, god knows, all I knew I was I had to get my case and my normal clothes - It wouldn't do to arrive in America dressed like a 15th Century Queen.

I scanned the faces for my father but couldn't find him, I stopped someone to enquire but got such a look of anger for disrupting them I backed away. I leant against a wall and waited my patience was wearing a little thin as people seemed to be pointing and staring at me as if I were the only one strolling about in costume. One woman approached me, 'Sorry, should you be here?' I sighed inwardly, 'Sorry I don't mean to loiter I am just waiting for my father, he should be along soon and then we are leaving'. The woman smiled and offered me her elbow, 'Why don't you wait with us?' I smiled and followed her over to the group she had left, they were passing the time playing a game of cards. 'So what is this?' I asked looking around, 'Hey your outfits are amazing, mine looks a bit shabby compared to yours' The woman stared at me in horror while one of the men laughed. 'Who is your father again?' my new friend asked me. 'Ted, Ted Bailey, he finishes work around now then he is taking me to the airport, I am off to America today. I have to say I will miss being here though, it will be odd not to dress up anymore, its almost like a license to play as an adult' I laughed nervously realising that everyone seemed utterly baffled. I heard them murmuring the name Bailey as if they had never heard of him. 'You know my father, he is keeper of the grounds, has been for 25 years' I was getting really fed up with this charade now and stood to leave, 'Anyway I shall find him and bring him and then you will laugh, I guess you might just know him as Ted.'

As I walked away I began to wonder if they were the odd bunch Dad had told me about, Phillipa Gregory readers who would give their left legs to be a courtier of Kings and Queens and immersed themselves too deeply into a role. As I walked towards the Clock tower I looked upon and realised the gateways sign was missing, 'Anne Boleyn Gateway' I said quietly to myself - maybe It had been taken for polishing. Suddenly there was an almighty burst of noise and everyone in the courtyard scattered and made themselves scare, I was half deaf from the fanfare and shoved roughly aside as men lined up with banners. 'Long live the king' a man shouted and I realised this must be a rehearsal for some new stunt, pushing my way past the line of men I stopped dead when I saw an entourage of fifty men pouring into the courtyard, for a stunt funded by public donations this one must have been pushing the boat out. 'Make way for his Majesty Henry VIII' another man shouted as a shadow fell across the courtyard, there stood the largest horse I had ever laid eyes upon it had to have been 19 hands and sat upon it was an impressive figure of a man. I was confused, this wasn't the old fat Henry that we usually portrayed to Britain - the stereotype that people assumed he had been all of his life. Far from it this man was young and handsome with eyes that bore down upon his pretend subjects. I realised with embarrassment that I was stood almost in his path and was the only female left in the courtyard and pushed myself as close to the wall as I could, he jumped down from his horse and walked slowly towards me with a mock smile on his face. 'Should you not be indoors dancing and sewing young lady?' he asked me. I laughed, 'Sorry I didn't realise you were all rehearsing I am just trying to find my dad and I will be out of your hair in minutes I promise' I felt myself blushing as I met his eyes they were green pools that I could have lost myself in for hours. I was almost furious that now I was leaving they had decided to employ a younger and more attractive man to portray Henry in his better days.


'What an odd dialect you have' he commented and looked genuinely puzzled, 'Who are you?'