Page 19 of The Uprising
‘Do you refer to the Chartists’ latest exploits?’
‘I do, Your Grace. The uprising could grow more dangerous if we’re not careful.’
‘Uprising...do you really believe it could grow to be as serious as that? Albert has similar concerns.’
‘I do, ma’am, the people want their rights and seem intent on having them, one way or another. This People’s Charter has been active and bubbling beneath the surface for years, and as you are aware with the arrival of King Philippe of France; revolution is sweeping through Europe.’
Queen Victoria touched the beads on her necklace and appeared to contemplate George’s words.
‘And what do you think of these so-called rights, Lord Cavendish? Do you have sympathy for the Chartist cause?’
‘I do have sympathy and understanding for them, ma’am. The working-class men have been overlooked in terms of gaining the vote, and I think it will do us no harm whatsoever to extend that right to them. It will strengthen us as a nation and give national pride to the masses.’
‘I’m inclined to agree, although I would like to understand exactly what is at stake, and what the far-reaching implications of meeting their demands, might be. I’m not one for giving in to demands without good reason, as you know.’
‘Unrest in the city is growing, and I feel it would be wise to be proactive rather than wait until the situation spirals out of control.’
The queen clasped her hands together. ‘They attacked Buckingham Palace when you were away, you know. It was terrifying—we thought we may have to flee.’
‘Yes, I am aware. The cooking pot simmers; it is my opinion we must do all we can to prevent it from reaching boiling point. That’s when the real trouble will commence, and things could turn ugly.’
‘You speak wise words, Lord Cavendish, and I am grateful for your counsel. Albert is so preoccupied with his own endeavours these days, it’s hard to get a word out of him.’
‘There is talk of the Chartists demonstrating again before they present their petition at the Houses of Parliament. We don’t want a revolution on our hands which is a real possibility if they feel we aren’t taking them seriously.’
‘My goodness, you’re scaring me rather. Pray tell how we may convey this is not the case. I do not wish my people to think I don’t take their concerns seriously.’
‘I understand, ma’am, and I did not wish to alarm you. Shall I make enquiries? I fear we are both in our ivory towers as it were, and there is a lot of which we are not aware.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I may pay a visit to where the Chartists are known to congregate and see what I can learn.’
‘Do take care; the prime minister warns me some of them are violent.’
George bowed his head. ‘Fear not, ma’am. I shall report to you as soon as I have news.’
‘Very well. Please make it your priority because I have no intention of running away to the Isle-of-Wight permanently, as Albert would have us do.’
The queen excused George, and he stood outside the door while he considered the best way forward. A few moments later, he headed towards the rear of the palace and took the stairs, two at a time, down to the lower-floor.
An idea had occurred to him about how to find out what was going on in the heart of the Chartist camp without going far at all. All going to plan, he would be back with Cara by lunchtime, and nothing pleased him more.
Chapter 7
Hampton Court Palace, London, 1536 - Tudorville
Cara awoke to the unmistakable sound of thundering hooves in the courtyard beneath her window. She leapt out of bed hoping to see George. She spotted Swifty and sent up a quick prayer that George was with him; she couldn’t be certain, but she thought she’d heard more than one beat of hooves.
As she peered through the window trying to make out what was going on, she glimpsed the back of George’s head, and as if by magic he looked up and saw her watching him. Their eyes locked and even from that distance a familiar jolt reverberated through her entire being. She waved and signalled that she would be down, before scrambling for her gown and pulling it hurriedly over her linen smock. Cara wasn’t at all presentable by strict court standards, but it was still early, and she couldn’t wait to slip out to greet George.
All that mattered was that he was home; she longed to feel his arms around her again. She splashed cold water on her face from a bowl on her nightstand, patted her skin dry and smoothed down her wild bed-hair. She saw her anticipation reflected in the mirror. Her grey eyes shone, and a small red patch marked each cheekbone and gave her a flushed, feverish look.
Cara was still amazed by the effect George’s presence had on her. She loved who she was when they were together—no matter what the century—their sense of connection was just as strong. Never had she seen so clearly that time was an illusion of the mind.
She rushed out of the bedchamber door, into the dimly lit hallway, and then darted down the backstairs so she could reach the spot where she’d seen George.
Swifty was stroking his horse. He raised his head and his eyes shone as he saw Cara walking towards them. ‘Good morning, my lady.’
