There were pickpockets, whores, and more recruiting sergeants than there could possibly be recruits. Every beggar in London who could claim, rightly or wrongly, to be an ex-soldier made his way to Hyde Park in the belief that the day’s crowd would be sympathetic to those wounded in Britain’s wars.
Opposite the public enclosure, across the three hundred yard review ground that was criss-crossed by the park’s public walks, was the Ring. The Theatre was at its centre, and round its perimeter the young bloods of London were accustomed to show off their horses and raise their hats to the ladies who took the air in open carriages. Not this day. Hiding the Ring from the public view was a great covered stand, hung with red, white and blue bunting, surmounted by five flagpoles. Four of the poles, those flanking the bare central staff, were already hung with flags; two union flags and, on the outer poles, the flags of Britain’s closest allies, Portugal and Spain. The centre staff waited for the Prince Regent’s standard. On the pavilion roof, above its banked, cushioned seats, was the royal crest, flanked to its left by the escutcheon of the Duke of York and, to its right, by the three curling feathers that were the badge of the Duke’s elder brother, the Prince of Wales.
On either side of the great reviewing pavilion were two more public areas, roped like the one before the Reservoir, but these were forbidden to the common people. The ropes of the two enclosures were of scarlet weave, tasselled with gold, and into the enclosures came the carriages of the rich. The leather coach hoods were folded down on this day of bright sunlight. In front of the carriages an open space was left where the wealthy could promenade, or ride their well-schooled horses to impress the ladies. There were sacking screens here too, but hidden behind the Ring’s trees and tastefully draped with red bunting that quadrupled the price for their use. By ten o’clock the carriages were lined wheel to wheel, their horses unharnessed, and the women eyed their rivals from beneath pretty parasols as the men barked at servants to bring champagne or wine.
The celebrations were not due to begin until eleven, but already the huge open space between the two lines of spectators was busy with soldiers. A troop of Royal Horse Artillery raced spectacularly about the great rectangle, the wheels of their guns throwing up turf as the gun carriages slewed behind the galloping teams. A Guards band played.
In front of the carriage enclosures, where the women paraded in their summer finery, mounted officers showed off their horsemanship. This day such officers were lords of the park and, even though most had not been further from London than Bath, each man this day pretended to have survived the carnage at Vitoria. Their uniforms were thick with looping ropes of gold cloth, bright with chain epaulettes, and gorgeous with lace and silver. They saluted the ladies by touching casual fingers to their helmets, sometimes leaning down to take a glass of champagne, which, like a stirrup cup, was offered by friends. Assignations were made and more than one duel provoked.
The Royal stand filled gradually with senior officers and their wives, ambassadors and men of power from the clubs of St James’s and Westminster. Servants brought tea, coffee, and wine. The huge, padded seats in the centre of the stand were still empty. The young officers, walking their beautifully groomed horses past the Royal stand, would salute its tiers and, like German clockwork toys magically in unison, three score of Generals and Admirals returned the honour.
Lord Fenner, as a Minister of State, had a seat in the Royal stand, but, twenty minutes before the Royal party was scheduled to arrive, he walked through the northern carriage enclosure, coldly greeting acquaintances, smiling sometimes at a woman whose favours he desired or had enjoyed, and once slicing with his cane at a servant who clumsily walked in front of him with a tray of glasses.
He saw the carriage he sought, and saw too how Sir Henry Simmerson, noting his approach, ordered a servant to open the door and fold down the carriage steps. Simmerson, the servant dismissed, beckoned Fenner inside. ‘My Lord?’