The Hawk Is Dead

22

Tuesday 21 November 2023

Had John Sheffield, born into nobility, perhaps been a better and more famous poet, his writing might have been his legacy. Instead it was the townhouse he built in 1703, as somewhat more than a mere London pied-à-terre, that was to immortalize his name.

In that same year, Sheffield, a social climber of such scale he was more of a social mountaineer, a favourite of Queen Anne, part-time poet and full-time soldier was appointed to the Privy Council, from where he went on to become Lord Chamberlain and eventually Lord Privy Seal. The Queen bestowed on him the joint titles of Duke of Buckingham and Normanby.

On his death the titles passed to his son, upon whose subsequent death, at the early age of nineteen, the titles became extinct. But Sheffield’s name lived on into both the history books and the twenty-first century, thanks to his London pad being bought by George III in 1761. George IV started the significant expansion of the Palace between 1820 and 1830 after it became the official royal residence. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert finished the development in 1837, with another expansion: the front East Wing. They financed the project by selling Brighton’s Royal Pavilion to the local council.

Positioned east — west, Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms. The east facade with its sternly imposing grey Portland stone, gilded railings, statuesque guards, vast forecourt and solitary flagpole has been, for close to two centuries, the dominant and majestic global icon of Royalty.

The back of the West Wing, out of sight to all but a privileged selection of the public invited to royal garden parties and those visiting on summer-opening tours, is equally imposing but warmer and more welcoming. Constructed from honey-coloured Bath stone, and designed in a neoclassical style with Corinthian columns and pediments and perfectly proportioned windows and doors, it overlooks, at forty acres, the largest private garden in London.

The centrepiece of the west facade, and protruding handsomely from it, is a bow-fronted section. Copper-domed, columned and exquisitely ballustraded, it houses The King’s sitting room and private office on the first floor, with a fine view of two trees, and across the gardens to the lake. Directly below is the formal Garden Entrance, with a glass awning covering the four steps up to the doorway, beyond which there is both a staircase and a lift.

In a break with royal tradition, Charles and Camilla currently resided at Clarence House, just a few minutes away. It had been King Charles’s London residence since 2003. Before then it was the home of the late Queen Mother. Because of ongoing renovations at Buckingham Palace for the past seven years — which were due to continue for at least another three — they were remaining at Clarence House for the time being.

At 11 a.m. most weekday mornings since acceding to the throne, The King travelled in the State Bentley, driven by the Head Chauffeur, a former Royal Protection Officer, the Royal Standard fluttering from the roof. It was a short journey from Clarence House to Buckingham Palace, where the car pulled up outside the Garden Entrance in the West Wing, at the rear of the Palace.

Normally, the Private Secretary, Sir Peregrine Greaves, would have travelled this short distance in the car with him, and another Royal Protection Officer, using the five-minute journey to discuss the key business of the day. And normally, The King would emerge from the rear left door to be greeted by the charming and ever-ebullient Master of the Royal Household, Major General Sir Thomas Magellan-Lacey, while the Private Secretary would leave by the right-hand door and head into the building.

But today, in the emergency rescheduling that was to affect everything in the coming days, The King arrived at 9 a.m.

Behind Sir Tommy, as normal, stood three liveried footmen, each holding a locked, ancient and very battered leather-bound box. These rectangular boxes were four inches deep, and the dimensions of a small briefcase. Only two people in the world had a key to the Master’s boxes — The King and the Master of the Royal Household, and their exchange was a daily routine. Each head of department had a personal box for their correspondence with His Majesty The King. They contained memos and actions required by King Charles, the urgent ones always handwritten in red ink, which Tommy affectionately called his Red Bombers, and the responses and follow-ups from the respective head of department.

The fact that the footmen stood as usual, holding the boxes, was the only normal thing about today, Tommy thought.

The chauffeur opened the rear door and The King, wearing a black tie with his dark grey suit, stepped out. Tommy was grateful to his wife, Fiona, for reminding him to put on a black tie, too. The former general had an unerring eye for detail, which had served him well during his past ten years in this post under the late Queen Elizabeth before the new King. Tired this morning after only a couple of hours’ sleep, and running on adrenaline and coffee, he’d nearly forgotten about the respectful tie because he’d had so much on his mind in the past twenty-four hours, and so many actions to deal with, which had kept him busy well into the small hours. And from the look on The King’s face, he was going to have even more today.

Greeting his boss with his customary single deferential head-bow, he said, ‘Good morning, Your Majesty.’

‘What the hell’s good about it, Tommy?’ The King retorted.