More Gray than Blue

Posted on Tue Jul 9th, 2024 @ 1:52pm by Lady Charlotte Duff
Edited on on Tue Jul 9th, 2024 @ 1:53pm

488 words; about a 2 minute read

Mission: Death of a Monarch
Location: Duff Family Estate, Scotland
Timeline: 23 January 1901

Sunlight had begun to chase away the shadows across the bedroom. Beams of golden light brushing through the gauzy curtains only to be cast away again as a dark winter cloud slid in front of the sun. The skies, more gray than blue, threaten at any moment to burst forth with a wintery mix. Scotland was already drearily dragging into the new year with snow coating the ground and icy frost covering the lochs.

The outside is a stark contrast to the bedroom where she awoke. Gauzy with pale blues and pillowy pale whites that showed they were wealthy enough not to be worried about stains and dirt. The fire in the fireplace had been stoked by the maid, warming the room, before she moved to the edge of Charlotte’s bed to wake her.

“Lady Charlotte… there is a letter for you from your mother.” Charlotte opened her eyes slowly as her brow furrowed. There were only two reasons her mother would have been writing to her: she had found yet another friend’s son who she thought would be perfect for her or it was news about Grandmother. Mother had left weeks ago when her Aunt Victoria wrote that she thought the Queen had only days left. Pushing up from the mattress Charlotte brushed back her long red curls that had fallen from her braid as she slept. Her maid, Daphne, wouldn’t have woken her unless it was urgent, so she doubted it was about a suitor.

Taking the letter she opened the seal that her mother had placed on it and silently read the words. It was simple ‘Your beloved Gangan has gone to be with the Lord. Please make the appropriate arrangements and come to London as soon as possible. Your father is away on business and your sister is not in the state to travel.’ Charlotte sighed as she let the letter sit in her lap.

‘Beloved Gangan’ was hardly what Charlotte would have called her, not that she had any ill words against her grandmother, she just hardly knew her. They had met a handful of times and the Queen would always remark on the flamboyant color of Charlotte’s hair. Still she knew what must be done, appearances must be made. Her sister was nearly half way through her first child, at hardly eighteen and not a year married. Her brother was off on some war and her father, well she hardly knew where he was anymore. Which only left Charlotte and her mother.

“Pack my things Daphne, mourning gowns, and such. We will leave for London this afternoon. Ask Richard to make whatever plans he needs to.” Charlotte spoke as she stood up and Daphne slipped the gown along her arms. Of course this meant that her Uncle Bertie was now King, and her insufferable cousins would be all the merrier having moved one step closer to the throne

 

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