Pavillion: Samuel's Story

By Harry Fox

Pavilion - Samuel's story sets the opulence and excesses of the former Prince Regent, recently crowned George IV and his summer residence the magnificent Brighton Pavilion against a young architect's assistant Samuel Grey who finds himself working there. Samuel has a heavy social conscience and is appalled at the King's profligacy when the working people of England are hungry and suppressed following the end of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815. After accidentally witnessing the violation of Caroline a young servant girl in the fables tunnels underneath the Pavilion by one of the King's acolytes, Samuel first vows to avenge her, then falls in love with her. But after making a terrible discovery in one of the tunnels their plans for revenge expand even further than either of them had dared to imagine, perhaps even to the toppling of the Monarchy itself. A lot of the characters, the King, Lord Alvanley and John Nash obviously did exist but I have taken some liberties with their manner and propensities!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Jun 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781849897372

Book preview

Title Page

PAVILION

SAMUEL’S STORY

By

Harry Fox

Publisher Information

Samuel’s Story

Published in 2011 by

Andrews UK Limited

www. andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Harry Fox

The right of Harry Fox to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Chapter One

Samuel takes the lorgnette from Nash and presses it warily on to his nose. Will the throng below be aware of him as he peers down through the magnified lenses? His concern intensifies as he focuses and a white winged mask expands towards him dark eyes peering out fixed and staring. He is about to tear the lorgnette from his face when the eyes blink and turn away and his heartbeat slows again. He feels foolish; after all Nash has insisted that they are doing no harm.

‘My dear Samuel, why on earth would they dress in such finery, such bawdy colour if they did not wish to be gazed upon’?

Still Samuel feels uneasy, a voyeur as he begins to sweep the room taking in the bizarre scene. Red, yellow, blue, green, purple, pink, all shades of all colours, a shimmering array of Peacocks with feathers, brocade, trims and tassels of all lengths, weights and depths. Lightly stepping, pirouetting and preening in a ballet of pure unselfconscious affectation that only the privileged can manage.

On his second sweep the shape unfolds. Each group is like an individual solar system, a black sun surrounded by bright stars moving with a gravitational pull all of its own. Surely when Galileo gazed through his new telescope over two hundred years ago and the heavens unfolded before him he could not have been more transfixed than Samuel is at this moment.

‘See the choosing begin young Samuel, there will be much fornication in this place tonight’

Nash’s lustful proclamation breaks Samuel’s reverie and he momentarily disengages the lorgnette, wrinkles his nose and then replaces it.

He re-focuses on the solar system nearest to the huge table laden down with foodstuffs. This system like all the rest is a blaze of colour resplendent with masks of all description. There are wings, jesters, animals of all kinds, birds, snakes and reptiles and some he cannot not even guess at, all studded and shining with jewels; emeralds, rubies sapphires and diamonds. Even the dark suns at the centre are gaudily masked, a juxtaposition to their black shiny boots over pastel or white coloured pantaloons, black double breasted coats and high white collars; although some of the dandies have embellished this rather sombre attire with brightly striped waistcoats and large multi-coloured cravats. It must be the heavily masculine gravitational pull of these dark suns that holds it all together thinks Samuel.

As he readjusts the glasses once more he glances sideways at Nash who is leaning forward his bony hands gripping the thin gilt rail grinning with obvious pleasure. Butterflies thinks Samuel, is perhaps a more apt simile than Peacocks? Butterflies that should be captured then dropped into the killing jar releasing the cyanide fumes to do their deadly work before being mounted and displayed for all to see. The French had the right idea over twenty years ago. He imagines Louis XVI in his last moments before the guillotine did its dreadful work probably still wondering how it all came to be, how literally the mighty can fall before the power of the people. He feels bile rise up into his throat then swallows hard before continuing his vigil.

The Banqueting Room is a fit setting for such Butterflies, almost too much for the senses, a riot of brilliant light from the multitude of mirrors in enfilade reflecting enough glass, gold and silver to fill a Cathedral. Huge chandeliers of sharply cut crystal vie for attention with blue red and gold silken drapes that hang from ceiling to floor over windows that ten men had to fit into place.

The sounds from below are a constant murmur, the ‘rhubarb’ of the theatre. But with a bit of concentration Samuel manages to attune his ears to the emanations from the system he is studying. A rumble from the dark sun is followed by high tinkling noises from the stars. Occasionally one individual star briefly leaves its orbit and journeys to the centre lightly touching the dark sun with a gloved finger before retreating again. Samuel refocuses and finds it to be the same in each system as if all is being choreographed by a celestial hand. As this thought strikes him he notices a lone stately corpulent figure leaning against the far wall sipping dark red wine from a large crystal goblet. Samuel holds his breath praying to God that this unmasked figure does not choose this moment to lift his gaze to where he and John Nash stand; although masked or not Samuel would have recognised the former Prince Regent or Prinny as he was popularly known, now the newly crowned George IV.

Chapter Two

‘Ha, see how fine he looks tonight Samuel, a King should look like a King don’t you think’?

Samuel has stepped back from the rail and can now only see his head; dark (dyed? ) curly hair atop a huge cravat of crimson silk, perhaps to cover the glandular swellings that are said to blight the royal neck, unless they have they been miraculously cured by the famous Brighton sea water? The King looks the same to Samuel as he always does; a huge bloated spider leeching money earned by honest sweat for his own dubious pleasures. He nods without meeting Nash’s eye.

‘And by God act like a King’ Nash pounds the rail with his fist for emphasis his small bow-legged frame shaking with fervour ‘No man could have a finer patron, one who allows artistic creativity to flourish without penny pinching the purse strings, eh Samuel’? Nash’s Adams apple bobs up and down in his scrawny neck, his balding head glistening under the lights.

Samuel stares up at the ceiling of the great Banqueting Room with its four gold columns rising to the dome twenty five feet above their own elevated position. At the top the Eastern sky is partly obscured by the rich fruit, leaves and foliage of the Plantain Tree and all around the Chinese lotus is brightly lit by the four illuminated windows and huge mirrors that rise from the chimney pieces to the lower cornices. Light bounces from huge chandeliers casting the shadows away from the wall compartments containing superb pictures and drawings of high order Chinese living and plain domesticity side by side in strange juxtaposition. Despite the acid in his throat he has to agree that no expense has been spared even if good taste and subtlety are the twin victims. Oh what he could achieve if he had the merest fraction of the money spent on this abomination. He sees Nash looking at him and nods again.

‘And the table Samuel, oh do behold the table, fit for a King I say, fit for a King’

‘Must be hungry work being a King’ says Samuel hoping Nash, in his euphoria, does not pick up on the irony.

But he ignores it placing his hand gently on Samuels shoulder and pointing down.

‘Do you know what the repast consists of Samuel, do you?

He squeezes and Samuel shakes his head.

‘Soups, Samuel, Turtle and all manner of exotics then fish, Carp, Salmon Haddock, Pates of all description, then removes and entrees to gladden the heart and stomach’

Samuel’s brow must have creased.

‘Removes dear boy, choice sweetmeats often too readily discarded and