Tracks of a Rolling Stone | Page 4

I, taking a mental inventory of stars and anchor buttons.
Upon this, he fetched from the depths of his waistcoat pocket a capacious gold box, and opened it with a tap, as though he were about to offer me a pinch of snuff. 'There's for you,' said he.
I helped myself, unawed by the situation, and with my small fist clutching the bonbons, was passed on to Queen Adelaide. She gave me a kiss, for form's sake, I thought; and I scuttled back to my mother.
But here followed the shocking part of the ENFANT TERRIBLE'S adventure. Not quite sure of Her Majesty's identity - I had never heard there was a Queen - I naively asked my mother, in a very audible stage-whisper, 'Who is the old lady with - ?' My mother dragged me off the instant she had made her curtsey. She had a quick sense of humour; and, judging from her laughter, when she told her story to another lady in the supper room, I fancied I had said or done something very funny. I was rather disconcerted at being seriously admonished, and told I must never again comment upon the breath of ladies who condescended to kiss, or to speak to, me.
While we lived at Kensington, Lord Anglesey used often to pay my mother a visit. She had told me the story of the battle of Waterloo, in which my Uncle George - 6th Lord Albemarle - had taken part; and related how Lord Anglesey had lost a leg there, and how one of his legs was made of cork. Lord Anglesey was a great dandy. The cut of the Paget hat was an heirloom for the next generation or two, and the gallant Marquis' boots and tightly-strapped trousers were patterns of polish and precision. The limp was perceptible; but of which leg, was, in spite of careful investigation, beyond my diagnosis. His presence provoked my curiosity, till one fine day it became too strong for resistance. While he was busily engaged in conversation with my mother, I, watching for the chance, sidled up to his chair, and as soon as he looked away, rammed my heel on to his toes. They were his toes. And considering the jump and the oath which instantly responded to my test, I am persuaded they were abnormally tender ones. They might have been made of corns, certainly not of cork.
Another discovery I made about this period was, for me at least, a 'record': it happened at Quidenham - my grandfather the 4th Lord Albemarle's place.
Some excursion was afoot, which needed an early breakfast. When this was half over, one married couple were missing. My grandfather called me to him (I was playing with another small boy in one of the window bays). 'Go and tell Lady Maria, with my love,' said he, 'that we shall start in half an hour. Stop, stop a minute. Be sure you knock at the door.' I obeyed orders - I knocked at the door, but failed to wait for an answer. I entered without it. And what did I behold? Lady Maria was still in bed; and by the side of Lady M. was, very naturally, Lady M.'s husband, also in bed and fast asleep. At first I could hardly believe my senses. It was within the range of my experience that boys of my age occasionally slept in the same bed. But that a grown up man should sleep in the same bed with his wife was quite beyond my notion of the fitness of things. I was so staggered, so long in taking in this astounding novelty, that I could not at first deliver my grandfathers message. The moment I had done so, I rushed back to the breakfast room, and in a loud voice proclaimed to the company what I had seen. My tale produced all the effect I had anticipated, but mainly in the shape of amusement. One wag - my uncle Henry Keppel - asked for details, gravely declaring he could hardly credit my statement. Every one, however, seemed convinced by the circumstantial nature of my evidence when I positively asserted that their heads were not even at opposite ends of the bed, but side by side upon the same pillow.
A still greater soldier than Lord Anglesey used to come to Holkham every year, a great favourite of my father's; this was Lord Lynedoch. My earliest recollections of him owe their vividness to three accidents - in the logical sense of the term: his silky milk-white locks, his Spanish servant who wore earrings - and whom, by the way, I used to confound with Courvoisier, often there at the same time with his master Lord William Russell, for the murder of whom he was hanged, as all the world knows