Sisterchicks Go Brit! (17 page)

Next came two Beefeaters in the more elaborate traditional scarlet uniforms trimmed in gold with lots of emblems across the front of the uniforms, including a gold crown. Their black hats were much more impressive with red, white, and blue bows that gave the appearance of a halo of bright flowers. At their necks, intricately pleated lace stuck out like a white circular collar. They wore scarlet knee socks and black cobbler-style shoes. The pageantry of their appearance was stunning.

“Did you know that the lace used by royalty and probably for these royal guards was once made in Olney?” Kellie asked.

“What number are you listening to?” I held up my audio wand.

“That’s not on the recorded tour. Don’t you remember when Opal told us that Olney was a lace-making town? Or was it Rose? Anyway, it just seems interesting now to see a traditional costume and how much lace they used.”

We kept walking, listening to the description of the various buildings on the large grounds.

“Did you listen to the explanation of why they’re called Beefeaters?” Kellie asked.

I nodded. “Nice benefit working for royalty. You get to eat well.”

“Right, but did you hear what the recording said about how the name
Beefeater
was a derogatory term?”

“I’m sure all the guards who weren’t getting their share of the beef were the ones who started the nickname. They were jealous of the fat guys in the fancy uniforms, I would guess.”

“And what was that part about the ravens?” Kellie asked as we stopped to look at a map. “Had you ever heard that before? The part about the ancient prophecy that as long as the ravens resided in the Tower of London, the kingdom wouldn’t fall.”

“No, I hadn’t heard that before. I think it’s kind of funny that to help fulfill the prophecy, eight ravens with clipped wings—to keep them from flying away—reside here. We can go see them if you want.”

Kellie raised her chin like an eager child. “How about if we see the jewels first?”

“Diamonds before ravens. Fine with me.”

We meandered through a museum of historic lore before entering a dark, high-security room where the royal crowns and scepter are kept under glass and guard. A slow-moving conveyor belt advances viewers past the dazzling display.

In front of us was a group of schoolchildren on a tour. My favorite moment was when three little princesses-in-the-making stood between the display and us. The girls in their blue school uniforms and pigtails drew in a collective “Oohhh!” as they viewed the crown that held a diamond nearly as large as one of their fists.

“Imagine that on your head,” one of the little dreamers said.

“You would have to marry the prince to wear that,” another said.

“Then I would be the queen.”

“If you were the queen, you would have to live in Buckingham Palace.”

“If I lived in Buckingham Palace, I’d have my own horse. And I would eat ice cream every day.”

“If I were the queen,” the third one said, “I would have a unicorn, and I would make a crown just like that one for my unicorn to wear.”

“Me too. I would have two unicorns, if I were the queen.”

Kellie and I smiled at each other as the schoolgirls stepped off the moving walkway and, joining hands, hurried to catch up with the rest of their group.

“Adorable,” Kellie said. “I hope one of my married sons has a baby soon. I would love to have a granddaughter to spoil.”

Was part of England’s allure the marvel of the long-lasting monarchy? For young subjects with pigtails, a mystique as sweet as the dream of unicorns circled around the thought that they could grow up one day to be the queen of England.

We concluded the tour in the gift shop, where we bought a few postcards and then headed for the Beauchamp Tower. In this very old tower, prisoners who had nothing but time on their hands had etched a sort of medieval graffiti into the walls. Some simply carved their names. Others did elaborate carvings including crosses, their family coat of arms, dates, circumstances of their imprisonment, and even poems.

One of the names we lingered over was “Jane.” We pressed the corresponding number on our audio tour and heard that this bold carving possibly was etched by the imprisoned husband of Lady Jane Grey. In 1553, at the age of sixteen, Lady Jane Grey was named successor to the throne only to be overthrown nine days later and beheaded.

The mysteries of the monarchy probably are lost on those of us who have known only democracy. But the tour made me consider how unique Great Britain is. Five hundred years ago a young woman could lose her head for being crowned queen, while today a young girl can dream of having the royal crown placed on her head.

Kellie and I put together our unaffected heads and studied the map. Our speedy, self-guided tour allowed us to see everything we were most interested in at the Tower of London and still leave us almost four hours before our three o’clock teatime at the Ritz.

“What do you think about going to Harrods next?” Kellie asked. “And maybe the Victoria and Albert Museum. They’re not especially close to where we are now, but the underground is so fast I think we could get there and back to this side of town for the Ritz easily enough.”

“We can give it a try. If we have to adjust along the way, we’ll adjust.”

“Ebb and Flo,” Kellie said.

I nodded. “Ebb and Flo.”

“I just want to make sure I’m not getting too bossy and only going after the sights that I added to the list. I want to make sure this is something you want to do as well.”

I smiled. “You don’t have to worry about me. I want to do and see everything while we’re here.”

I was still smiling when Kellie and I stepped into Harrods, the most elaborately decorated department store either of us had ever been in. The founder of Harrods was credited as once saying customers could buy anything from a “pin to an elephant.” One brazen customer supposedly went to the pet department and asked to order an elephant. The response from the clerk was, “African or Indian? Male or female?”

I relayed that bit of trivia to Kellie as we entered the store, and
she said, “I definitely don’t want to buy an elephant. I wouldn’t mind finding the ladies’ washroom, though.”

We found the immaculate facilities easily enough but weren’t prepared for the pinkness of it all, nor did we understand the procedure of paying the maid for the use of the rest room. She wore a proper maid’s uniform with an apron and offered us towels to dry our hands. On a corner end table was a china dish where we watched another customer deposit a few coins before putting aside her used towel.

“Call me pessimistic …” I said as we exited the rest room.

“You? Pessimistic? Never.”

“I’m just thinking that if the rest of this retail theme park is anything like that bathroom, I won’t be able to afford a pair of jeans here, and that was the one item I needed to shop for.”

“Then do you mind if we start in the stationery department? I’ve been wanting a purse-sized notebook since I didn’t bring one with me. I’ve wanted to take notes about so many things, and I’m afraid I’ve graffitied all your information pages.”

“First stop, stationery.” Taking a short escalator, we followed signs to the stationery department and browsed table after table of stacked leather-bound notebooks. We saw daily planner–style calendars advertised as “diaries” and lots of address books. I found a blank notebook I liked and willingly paid the high price because it was so nicely made. Kellie found another style for half the price and decided to buy it.

“Do you want to try looking for jeans?” Kellie asked after the journal was tucked into my shoulder bag.

“Not yet. Why don’t we just keep exploring? This place is fascinating.”

“I know. It’s so organized.”

I smiled. Leave it to Kellie to admire the organizational features of one of the world’s most prestigious department stores.

We navigated our way through the store to an amazing food court that was nothing like any food court I had ever seen. This area was more like an archipelago of food stations, each different in personality and offerings. The food islands seemed to stay afloat in a sea of humans, all sniffing the air, looking right and left at the options. A feeding frenzy was about to take place.

I almost regretted that neither of us was hungry yet. It would have been fascinating to try some of the specialties prepared at the individual stations. We ambled along and ended up in an area devoted to tea, chocolate, and coffee.

The aroma was magnificent. An employee with a tray offered us samples of a specialty drinking chocolate that she said came from an ancient Aztec recipe. We sipped the treasured drink from tiny white paper cups and with wide-eyed agreement stood in line to buy a decorative tin of the chocolate pearls that she said would dissolve in hot water or hot milk.

I loved the carnival atmosphere in that department. It felt exotic, like a Mediterranean spice market. These goods had come from the four corners of the earth, and here they were, gathered
in one well-stocked department, waiting for eager pilgrims to sample a taste. My theatrical thoughts might have had something to do with the Italian salami and provolone we had just sampled. Or it could be I was having one of those moments when I realized I wasn’t in “Kansas anymore.” We had nice stores in Florida but nothing like this all under one roof.

As Kellie paid for her chocolate, I lingered over the variety of teas in beautiful tins. One of the teas was named “Lady Grey,” and I decided to buy it, thinking of Lady Jane Grey, whose name we had just seen carved in the Tower of London.

Kellie picked up a tin of Darjeeling tea, and I teased her, saying, “You’re copying me. You’re buying everything I’m buying.”

“Well, Lady Flo, what can I say? You have good taste.”

We made our way into the very fragrant fragrance department and were amazed at all the shoppers buzzing around the nectar hubs. It really felt as if we were removed from any sense of time of day as we wandered from one department to the next. Outside it could be rainy or sunny. It didn’t matter. In here, all was alive with color and scent and a pervading sense of Victorian ornamental poshness.

I don’t know if Kellie meant to take so much time at the shelf that was lined with boxed sets of fragrances and lotions, but she caught the eye of one of the salesclerks, who came over. The well-dressed woman described the benefits of a particular product and the added value of buying the promotional gift box.

“I really am only interested in buying the lotion,” Kellie said.

I found the sample atomizer of the fragrance Kellie was considering and gave my wrist a spritz. “Kellie, you should get the set.” I came alongside her and let her sniff my wrist. “It’s a nice fragrance.”

She hesitated.

“Do I need to buy one first so you’ll copy me?”

I remembered what Martin had told me a few days before we left. He said my job on this trip was to make sure Kellie spent a little extra on herself. He was afraid she would hesitate over something she really liked and then would come home and regret she hadn’t bought it when she had the chance.

With best-friend audacity, I said to the salesclerk, “She needs to buy the set. Don’t let her get only the lotion. Keep telling her what a great deal it is.”

Kellie laughed and gave in without further debate. I told her I had just done my job for the trip and Martin would be pleased. She had no idea what I was talking about. While she paid for the fragrance gift set, I peered at the makeup display.

“Are you going to buy something too?” Kellie asked.

“Of course. We’re having a contest, or didn’t you know? You’re two items ahead of me.”

The salesclerk tilted her head and looked at me from under the long lashes of her perfectly made-up eyes. “Have you considered using an eyebrow pencil?”

“I do sometimes.” I automatically touched my brows. “I know my eyebrows are fading away, but I don’t like them to be too dark.”

“We have a lovely pencil in a soft brown that comes with a smudger. I think it would work nicely for you.”

“A smudger?”

She showed me the sample item with the soft tip at one end and the retractable eyeliner pencil on the other. “This allows you to blend the color and make it more natural. Would you like me to demonstrate on you?”

“Do you mean have our makeup done?” Kellie asked.

“If you like, yes, my assistant and I would be glad to do that for both of you.”

Kellie looked excited. I knew she loved this sort of thing but rarely allotted time or money for such extras. While she had spent the last fifteen years driving her three sons to football practice, doing their mounds of laundry, and launching them out of the house, I was getting my fill of teenage-daughter times, indulging in long makeup sessions and toenail-painting evenings. Kellie missed out on all that. This would be a nice treat for her.

“We’re going to tea at the Ritz.” Kellie took a seat on the high stool. “We have to be there at three. But we wanted to have a quick tour of the V and A since it’s so close.”

“Lovely,” the makeup artist said. “We have plenty of time to get the two of you looking your best for your afternoon events. Do you have plans for the evening as well?”

Kellie leaned over and touched my arm. “I think tonight is the night we should go to the theater.
Les Misérables.”

“Why not?”

“We can arrange the tickets for you here in guest services, if you like,” the cosmetician said.

Once again my answer was, “Why not?”

“I’ll make a quick call and be right back.”

From there on, Kellie and I were sitting ducks. But I must say, we were the most content of all sitting ducks because it had been a long, long time since either of us had been so pampered. Besides, it was easy to comply. The London Princess Syndrome was taking effect on me. I supposed if I had to sit in the cushy chair and have my makeup done at Harrods, then I would. And if we had to go to tea at the Ritz, so be it. Such are the obligations when you take on the role of princess for the day.