Margaret's Point of View
The road to London was long, yet every turn of the car wheel seemed to beat in harmony with Margaret Williams's heart. She had risen before dawn, her soft auburn hair tied neatly beneath a bonnet, her traveling cloak buttoned up against the early spring chill. The sky bore the faintest tint of rose as the Williams car, a fine dark-blue, Allure by Ebony & Co. Motors, rolled steadily along the paved road that led away from Hampstead. Inside, Margaret sat beside her maid, Ellen, who was busy arranging a small picnic basket that contained slices of warm bread, cheese and tea prepared earlier by the manor cook.
Ahead, Mr. Fletcher, her trusted driver, driving with quiet confidence. Margaret had instructed him to take the smoothest route possible, for this journey was not one of haste but of quiet hope. Her invitation to the Royal Clarendon Hall Fundraising for Orphanage Homes had filled her with both pride and nervous anticipation. It was to be her first grand appearance in London as the Lady of Hampstead, a title that, though she bore humbly, was now being recognized far beyond her quiet town.
As the carriage moved past the rolling countryside, Margaret leaned her head against the window and watched the passing fields blur into soft shades of green and gold. Her thoughts wandered to Jonathan Hargrave. She had written to him before leaving, informing him of the invitation and expressing her wish for him to accompany her to the fundraising as her partner. She had smiled as she sealed the letter, imagining his face lighting up as he read it. How long it had been since she last saw him, since those letters of his stopped arriving. Yet, she chose not to dwell on the ache of absence. Instead, she looked ahead, hopeful that London might reunite them under gentler skies.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, night had descended like a velvet curtain embroidered with a thousand golden stars. London glimmered before her, a marvel of gas lamps, bustling streets and grand buildings with glowing windows. Margaret's eyes widened with awe. "So this is London," she whispered softly, her voice filled with wonder. "Is this what Jonathan has been enjoying all alone?"
Her maid stirred awake at her words. "My lady, have we arrived?" Ellen asked drowsily, rubbing her eyes.
"Yes, Ellen," Margaret said, smiling warmly. "Look outside. We are in London."
Ellen peered through the window and gasped. "Oh, it's so bright, my lady! Look at the lamps, those fine cars and carriages!"
Even Mr. Fletcher, who had seen little of the world more than her, could not hide his fascination as he slowed the car through the well-lit streets. The soft hum of the city reached their ears, the distant laughter from taverns, the clip-clop of horses' hooves, car horns and the faint sound of a violin playing somewhere nearby.
They soon arrived at The Golden Crown Inn, a grand establishment known for its elegance and proximity to the Royal Clarendon Hall. Mr. Fletcher parked and got down first. He then opened the car door and extended his hand to assist his mistress. Margaret took it gracefully, the hem of her deep-emerald green traveling gown brushing against the stone pavement as she descended. Ellen also got all of their luggages and follow suit.
Inside the inn, the air was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and polish. A tall young man at the counter greeted her with a courteous bow. "Good evening, my lady. Welcome to The Golden Crown Inn. May i know your name, so i can check for your reservation. "Am Lady Margaret Williams of Hampstead." The young replied, "Oh we have been expecting you."
Margaret smiled softly. "Indeed. Thank you. I believe rooms were reserved for myself, my maid and my driver."
"Yes, my lady," the man replied, "though I must apologize. Owing to the great number of guests arriving for tomorrow's program at the Royal Clarendon Hall, we can only provide two rooms instead of three."
Margaret exchanged a surprised glance with Ellen. Before she could respond, a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air from the other end of the counter.
"This is an outrage!" a young lady cried. "My father paid for four rooms and you give me only two? Where do you expect my maids to sleep, in the stable?"
The commotion drew several eyes. Margaret turned slightly, seeing a woman dressed in fine lace and silk, her face flushed with anger. The young man was trying to explain to the lady, but the lady got enraged, shouting and causing distraction. Margaret stepped forward, her instinct was to calm her down.
"Hold on a minute Miss, am also having same issue as yours, but let them explain better to us" she began kindly, but the lady turned sharply to her.
"And who are you to interfere?" she snapped, her eyes flashing with pride. "Mind your own affairs, madam."
For a moment, the room fell silent. Ellen gasped and Mr. Fletcher's jaw tightened as he entered the inn with their remaining luggage.
"Watch your tongue, young woman," he said sternly, stepping closer. "You speaking to Lady Williams of Hampstead."
At once, the inn's manager and two guards hurried forward, alarmed. The lady's expression faltered as murmurs rose around the room.
"My lady," the manager said quickly, bowing low. "Forgive the disturbance. We are deeply sorry for the discourtesy."
Margaret raised her hand gently. "Pray, it is all right. There is no need for commotion. We are all weary travelers tonight."
Her calmness soothed the room. The lady, though visibly embarrassed, turned away without another word. The manager personally handed Margaret two brass keys and directed them to their rooms.
As they climbed the grand staircase, Ellen whispered, "My lady, that woman was terribly rude. You should not have let her speak to you in such a way."
Margaret smiled faintly. "It costs nothing to be kind, Ellen. London is large, perhaps her manners are small in comparison."
They reached their suite, where a young inn attendant brought their luggage inside. Margaret handed one of the keys to Mr. Fletcher. "This smaller room shall be yours. Ellen and I will share the master bedroom."
"My lady," Mr. Fletcher said quickly, "I can sleep in the car if need be. Your comfort is of greater importance."
"And I can sleep on the floor, my lady," Ellen added hastily.
"Nonsense," Margaret said with gentle authority. "We will all rest under a proper roof tonight. You, Mr. Fletcher, shall take the smaller room and Ellen shall sleep beside me. We must all be well-rested for tomorrow."
Her tone left no room for argument. They obeyed.
Later that night, after a warm supper was brought to their room, roast duck, bread and a pot of steaming tea, Margaret sat by the window, looking out at the glittering lights of London. The distant sound of carriage wheels echoed below.
Ellen had already fallen asleep, her breathing soft and steady. Margaret smiled faintly, then drew her writing case close and opened it. She took out her finest pen, dipped it into the ink and began to write:
My dearest Jonathan,
I arrived safely in London this evening. The city is as grand as I had always imagined, its streets lined with lights and its air full of promise. Tomorrow I shall attend the fundraising at Royal Clarendon Hall. It warms my heart to think that you, too, might be there beside me. I have missed your company dearly and I look forward to seeing the man, I have so much been longing for, the man whose letters once made my evenings so bright.
Yours always,
Margaret Williams.
When she finished, she sealed the letter with the Williams crest, she wore her pelisse and glove, went back to the reception and asked the young man from earlier to find someone to deliver her letter to the address on the envelope. She placed it carefully on the reception table with a stipend, the young man smile and told her it will be delivered. When she got back to her room, she pulled off her cloak and glove, she lay on the bed and blew out the candle. Yet, sleep did not come easily. Her mind was full of restless thoughts, of Jonathan's smile, of how London's lights might have changed him and whether he still thought of her as fondly as she did of him.
The night deepened and the city hummed quietly beyond the window. Margaret turned slightly on her pillow, her heart full of hope and happiness. Tomorrow would tell.
And as she closed her eyes, the first light of dawn began to touch the distant rooftops of London.
Author's Note:
Margaret's arrival in London marks a turning point in her story. Her hope, her quiet grace, and her longing for Jonathan's affection set the stage for emotional revelations to come at Royal Clarendon Hall. What she will discover there, however, may not be what her heart expects.