creatures!”
King Edward VII’s manicured hand rested for a moment on the silky head of one of the tall white Borzoi hounds that Count Dimitrov had given him that morning, when he arrived at Sandringham to begin his visit.
“Alas, we have no wolves at Sandringham for them to chase!”
Arkady bowed, politely.
“I am sure that they will not mind, sir, to leave the dangers of that most perilous sport behind them.”
“How graceful they are,” the Queen remarked. “An ornament to any room they inhabit. I should think they would make excellent pets. Will you have another cup of coffee, Count Dimitrov?”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I am more than replete after your delicious luncheon.”
In fact, Arkady was feeling uncomfortably full. So many rich courses had been brought to the long table in the dining room and he had eaten far too much. He shifted his position on the small uncomfortable gilt chair where he sat.
“I cannot help but think, Count, that you are rather like a Borzoi yourself!” the Queen was saying, a Regal smile on her face. “You are so tall and you have the same air of strength and grace that they have.”
Arkady laughed.
“Thank you, ma’am. An unusual compliment!”
“We really do want you to enjoy your stay here at Sandringham,” the Queen continued. “This is one of our favourite residences and you must feel quite at home here.”
Arkady bowed again and now the King was asking him how he liked Norfolk.
“I have seen only glimpses on my journey here,” he replied, “but the flat landscape reminds me of my country estate in Russia. I should like to know more about it.”
The King looked pleased and he then told Arkady to wander wherever he liked in the gardens and grounds around the house.
But flowerbeds and prettily clipped bushes were not what Arkady really cared for that afternoon. He seemed to have been cooped up indoors for so many weeks now and he longed to roam free.
He could have gone to the stables and asked for a horse or even a chaise, so that he could go further afield, and he was about to do so, when something caught his eye.
An old bicycle was leaning up against the wall of the garden.
Arkady had never ridden a bicycle before and he wondered what it would be like.
Why should he not give it a try? He went over and took hold of the handlebars, noticing that someone had tied a rolled-up woollen coat onto the back of the bicycle.
Arkady wheeled the bicycle onto the smooth grass of the lawn, straddled it and launched himself forward.
“Hey!” a voice cried.
Arkady looked around to see who had spoken, and in the next moment found himself lying flat on the grass, the bicycle on top of him.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” a young lad in work clothes was running up to him. “Oh, excuse me, sir.”
The lad blushed a fiery red and took his cap off.
“I am Count Dimitrov,” Arkady said, standing up and brushing a few dead leaves from his trousers, “and this I presume is your bicycle?”
“Yes it is, um – Count Dimitrov.” The young man asked, looking anxiously at Arkady. “Are you hurt, sir?”
“Only in my pride. And who are you?”
“Jeremy, sir, Jeremy Jones. I work in the gardens, here.”
“So, how does one master this thing?”
Arkady picked up the bicycle from the grass and stood it on its wheels.
“Well, it’s easy once you know how!” Jeremy said and then he added, politely, “although I don’t know how many times I fell off when I was learnin’.”
“Show me how to do it!” Arkady requested.
Jeremy took the bicycle and demonstrated how to mount it and then how to turn the pedals and make it go forward.
Arkady tried again, but, although his balance was somewhat better this time, he could not seem to get the bicycle moving very well.
“It’s difficult on the grass,” Jeremy said, “because the ground is damp and it’s slowin’ the wheels down. It’s easier on the road.”
“Then let’s go there!”
“If you
King Edward VII’s manicured hand rested for a moment on the silky head of one of the tall white Borzoi hounds that Count Dimitrov had given him that morning, when he arrived at Sandringham to begin his visit.
“Alas, we have no wolves at Sandringham for them to chase!”
Arkady bowed, politely.
“I am sure that they will not mind, sir, to leave the dangers of that most perilous sport behind them.”
“How graceful they are,” the Queen remarked. “An ornament to any room they inhabit. I should think they would make excellent pets. Will you have another cup of coffee, Count Dimitrov?”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I am more than replete after your delicious luncheon.”
In fact, Arkady was feeling uncomfortably full. So many rich courses had been brought to the long table in the dining room and he had eaten far too much. He shifted his position on the small uncomfortable gilt chair where he sat.
“I cannot help but think, Count, that you are rather like a Borzoi yourself!” the Queen was saying, a Regal smile on her face. “You are so tall and you have the same air of strength and grace that they have.”
Arkady laughed.
“Thank you, ma’am. An unusual compliment!”
“We really do want you to enjoy your stay here at Sandringham,” the Queen continued. “This is one of our favourite residences and you must feel quite at home here.”
Arkady bowed again and now the King was asking him how he liked Norfolk.
“I have seen only glimpses on my journey here,” he replied, “but the flat landscape reminds me of my country estate in Russia. I should like to know more about it.”
The King looked pleased and he then told Arkady to wander wherever he liked in the gardens and grounds around the house.
But flowerbeds and prettily clipped bushes were not what Arkady really cared for that afternoon. He seemed to have been cooped up indoors for so many weeks now and he longed to roam free.
He could have gone to the stables and asked for a horse or even a chaise, so that he could go further afield, and he was about to do so, when something caught his eye.
An old bicycle was leaning up against the wall of the garden.
Arkady had never ridden a bicycle before and he wondered what it would be like.
Why should he not give it a try? He went over and took hold of the handlebars, noticing that someone had tied a rolled-up woollen coat onto the back of the bicycle.
Arkady wheeled the bicycle onto the smooth grass of the lawn, straddled it and launched himself forward.
“Hey!” a voice cried.
Arkady looked around to see who had spoken, and in the next moment found himself lying flat on the grass, the bicycle on top of him.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” a young lad in work clothes was running up to him. “Oh, excuse me, sir.”
The lad blushed a fiery red and took his cap off.
“I am Count Dimitrov,” Arkady said, standing up and brushing a few dead leaves from his trousers, “and this I presume is your bicycle?”
“Yes it is, um – Count Dimitrov.” The young man asked, looking anxiously at Arkady. “Are you hurt, sir?”
“Only in my pride. And who are you?”
“Jeremy, sir, Jeremy Jones. I work in the gardens, here.”
“So, how does one master this thing?”
Arkady picked up the bicycle from the grass and stood it on its wheels.
“Well, it’s easy once you know how!” Jeremy said and then he added, politely, “although I don’t know how many times I fell off when I was learnin’.”
“Show me how to do it!” Arkady requested.
Jeremy took the bicycle and demonstrated how to mount it and then how to turn the pedals and make it go forward.
Arkady tried again, but, although his balance was somewhat better this time, he could not seem to get the bicycle moving very well.
“It’s difficult on the grass,” Jeremy said, “because the ground is damp and it’s slowin’ the wheels down. It’s easier on the road.”
“Then let’s go there!”
“If you
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