They were met by a housekeeper, though Julianna imagined the role was more akin to that of a general, given the size of the house and the monarchical stature of its inhabitants.
The interior of the Pavilion—at least the handful of public rooms they were shown—was nothing short of astonishing. Never had Julianna seen, or thought to see, something so opulent, so extravagant.
They were led first to a grand, lushly carpeted gallery papered in a botanical pattern. Everywhere one looked, one saw bamboo tables and enormous vases. The elongated room was flanked on either end by grand staircases that were, they were informed, made of mahogany carved to look like bamboo.
“Can you tell us anything about the inspiration, or rationale, for the decor here?” Julianna asked the housekeeper. “It wasn’t that long ago, I understand, that the palace was made over in the French style.”
Julianna continued to question the housekeeper as Lord Harcourt “sketched” and Lord Marsden took furious notes, notes she suspected were real. Julianna’s “husband” said nothing, merely followed a few steps behind her, though he offered his arm as they departed for the banqueting room.
The room’s enormous table was geographically its center, but the eye was drawn everywhere else, seemingly all at once. Golden lampstands, pagodas, and all manner of luxury competed for one’s attention. It would hardly matter what one ate in a room such as this, so absorbed would one’s other senses be.
“The chandelier weighs one ton,” the housekeeper informed them, causing Julianna to tilt her head back to take in a cut-glass chandelier hanging from a high, domed ceiling. It was held by a silver dragon.
She hardly knew what to say, where to look, so she kept looking at the dragon. In truth, she was feeling a little overwhelmed. She had been prepared for luxury but not to this degree. It was as if her mind couldn’t make sense of such excess. She felt almost frozen.
“What a pity we can’t include an illustration.” Lord Harcourt sidled up to Julianna and showed her his sketchbook—but angled in such a way that she was the only one who could see his “drawing.” The page was covered with scribbles, most of which were abstract, but she caught a glimpse in one corner of a clumsy drawing of a horse, and in another, a tree.
The absurdity of it tipped her out of her trance, and suddenly, it was all she could do not to dissolve into a fit of giggles. “How wonderful, Mr. Nasmith”—she managed to summon the agreed-upon alias for Lord Harcourt. “You have quite captured the essence of the space and your efforts will aid Mr. Hopkins”—“Mr. Hopkins,” of course, being Lord Marsden’s assumed name—“enormously in his essay.”
The housekeeper asked if they wanted to see the kitchen. Julianna thought it odd she was offering, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. It would certainly make for an interesting juxtaposition to all this luxury. Effie winked at Julianna as he once again offered a “husbandly” arm.
She was both right and wrong about the kitchen being less luxurious than that which had preceded it. On the one hand, it was clearly a functional space, lined with more copper pots and pans than Julianna could count. But it was also like no kitchen she had ever seen. “These are . . . trees?” Julianna asked, gesturing to one of several thin columns that reached all the way up to the high ceiling.
“Yes,” came the reply. “Palm trees. Even the kitchen has not been overlooked in His Majesty’s decor scheme.”
The kitchen was clearly a point of pride, for they were treated to a lecture on its technological advancements, which included a steam-heated warming table and a range hood made of copper that was meant to draw cooking odors up and away.
Julianna was stuck on the trees, though. Imagine having four enormous decorative columns in one’skitchen. Imagine having a decor scheme for a room that was merely functional, a room that no one besides servants would ever see.
She stopped in her tracks, interrogating herself. Was she implying that servants deserved less beautiful surroundings than did His Majesty’s guests dining on the other side of the door?
So lost in her thoughts was she that she had to hurry to catch the others, who were departing through a different door. Well, she had to hurry to catch Lords Harcourt and Marsden. “Mr. Evans”—because Julianna had already introduced herself when asking for a tour, they’d had to give Effie her surname—was hovering nearby, uxorious as ever.
“Shall we?” he asked gently, seeming to understand that the tour was unfolding at a more rapid pace than Julianna was capable of keeping up with.
Indeed, she had to force herself to pay attention to the saloon, and the music room, which were the penultimate and final stops on their tour. Red silk–paneled walls, an enormous sunflower carpet, pagodas, golden clocks, elaborate wallpaper, soaring ceilings.
Her mind was spinning.
When it became apparent that the tour was winding down, she searched her mind for any remaining questions and came up blank. There was too much detail to even know where to begin with questions of fact, and she could hardly ask whether the kitchen maids and footmen appreciated the palm trees in the kitchen.
After offering profuse thanks, and pledging to send a copy of the magazine, the foursome emerged blinking into the late morning—the interiors of the palace had been dim. As if by previous agreement, they strode across the gardens without speaking. It wasn’t until they were out of view of the main entrance that they circled up.
The gentlemen regarded her keenly. They were, of course, looking to her for direction, for an opinion, forsomething. They were looking for her to speak, not be struck dumb by a royal palace.
“I knew, of course, that the decor was inspired by the East,” she began slowly. “But to know is one thing, to see quite another.”
Effie and Lord Marsden murmured their agreement, and Julianna, still blinking, said, “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to take in enough detail to do the place justice.”
She was genuinely dismayed by having fallen so short. How would she ever convey to her readers what she had seen?
Lord Harcourt cocked his head, regarding her with a concerned expression. “Perhaps I can help.” He turned his sketchpad to face everyone, showing off his hash of a “drawing,” which was both more elaborate and more absurd than the version he’d shown her inside.
Everyone burst into laughter.
There had been an odd sort of tension accompanying them on the tour, which Julianna hadn’t realized until their laughter made it dissipate. She hadn’t truly been afraid they’d be caught out, but one couldn’t deny that they had gained entry under false pretenses.
“’Tis a good thing I’m only posing as an artist,” Lord Harcourt said when they’d calmed themselves.
