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Updated: May 31, 2025
None could be surprised that the Whig aristocracy should swell the triumph of Whig principles. But the Jacobites saw, with concern, that many Lords who had voted for a Regency bore a conspicuous part in the ceremonial. The King's crown was carried by Grafton, the Queen's by Somerset. The pointed sword, emblematical of temporal justice, was borne by Pembroke.
That chamber would be profaned, now, and those dear ornaments, which were mine, violated. The imagination choked me. I would have them. I must. Nothing easier than to pry open a door or window in the north wing, by the ball-room. When I saw Grafton I would tell him. Nay, I would write him that day. I was even casting about me for an implement, when I heard a step on the gravel beside me.
Did he hope that some spirit of the poor, murdered woman might still be lingering there, to whisper to him what he sought to learn? "Who is that man?" asked Colonel Ashley of Mr. Kettridge, who had often come to the shop during the holiday seasons to help Mrs. Darcy. "Oh, that's Mr. Grafton." "Mr. Grafton? Who is he?" "Aaron Grafton, one of Colchester's best and wealthiest citizens.
As a rule she was fond of mild fun, alert to hear East Grafton gossip, and given to sudden little trills of almost girlish laughter, which for the time being dispelled the atmosphere of gentle old-maidishness which seemed to hang about her as a garment. At such moments we did not find it hard to believe as we did at other times that Aunt Olivia had once been a girl herself.
"I have come to nurse him," said she, imperiously, and, turning to where I stood near, she added: "Bid a servant fetch from York Street what I shall have need of." The doctor smiled, but stood firm. He cared little for aught in heaven or earth, did Dr. Leiden, and nothing whatever for Mr. and Mrs. Grafton Carvel. "I peg you, matam, do not disturp yourself," said he. "Mr.
"I love a lassie!" I hummed. And then I thocht: "Noo there's a bonny idea for a bit sang!" That time the melody came to me frae the first. It was wi' the words I had the trouble. I couldna do anything wi' them at a' at first. So I put the bit I'd written awa'. But whiles later I remembered it again, and I took the idea to my gude friend Gerald Grafton.
"Captain say he gwine to throw me overboard." "What for?" "I ain't got no business here, suh." "Then what are you here for?" "Lookin' fer Ole Cap'n, suh." "Ole Cap'n who?" said Grafton, mimicking. "Cap'n Crittenden, suh." "Well, if you are his servant, I suppose they won't throw you overboard. What's your name?" "Bob, suh Bob Crittenden." "Crittenden," repeated Grafton, smiling.
As the woman walked on, she turned now and then and looked back along the fast-darkening streets. For a moment the colonel was suspicious. "I wonder if she has seen me?" he murmured. He gave a quick, backward glance, and started as he saw another figure not far behind him. "Can it be?" exclaimed the colonel. "No, it's Aaron Grafton," he proceeded with an air of relief.
The Earl of Chatham, Lord North, the Earl of Sandwich, Bubb Doddington, George Selwyn, Charles Townshend, Horace Walpole, Lord Camden, Lord Northington, the Earl of Chesterfield, Viscount Bolingbroke, the Earl of Bath, Frederick, Prince of Wales, the Duke of Cumberland, John, Lord Hervey, the Duke of Bolton, the Duke of Grafton, Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, the Duchess of Buckingham, Lady Townshend, were at different times among the hearers.
Upon one vista Grafton Street with its glittering shops stretches, or rather winds, to the St. Stephen's Green Park, terminating at the gate known as the Fusiliers' Arch, but which local patriotism has rechristened the Traitors' Gate.
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