The lords and ladies started filing into the upper chamber two hours before proceedings were due to start. A riot of scarlet and ermine. No dressing-up box left unturned. Old costume tiaras from Claire’s Accessories dusted down. Apart from one woman sitting near the throne who appeared to have a vegetable garden growing out of her head. They do things differently in the upper chamber.
Most of all there was the sense of entitlement. There wasn’t a man or woman in the Lords who had a moment’s doubt they deserved to be there. The great and the good. The chosen ones. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, others have greatness thrust upon them. All forms of greatness were found here. Even the youngest peer, Charlotte Owen. No one still knows why she was made a baroness. But ours is not to question the righteous order of things. Merely to bow low. We are not the chosen ones. Silence is all that is required from us.
