It was neither the creaking coal cart, nor the light postman's carriage, nor the milk cart commonly seen in the morning.
It was a carriage twice the size of an ordinary one, adorned with pale golden decorations, much larger than the four-wheeled carriages used by the middle class.
The horses pulling the carriage were not brown, nor the common black ones, but four rare Windsor grey horses, the sleek coats of the four grey horses looking almost silver in the morning mist.
The coachman, holding a whip, let the tassel of his hat droop, his back ramrod straight. On each side of the carriage, there were two Guard Cavalry members draped in cloaks, accompanying them.
The clerk at the tea shop on the street corner had just hung the wooden sign at the door when he stopped his action. Several gentlemen smoking and chatting in front of the shop also couldn't help but look towards the direction of the procession.
