Uneasy Lies the Crown

by Tasha Alexander

  “I have made my peace with God,” William said. “And as for the king … do you not think he envies us our position? Tonight, we struggle with the anxiety that comes with the anticipation of battle, but the king wrestles with the fate of all of our souls. We will follow him wherever he bids us to go and owe him our respect and our confidence. Where do you think he will reside in hell if he leads us in a cause that is not just? I would much rather be a simple soldier, fighting for my king, than to have that weight on me.”

  The man nodded and walked away, his bearing regal, and then was engulfed by darkness. There could be no doubt it was the king. The priest made the sign of the cross in front of William and offered a blessing. William nodded thanks and remained there, standing, until the first light of dawn struggled through the heavy clouds in the sky.

  It would not be long now.

  1901

  27

  Naturally, I directed Davis to bring Inspector Pickering to us in the library. After introducing him to my husband, there could be no mistake that Colin’s reputation had preceded him far more than mine. The young man shook his hand with a vigor and enthusiasm that nearly exceeded the effusive praise he offered to accompany the act. I told him to sit and offered him a glass of whisky.

  “I have the information you requested, Lady Emily,” he said, taking the whisky but looking almost afraid to drink it. “And I must say again, Mr. Hargreaves, what a very great honor it is to meet you, sir. Your acumen and intellect, combined with endless courage and physical strength unlike that possessed by any of your colleagues—”

  Colin silenced him with a motion of his hand.

  “Yes, of course,” the inspector said, pushing up his wire spectacles, which had slid down his narrow nose. “Forgive my fervor.”

  “What can you tell us about Traddles?” Colin asked.

  The direct question appeared to calm down the other man, but he still took a deep breath and paused, collecting himself, before continuing. “He was arrested once as a youth, but not held accountable for his crime because the victim refused to press charges—he was, it appears, averse to seeing a boy so young punished in too severe a fashion. Felt that the lad deserved a second chance at an honest life. The rest of his file contains page after page of incidents in which his participation was suspected, but never proven. When he was seventeen, however, he was arrested again, this time not for petty theft, but for stealing a horse. He was convicted of the crime and served out his sentence in Newgate. Upon his release, he must have gone to Wales. I am not quite sure how a man with his record managed to get a job, but somehow he did, and that’s how he wound up in the mine.”

  “Was there any mention of where he lived when he was a boy?” I asked.

  “No,” Inspector Pickering said. “In fact, he refused to give any address, saying only that he lived on the street. No doubt he ran with some gang or another.”

  “I’ve been told he had numerous siblings,” I said. “As many as eight. Would it be possible for you to locate any of them?”

  “I did, Lady Emily, take the step of searching for information we had on other persons with the surname Traddles,” he said. “A Robert Traddles was arrested during the Trafalgar Square riot on Black Monday in 1886. Two leftist organizations planned protests for that day—something to do with the unemployed, if I remember correctly; it was before my time—and pandemonium broke out afterwards in Pall Mall. There was a great deal of window smashing and looting. Traddles was part of a group cited for drinking brandy they’d stolen from a shop. At the time, he was an unemployed dockworker. I made note of the address he gave when he was arrested.” He passed a slip of paper to Colin, who nodded thanks. “According to baptismal records, he does have a brother called Ned.”

  “This is good work, Pickering,” Colin said. “Shows initiative.”

  The younger man’s cheeks flushed. “Forgive me if I am too bold,” he said, turning to me, “but I understand that you have, Lady Emily, often faced difficulty when seeking information from my colleagues. My mother would have disowned me if she thought I stood in the way of a lady trying to pursue meaningful occupation, so I should very much like to offer my services, limited though they are, to you. To you both, of course, although I know you, Mr. Hargreaves, have unfettered access to anything you want. It just strikes me that there may be times, like today, when it isn’t convenient for you to come running to Scotland Yard. Furthermore”—he paused and his cheeks flushed even darker—“a lady ought not to have to rely on her husband for everything. In the way of, as I said before, pursuing an occupation, that is. I hope you don’t think I meant—”

  “There is no need to explain,” Colin said. “The offer is understood as intended. Emily, what say you?”

  “I should be delighted to consider you a colleague,” I said, and offered my hand to Inspector Pickering.

  “That’s very good of you, madam, I’m thrilled to be of service,” he said, his boyish exuberance once again being expressed through the vigorous shaking of hands. “I hesitate to say this, but should you ever wish to reach me by telephone at the Yard, you might have your butler ring. The other fellows are more likely to come fetch me if they don’t know you’re the one looking for information. It’s just that—”

  “I am all too well aware of how your coworkers feel about me,” I said, “and shall heed your excellent advice.” We thanked him again, and after he’d spent several more minutes expressing his deepest admiration of Colin’s abilities, he took his leave.

  “That’s quite a conquest you’ve made,” I said when we were alone again. “He all but worships you.”

  “I should be flattered, I suppose, but I don’t do my work in the hope of receiving compliments,” Colin said. “I do it out of duty to my country. I am, nonetheless, pleased that his rather absurd admiration of me has led you to, at last, have a source at the Yard. Perhaps someday, young Inspector Pickering will rise through the ranks, become commissioner, and hire female officers.”

  “I suspect we are a long way from that happening,” I said.

  “Sadly, I must agree.” He leaned back in his chair and shot me a meaningful look. “It is too late to go to anywhere near the docks, and it’s unlikely Robert Traddles is still at an address he gave fifteen years ago. What would you say to a game of chess? We can search for Traddles in the morning.”

  The sparkle in his eyes told me he had no intention of playing chess. I will only say that he did, indeed, make me feel like a queen.

  * * *

  The next morning, much to our surprise, we found the Traddles family still in residence at the address given by Robert all those years ago. Their building stood in a street with rubbish-filled gutters that produced a shocking stench. The malodorous environment appeared to go wholly unnoticed by the children who played there, their faces streaked with the smut residents of London know all too well. Mrs. Traddles, who opened the door for us and hesitated before inviting us inside, was a middle-aged woman with thin lips and kind eyes, and exuded the exhaustion brought on by a lifetime of hard work. She explained that her husband was at the docks.

  “But don’t go searching for him,” she said, motioning for us to sit on a settee that looked as if it might collapse at any moment. Her tidy front room, warmed only by a small stove, was chock-full of worn furniture, some of it in obvious need of repair. No one, however, could fault her housekeeping; there was not a speck of dust to be seen. “We don’t need that sort of trouble. It’s hard enough finding a job these days. People like you in your fancy duds showing up to talk to him would just make tongues wag.”

  “We are not here to cause any sort of trouble,” I said. “Rather, we are seeking information about your husband’s brother Ned.”

  “A pack of nothing good was all anyone ever got from Ned,” Mrs. Traddles said, picking up the knitting on the table next to her chair. The undyed wool looked homespun. “Never wanted an honest day’s work, that one. My Robert, who was the oldest in the family, tried to help him, yo
u know, when they was young. But Ned would have none of it. And what more could Robert do? There was eight of them then. Their parents died—cholera, it was—and left them with nothing. Robert did his best.”

  “I’m sure he did, Mrs. Traddles,” I said. “No one should shoulder so much responsibility at such a young age.”

  “Only someone who lives in your world would say that.”

  I could not argue with her on that point. “Perhaps your husband did have an impact on Ned. He eventually got a good, respectable job.”

  “Only because he had no other options. He’d been nicked, you know, and went to Newgate. Not even his old gang wanted him after that, although I’m not quite sure why that would be. Jail always seemed to be a badge of honor among them, so far as I could tell. That’s what they do, those gangs, seduce boys into thinking the life’s full of fun and excitement and then make it impossible for them to earn a decent living. They know nothing but crime.”

  “Do you know which gang Ned belonged to?” Colin asked.

  “He ran with the King’s Boys, and if you ask me there’s none that’s worse.”

  “The King’s Boys?” I asked and turned to my husband. “The boys outside the Black Swan mentioned belonging to that group.”

  “You make it sound like a gentleman’s club,” Colin said, which caused Mrs. Traddles to laugh.

  “Well, they’d like to think it’s something of the sort. Don’t realize what they’re getting themselves into, do they? Too young and too stupid.”

  “Did you have any contact with Ned after he went to Wales?” Colin asked.

  “Yes, he came to town once a month or so and always showed up here all apologetic and acting like he’d reformed,” Mrs. Traddles said. “Maybe he had, but I wasn’t about to trust him and neither was Robert. We’d fallen for his tales of woe too many times before and weren’t about to get pulled into his sordid world again. I do feel a bit bad, though, given how he died. When the news came, Robert was near beside himself. And then, when we got word that he’d named us as next of kin and we received the settlement paid by the mine, well, it was even worse for my poor husband. He tried to refuse the money, but they wouldn’t have none of it. So, in the end he gave it to the Salvation Army, every last bit. Maybe some good will come from that, but who’s to say?”

  “Did you know any of Ned’s friends?” I asked. “Either a Lizzie Hopman or Violet Atherton?”

  “Oh, he was quite taken with that Lizzie when he was young, I do remember that. Never met her, though. Violet Atherton I’ve never heard of, but that don’t mean a thing. Ned could’ve married her for all we’d know.”

  “He didn’t,” Colin said.

  “Well, I suppose that’s true, or she’d have got the settlement from the mine, wouldn’t she?”

  “Where do your husband’s other siblings live?” I asked.

  “Most of them is gone. Three went to Australia, one died at least ten years ago now in some sort of fight, and little Victoria, she didn’t make it to her fifth birthday. Johnny, he was the one just above Ned, he went off to sea. We haven’t heard from him in ages. Ned was the youngest.”

  “Did Ned ever tell you anything about his life in Wales?” Colin asked. “Do you know if he had friends there?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hargreaves, I truly am, but I just don’t have answers to your questions. Like I said, we didn’t want nothing to do with him anymore. Robert didn’t have the heart to refuse to see his brother, but we kept his visits as short as possible.”

  “I understand and appreciate your being so generous with your time,” Colin said, rising from his seat. “Furthermore, despite your brother-in-law’s many failings, I am most sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. I could see a touch of moisture in her eyes. “I do wish … but, there’s no point in thinking about that anymore.”

  Back out in the street, the children were still playing, their laughter and games no different from those of children one could find anywhere in England. Only the diabolical conditions in which they grew up set them apart. “It is not right for children to live like this,” I said.

  Colin took my hand and squeezed it. “You can’t save everyone, Emily, but I know how it pains you.”

  “This gang, the King’s Boys—”

  “It’s notorious,” Colin said, navigating his way around a particularly nasty-looking heap of trash and helping me into our waiting carriage. “They bring them in as children when they’re quite young—most of them start as pickpockets—and as they get older they serve other purposes, if the leaders decide they can be trusted. Enforcing the gang’s territory, running protection rackets, that sort of thing. It gets rather violent, I’m afraid.”

  “What a pity so many get caught up in it,” I said. “These children need a better option. It’s filthy here and completely devoid of hope. I can see how a gang that provides some sort of income and a position that makes one feared, if not respected, would seem preferable to muddling through life in such a place on one’s own. If you’re not a member of the gang, no doubt you’re a victim of it.” I sighed. “You’re correct to say that I can’t save everyone, but I must do something.”

  “And I’ve no doubt you will,” he said.

  “In the meantime, however, do you think we ought to speak with Robert Traddles? Not at the docks, but later, when he’s home?”

  “He’s unlikely to know anything beyond what his wife has already told us.”

  “Are there girls in the King’s Boys?” I asked. “Despite the organization’s name? Could Lizzie have been a member?”

  “Not so far as I know.” The carriage lurched forward.

  I dropped my head against my husband’s shoulder. “What would do the most good, do you think? A school, perhaps?”

  “No. These children would benefit more from medical care and a decent meal,” Colin said. “They have options if they want to go to school—and they are supposed to, you know, up to a certain age. Not that anyone seems to be trying to stop truancy here.”

  We were both somber when we reached home. I refused luncheon, as I could not shake the stench of the gutters, and instead went upstairs for another very long, very hot bath while Colin retreated to his study. The thought of our boys, happily ensconced in the nursery, almost made me feel guilty. How lucky they were not to share the fate of those in the East End.

  After toweling myself off and drying my hair in front of the fireplace in my dressing room, I pulled on my favorite tea gown, fashioned from the softest azure silk and with a high net collar. Delicate Venetian lace formed the sleeves and trim, and a darker blue silk sash gently cinched the waist. Best of all, it required no corset, so I could breathe deeply and slouch to my heart’s content. It was one of the pieces I had bought at the House of Worth on my last trip to Paris. Meg, my maid, twisted my hair into a Gibson Girl pompadour, all the while telling me the extremely convoluted plot of a novel she’d been reading, but I was too distracted to follow the story.

  When she finished, I went down to the library, where Colin was sitting at his desk, speaking into the telephone.

  “Yes, quite,” he said. “I’ll be there at once. No, no, don’t bother. I have the matter in hand.” He rang off, returned the handset to its cradle, and looked up at me with serious eyes. “There’s been another murder. Richard II.”

  1415

  28

  Laughter, dancing, and song filled the days that followed Hugh de Morland’s arrival at Lord Esterby’s estate. He loved—and demanded—constant entertainment, and delighted in the attention of Adeline’s ladies. At last, there was someone to compete for their interest with Dario Gabrieli. Cecily, too, enjoyed his company, but she found him more challenging than alluring. After their conversation about Lancelot and Guinevere, she had asked Lord Esterby if she might borrow his copy of Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur.

  She was familiar with the story, of course—what girl in England wasn’t?—but she found that returning to it as a married
woman made it a different book altogether. Truth be told, she had paid little attention to Lancelot and Guinevere on her first reading, being more interested in the adventures of the Knights of the Round Table. Now, though, she began to believe that the entire work hinged on the illicit relationship between the queen and her husband’s favorite knight.

  She was sitting next to Adeline by the fire, embroidering a rose on the wall hanging she’d been working on, when de Morland strode into the room and took the seat across from her, on the other side of the mantel.

  “You have given me a great deal to think about, Master de Morland,” Cecily said. “I have revisited Malory and cannot agree with your assessment of Lancelot and Guinevere.”

  “Hugh, you must call me Hugh. I had no idea my words would stay with you for so long.”

  “Do not make what I say something it is not.” Cecily frowned. “How could a true knight—which Lancelot is called again and again—betray his king in such a personal matter?”

  “He is noble and honorable in every other way, is he not?” de Morland said. “Perhaps we are meant to forgive his one sin.”

  “That is for God to do, not us.”

  “You are a very serious young lady. I hardly know what to make of you.”

  “Need you make anything of me?”

  “Perhaps not, but I find I want to.”

  Adeline looked up from her own needlework. “Truly I have never heard two people engaged in so murky a conversation. I suspect your interest lies not in Arthur’s knight and his queen, but in persons far closer to home.”

  “Whatever can you mean by that?” Cecily asked, wondering if Gabrieli had seen her in the corridor when he was leaving Adeline’s chamber that night not so long ago.

  Adeline did not reply because the troubadour had entered the room and was bowing in front of her. She gave him her hand, which he kissed, and her silvery laughter filled the space. “My dear Gabrieli, would you be so good as to escort me to the stables? I have a sudden desire for a ride through the forest. Perhaps you do as well?”