by Juliana Gray
“The rope!” shouted Silverton. He nodded downward at his own feet, while his arms heaved at the oars.
I crawled forward along the bottom of the boat, clambering over Mr. Higganbotham’s seat, until my hands encountered the coil of rope against his lordship’s shoe, the one that was meant to moor us to the dock, except that we were at least a hundred yards from our goal, a hundred yards that might as well be a hundred miles.
“Find us a piling!” shouted Silverton.
“A what?”
“A piling! Look around you!”
I struggled upward and craned my neck. “I don’t—I don’t—”
“Look!”
In the heavy gray light and the tangle of shipping, I could hardly distinguish one shape from another. The rain streamed down my face and into my soaked clothes. I steadied myself on the heaving edge of the boat, and for an instant, beyond the shadow of a small cutter, I thought I saw a faint glow.
I blinked my eyes to clear them of rain, and when I looked again I saw her, standing imperiously atop the water, next to a narrow black post to which a pair of vessels appeared to be moored. Her hands were planted on her plump hips, and her smooth dark hair did not stir so much as a millimeter in the gale. She seemed to be wearing a white sash across her breast. I could not see her face, but I had the idea that she was frowning through the rain.
I flung the knotted end of the rope toward her, as far as my strength would reach.
For ten days and ten nights the Hero searched for the Prince among the intricate chambers of the Palace of the Labrys, but to no avail. At last the Lady went to him and said, ‘Let us give up the Prince to the vengeance of the gods and sail to Athens as you vowed to me, for I am sick of the sight of this palace and cannot abide here another day, and my brother longs to see the sight of sunshine.’
So the Hero agreed and gathered together the Athenian youths, and together they boarded the waiting ships, where the Beast was waiting for them in the darkness of the hold, wherein he had concealed himself.
As the Hero and the Lady stood on the deck, he returned to her the Medallion of the Labrys she had given him as a guard against death, and the Lady said, ‘This medallion has proven its worth, and indeed I shall now have need of its protection myself, for I am with child by your love of me . . .’
THE BOOK OF TIME, A. M. HAYWOOD (1921)
Seventeen
The most extraordinary thing I have ever witnessed,” said Mr. Higganbotham, cradling his glass of brandy to his lips as if it were his mother’s milk. “I thought you should never throw the rope half that distance, and there it went! Settling over the piling as if the hand of God had guided it.”
I cast down my eyes so he could not read their expression. “They say one is capable of almost anything, at the instant of crisis.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. One could never expect a female to throw a rope so expertly, in ordinary circumstances. Wouldn’t you say so, your lordship?”
Silverton turned from his contemplation of the view from the window. “What’s that?”
We were sitting in the private parlor of a certain inn in Naxos, the proprietor of which had been astonished beyond measure to find us banging on his door in the middle of a February gale. His hospitality had equaled his astonishment, however, and in short order we were bundled into this snug room in the company of a bottle of good French brandy and three sets of fresh clothes, which did not fit properly—Silverton, in particular, looked as if he were wearing a suit meant for an adolescent—but had the inestimable virtue of being dry.
“Miss Truelove’s marvelous feat of strength, in the harbor,” said Mr. Higganbotham. “Were you not amazed?”
Silverton moved away from the window and went to the fire, which he poked restlessly with an iron from the set to the right of the mantel. His hair was still damp, though brushed back neatly from his face, exposing both the perfect angle of his cheekbones and the lurid bruise left behind by the housekeeper’s brother.
“Not particularly. I’m accustomed, by now, to Miss Truelove’s extraordinary abilities, when she is called upon to exercise them.” He turned the corner of his face to me and smiled privately. “More grateful than amazed.”
“This is all quite ridiculous,” I said. “It was a lucky throw, that’s all. I believe we have God’s providence to thank for our salvation, and of course your unflagging efforts, Lord Silverton, in manning the oars and maneuvering us to safety once we were secured to the piling. I can only apologize for putting us all in such danger. If I had known how just treacherous the harbor waters would be—”
“Oh, never mind that, Truelove. It’s always best if we don’t know the dangers first, or we should never attempt anything important. Isn’t that so, Mr. Higganbotham?”
“Oh. Quite.”
His lordship stuck the fire iron back into its stand with perhaps more force that was strictly necessary. The sleeves of his jacket ended a full two or three inches above his wristbones, giving the action a comical air of youthful rebellion. I thought how he had hauled in the boat to the dock, securing bow and stern with another rope, and then hoisted us both to the solid wooden surface by his own arms in the calm and competent manner of a man ferrying passengers across a millpond.
Outside the window, an unruly dusk had settled over the town, and the wind and rain still battered the stone buildings. We had been lucky to find the inn at all—Mr. Higganbotham’s memory was not precise, and we were shivering and wet and exhausted after our ordeal—and the thought of heading back out into that forbidding climate made my bones ache.
But as Silverton straightened from the fire and turned to face us both, he showed no sign of fatigue. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “In any case, we’ve almost certainly achieved an advantage of considerable length over our adversary, which was, after all, the point of the exercise. And if the two of you will excuse me, I mean to press home that advantage directly.”
“Why, where are you going?” I asked.
“To have a few words with our landlord, my dear, and any other likely persons I can find wandering about. That plump young lady who fetched our brandy, for example, looked as if she knows a great many valuable things, and I mean to coax every last one of them out of her.” He winked, bowed, and left the room.
“I say. What a curious fellow he is,” said Mr. Higganbotham, gazing at the closed door as if it might produce some clue to solve the riddle that was Lord Silverton.
“I’m afraid I have grown used to his little jokes, by now. But he’s quite right to begin questioning the staff. We should find out everything we can before starting our search tomorrow morning, or else we shall end up wasting a great deal of valuable time.” I obeyed the command of my aching muscles and settled back in my armchair, which was plump and substantial, the most comfortable chair in the world at this particular moment. The fire had done its work well, and the room now seethed with warmth, replacing a chill in my bones that I had begun to think was permanent. You must get up, I told myself. You must join Silverton in questioning the staff. But I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes, because they left me no choice.
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Higganbotham, and I had to think back to recall what, exactly, he was agreeing to. I heard him sit down on the sofa nearby, the old springs creaking, and I forced my eyes to open again.
“And you, Mr. Higganbotham? What do you remember of this hotel, and the circumstances of your earlier visit?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” He toyed with the glass in his hands, which was nearly empty. “May I ask how Lord Silverton came to accompany you on your search for Mr. Haywood? If you will forgive me, he hardly seems the most logical choice to be entrusted with the protection of a young and—you must allow me to say it—charming lady.”
“I think you’re under a misapprehension, Mr. Higganbotham. I am not so young as you imagine, and I am not a lady
accustomed to gentle protection. I am—or rather, I was the personal secretary of the Duke of Olympia, Mr. Haywood’s great-uncle, and I am quite capable of guarding my own person.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“As for his lordship, he was a friend and colleague of the late duke, who has traveled widely and is familiar with the—well, with these sorts of adventures. I don’t admire his manner of living, perhaps, but he has supplied the most invaluable assistance throughout. Don’t you agree?”
Mr. Higganbotham glanced at his palms, which were red and blistered from his labors with the oars. “Oh, yes. Beyond doubt.” He paused. “In one of his letters, Mr. Haywood mentioned that he was setting up some sort of institute, back in England, to do with his studies.”
“Yes, that’s true. His uncle the duke, in fact, was very much involved in its organization, which is why . . .” I allowed my words to trail away. Had not Her Grace enjoined me to secrecy? But I had already shown this man the photographs, and Mr. Haywood himself had trusted him.
Silverton, however, did not.
“Which is why . . . ?” Mr. Higganbotham said gently.
“Which is why his disappearance is all the more frustrating. Are you quite sure you can’t remember any details? He said nothing about the nature of this circumstance that prevented him from making the rendezvous?”
“No. Only the note. According to the landlord, he had not even stayed the night. He only stopped by the previous day, left the note to my attention, and departed at once.” Mr. Higganbotham glanced at the door. “Really, I can’t think what his lordship hopes to discover.”
“Was there anyone with him? A woman, perhaps?”
“The landlord didn’t say, and I’m afraid I didn’t inquire. At the time, I was disappointed, but I imagined nothing sinister.”
“You didn’t ask anyone in the harbor how he had arrived, or whether he had left?”
Mr. Higganbotham shook his head. “I did not. If I’d known . . .”
“Yes, of course. In the morning, at daybreak, we shall go down to the harbor together and investigate, while Silverton makes inquiries in the town. I’m sure we shall find out soon enough. He can’t have simply dissolved into thin air.”
“You are a terribly determined woman, Miss Truelove.”
“I only do what I must.”
He smiled and leaned forward, placing his forearms on his knees. The fire cast a warm glow on the side of his face. “Allow me to observe that you do it very well indeed. You are an immense credit to a sex I already revere.”
It was a beautiful compliment, far more elegant than Silverton’s casual assertion that—what was it?—that he was accustomed to my extraordinary abilities. I opened my mouth to say something suitable in reply, and as I did so, I happened to notice the small, plump, blue-robed figure now sitting in the armchair opposite me, her feet propped up on a cushion. Upon her miniature torso she displayed the same white sash as before, in the harbor, but this time her face shone with approval.
“Mr. Higganbotham,” I said, “do you think we might persuade the landlord to bring us a tray of tea?”
Her Majesty wasted no time. “This is more the thing,” she announced, clasping her hands in her lap. “Exactly what I have intended for you.”
I pitched my voice just above a whisper. “Madam, I must entreat you to leave at once. You cannot simply appear here like this.”
“Ha! You were grateful enough to see me in the harbor. Don’t think for an instant that it was your own humble strength that got that rope over the piling. Or do we still pretend I am only an illusion?”
“As his lordship said, I am capable of extraordinary ability, when I set my mind to the task.”
“Hmph. Stubborn girl. You are entirely unworthy of the trouble I take on you. I sometimes wonder why I bother.”
My fingers tightened around the arms of the chair. “An excellent question, madam. Why, exactly, do you bother?”
The Queen extracted her right hand from the neat pile on her lap and extended the forefinger. “That hardly matters, does it, since you continue to deny my existence, and to ignore my excellent advice. You have allowed Silverton to charm his way into your affections, when I have warned you repeatedly that he is not the sort of man to bring any woman happiness.”
“I beg your pardon. I have not allowed Silverton into my affections at all.”
The royal finger wagged. “Do you think me unaware of what transpired in his lordship’s stateroom last night?”
“Nothing at all transpired in his stateroom. We hardly touched.”
“Oh, but the electricity.” Her voice was scathing. “The very air between you two. You must remember that you are the susceptible sort, Miss Truelove. You are the kind of woman who enjoys bedsport, who is tempted and allured by the promise of pleasure.”
I jumped to my feet. “How do you know this?”
“Because I am that same sort of woman, of course.”
I was too dumbfounded to reply. I gazed at the razor parting of her hair, exactly down the middle, as if Moses himself had stood on her forehead and commanded the two sides to separate. At her round little figure, and the bosom that swelled beneath the sleek blue wool of her gown, divided by a white satin sash.
“One does not conceive nine children in rapid succession unless one is either excessively dutiful, or intensely passionate. And I am not so dutiful as that, I assure you.” The Queen formed her lips into a self-satisfied smile.
“Your Majesty, this is all quite—quite—”
“We kept a lock on our door, my husband and I, when he was alive, which we could operate from the bed itself. One is so often embarrassed by the early entrance of servants into one’s room, you know. And those precious minutes at dawn, when one has just woken up inside the embrace of one’s husband, are, in my opinion, the time when one’s passions run warmest.”
I put my hands over my face, to block out the sight of her animated expression. “Good God,” I muttered between my fingers.
“I have shocked you. Good. The trouble, of course, is that coition leads to a much less desirable condition: that of being with child, which I always found extremely disagreeable. To say nothing of the tedium of laboring to bring that child into the world, and all its attendant miseries and humiliations. And then there is the babe itself, a red squashed little thing. I never could understand this instant worship of motherhood. I did not become interested in my children until they were old enough to ask questions, and even then I found them frequently tiresome and altogether too inclined to disregard my authority.” She paused and drew breath. “But while we quarreled often, my husband and I were most happy in our marriage, and I would wish the same for you, Miss Truelove. I would wish you the happiness that derives naturally from a marriage of two devoted minds, who are wholly and utterly faithful to each other.”
I let my hands fall away, into the folds of the unfamiliar dress of navy wool that draped like a sack over my body. “I have no thoughts of marriage, madam.”
“Mr. Higganbotham would be ideal. He is a gentleman pursuing a genteel profession. He has a small but secure fortune with which to keep you. You might live a virtuous and unexceptionable life, in a part of the world in which your mother and her past are quite unknown.”
“My mother! What has my mother to do with any of this?”
“We are well aware that you have experienced embarrassments, from time to time, from certain men who were once acquainted with her.” She had reverted to the plural, as she liked to do when she meant to impress me with her importance.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you? I suggest you think very hard, Miss Truelove, about the future that awaits you when you return to England. Whether or not you discover the whereabouts of the new duke, you cannot continue as a personal secretary to a young and comely
man who is a stranger to you. It is most improper, to say nothing of impractical. What will you do?”
“At the present time, I am only concerned with finding Mr. Haywood and ensuring his safe ascension to the title that rightfully belongs to him. I have no time for any other considerations.”
“Well, you should do. And I urge you forcefully to consider how a union with Mr. Higganbotham might render you far happier than any other of the possible courses open to you.”
“How utterly inspiring.”
“I only speak the truth.” She lifted her prim eyebrows. “For surely you don’t imagine that a man of Lord Silverton’s rank would wish to marry you?”
I lifted my chin and stretched my spine to its greatest possible length. “What I don’t understand, madam, is why a woman who has accomplished so much, who led our great British nation for the greater part of a century, should see marriage as the greatest height to which a female might aspire.”
The round blue eyes narrowed at me. “Because, my dear. Unlike me, you have a choice in the matter. I suggest you choose wisely. That is all.”
A knock sounded on the door. I turned my head and said, “Come in.”
A maid entered, bearing a tray, and I remembered that I had sent Mr. Higganbotham away to order a tea that I hadn’t really wanted. I motioned to the table behind the sofa, and the young woman gratefully eased her burden on the wooden surface. I searched for Mr. Higganbotham, but he had not accompanied the maid back into the room.
The other armchair was now empty, as if the illusion had never appeared.
“Do you know where Mr. Higganbotham has gone?” I said to the maid.
She looked at me helplessly and shrugged her shoulders.
“Mr. Hig-gan-both-am.” I raised one hand a few inches above my own head, palm down, to approximate the height of a male companion. “The man who was here with me.”
She shrugged again, bequeathed me an apologetic smile, and then bobbed what might be called a curtsey and left the room.