Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I

by Steve Moretti

  The Captain quickly got the better of St Clair and broke free. He headed towards Adeena and just before the Captian was about to grab her, Lady Margaret, who had removed a wooden shield from the trophy wall, brought it down hard on her nephew’s head.

  He staggered, stopped momentarily. “Damn you! Damn all of you!”

  But the Captain would not be contained so easily and he tried again to reach Adeena. This time his face met St Clair’s fist with a knock-out punch.

  Lady Margaret rushed towards Adeena. “Did you save it? The music?”

  Adeena opened the smouldering satchel and pulled out the score. “Yes, just in time,” she said looking over the papers, warm to her touch. “I need you to get this published, before we lose it again.” She handed them to St Clair.

  He looked at the papers, turning a few pages. “There is no title, no author. You cannot publish it like this.”

  Lady Margaret pointed to a table where she had been writing letters to her solicitor. “John, give me those papers.” He handed them to her and she sat, quill in hand.

  “Now Lady Katharine, what do you call your music?”

  JOHN ST CLAIR tucked the score into his sac for the long ride to Edinburgh. His wife had added the missing cover page in her scrolling calligraphic style.

  Song for a Lost Kingdom

  Katharine Carnegie

  15, December, 1745

  St Claire flew from Kinnaird on his way to the capital. This time, nothing would stop him from reaching his goal.

  ADEENA FELT HER head spinning. She was caught between two worlds and both struggled for possession of her mind and body.

  Her eyes still closed, she reached the end of the section as the orchestra launched into the rest of the score. She stood up, trying to focus, unable to understand where or when she was.

  She took a few steps forward and then fell from the front of the stage of Southam Hall onto the people seated below.

  26

  THE MACHINES MONITORING Adeena created a symphony of rhythmical beeps in her hospital room. Hour-after-hour they provided a medical soundscape for the visitors who waited hoping to see her eyes flutter open.

  It had been almost thirty-six hours since she had fallen from the stage. Luckily, she sustained only minor bruises, as a man near the stage caught her and she only ended up bumping her head. But she remained unconscious trapped between the past and present, unable to re-connect to either. Forces within her struggled for control.

  As the sun began to climb higher in the sky, sunlight filled the room. Brilliant brightness seemed to reach for her. She moved her head slightly and opened her eyes.

  “Ohhh…” she moaned.

  “Belle?” Her mother came to the edge of the bed, took Adeena’s hand in hers and squeezed tightly. “Good morning.”

  “Ohh…” Adeena whispered, fighting to open her eyes fully against the morning sun. “Too… too bright-”

  “Just a sec.” Her mother got up and lowered the blinds, then sat on the bed beside her. She laid a hand on Adeena’s cheek. “How you feeling?”

  “Not sure. What happened?”

  Before Jackie could respond her father appeared holding a large coffee and a newspaper. “Pumpkin!” He put the items down on the tray beside Adeena and bent down to touch her face. “You had us worried.”

  “Sorry.” She felt a strange sensation deep in her skull. It wasn’t exactly pain but it felt odd. “My head, it’s full of marshmallows… and sticks… or something.”

  “Does it hurt?” her mother asked.

  “A bit. Mostly… it just feels weird.”

  Her father reached for the newspaper on the tray. “Take a look at this!” He held up the front page of Ottawa Citizen. “You did it!”

  She read the headline below a picture of Friedrich Lang: ‘NACO Conductor Fired’.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped. “Really?”

  “Yup! It happened yesterday,” her father answered. “After the story came out about the Carnegie score. The NAC was embarrassed and they acted. Fast!”

  A picture of John St Clair riding off with the score filled her mind. Her eyes grew wet and her thoughts turned to her grandmother with feelings both sad and happy in equal parts.

  “It’s over now,” her mother said quietly. Both parents gave her a hug and for the first time in a while, she felt at peace, even as she began to cry.

  A FEW HOURS later Adeena sat up in bed. Her parents had left for a while. They had both spent another long night with her. Hoping, waiting, praying. Someday she thought, I’ll be there for them.

  She glanced around her private hospital room. There were flowers by the window ledge and she wondered how many people she’d frightened with her antics. Antics? Yeah that’s it, she thought. Silly me, travelling back in time and becoming someone else. She closed her eyes and laughed.

  Maybe it’s over now?

  Adeena put her hand on her forehead and massaged it. The words of her song still felt trapped inside, even though she had sung them before thousands of people and helped record them in the annals of history. Why can’t I let it go?

  Her mouth felt dry, and she searched for something to drink, looking down at the table beside her bed. A small velvet box sat there, beside a glass of water. She picked it up and opened the case. It was Philippe’s diamond ring, a shimmering invitation still sparkling with hope. How had it gotten into her hospital room?

  Mom - she thought with a sigh.

  Adeena took the ring from it’s case and held it up. It felt heavy and pure. It dazzled her with its clarity and its perfection. She closed her hand around it, closed her eyes and held it to her heart.

  JUST BEFORE NOON there was a knock on her open door.

  “Hey you!” It was Philippe. “Your mom told me you woke up. I was so worried. But she knew you’d come back,” he said as he bent down and lightly kissed her cheek. “And I somehow I did too.”

  “Thank you,” Adeena replied. She noticed he had a copy of The Ottawa Citizen tucked under his arm. She could see Friedrich Lang’s face above the fold. She pointed to it. “Your story?”

  Phillipe grinned opening the newspaper. “Yup. Nailed him!”

  She nodded glancing over the article on the front page. “Thank you. How did you do it?”

  He sat down beside her on the bed. “Turned out to be so easy. I found copies of the score, online. You can download it from just about any classical music site. Your dad helped me with the search terms.”

  “Really? What’d you use?”

  “Um, it was a name, I think. Trying to remember…”

  “Katharine Carnegie?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. We put in ‘Katharine Carnegie, music, Scotland’ and bingo!” he laughed. “There it was. Online, PDF, even a Youtube video of a chamber orchestra in New Zealand performing it.”

  “Wow.” Adeena sat stunned, absorbing it all. “Thank you so much.”

  Somehow, she had changed time. But how? What about James?

  Adeena stared at Philippe sitting beside her, so happy, so full of life. He was a good man. He had dreams, he had a future with big plans and grand ambitions. He wanted a family and a partner. But her heart was conflicted. She was caught up in something bigger than herself. She didn’t want it, but she couldn’t let it go either. She squeezed his hand and wished life could be simpler.

  Or at least, that she could be simpler. Some people would say she was pretty lucky, and should be happy with everything she had.

  There was only one problem with those people. They were normal.

  “Dee!” Tara’s excited voice broke into Adeena’s thoughts. Her old friend strode in through the door holding a bouquet of flowers. “You okay?” she asked as she put arms around her. Philippe smiled at Tara as he moved over to make space on the bed.

  “I’m fine Tar,” Adeena replied. “What about you? You here to arrest me?”

  Tara laughed looking over at Philippe and winked. “A big star like you? No way!”

  “Star?�
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  “You didn’t read your reviews?” Tara was smiling. “Philippe, you’re not doing your job?”

  “Apparently not,” he replied with a smile. “But she has been napping a lot.”

  “I know, I was here yesterday. So boring! I left,” Tara joked. She put the flowers on the window ledge and sat on the other side of the bed. She hugged her friend tightly again, holding her for a few seconds before letting her go. “Dee, your performance the other night really blew me away. It was beyond extraordinary. I never knew you had such power, and your voice,” She paused a moment, staring. “You have a gift.”

  “Thanks,” Adeena said, sitting in silence for a few seconds. “It means a lot to me, to hear you say that.”

  Tara gave her another hug. “You’re welcome. And not only that, but we’ve turned this whole cello thing into a win-win!”

  “A win-win?”

  “Publicity, social media, the exhibit at the Gallery,” Tara explained. “You performing with our Duncan Cello, Lang stealing that music and getting fired - thanks to Philippe’s story.” She paused a moment gathering steam. “Well my dear, everyone, everywhere, wants to come to the National Gallery in Ottawa now and see the ‘stolen’ Duncan Cello!”

  Philippe jumped in. “Your dad and I found out it was originally used in the first public performance of Katharine Carnegie’s score. The whole story has gone viral, and Tara’s been doing interviews with reporters around the world. Even the museum in Scotland, that owns the Duncan Cello, sent a letter of congratulations!”

  “Apparently it is the first time the Carnegie score has been played on the Duncan Cello since the 18th Century,” Tara added. She paused a moment and then said breathlessly. “And my boss André is moving on to a gallery in New York. They want me to apply for his job. And it’s all because of you Dee!”

  Adeena looked at Tara and then over at Philippe. They both had a happy glow. It was long overdue.

  “I’m so happy for you Tar. I know I’ve been a pain,” Adeena smiled. She turned to Philippe, sitting on the other side of her. “And you’ve been so good to me. You’ve put up with more than most men would.”

  “It’s okay, Adeena. I’m just glad you’re okay now,” Philippe said. “And we can move on.”

  Adeena lowered her head, lost in thought for a moment. She had to release him. She had to find out who she really was. And whether she belonged in past or the present. It still wasn’t over for her, but she couldn’t expect him to be part of all that.

  “You deserve more, Philippe.” She took a deep breath and reached for the velvet box under her sheets. She opened it and removed the diamond ring. “You need someone who can be there for you, completely.” Adeena took his hand and opened his fingers. She placed the ring on his palm and closed his fingers around it. “I would have been honoured to be your wife, but..”

  Philippe sat in silence. Tara gasped. “Dee… Dee, he loves you!”

  Adeena felt her conviction rising. A sudden strength surged through her. “I know. I know.” Adeena kept her hand closed around his. “But I’m not the one, Philippe. Thank you for loving me - loving me so good. Thank you for believing in me and for everything you’ve done to try and help me. But, you need someone who will always be there for you and be part of your world.”

  Philippe said nothing. His eyes were wet, his shoulders sagged. Tara sat dumbstruck, silent.

  Suddenly, Adeena’s head exploded in excruciating pain. She screamed. “Ahhh! Oh no!”

  And then all the light went to blackness.

  WILLIAM LISTENED TO the doctor explaining the prognosis one more time. Jackie sat next to him in the doctor’s office.

  “We think there is ongoing neuro-regeneration between the lateral and third ventricles,” Dr. Lochiel explained. “We have a series of scans we made the last time she was here, and I’m afraid, things seem to be getting worse.”

  Jackie flinched. “I shouldn’t have got her that damn thing. It’s killing her.”

  The doctor looked confused. “What thing?”

  William wondered how his wife would respond. She had already gone way beyond her comfort zone in taking the Duncan Cello to Adeena, and seemed to be coming to terms with the idea that her daughter could become another person in the past.

  Jackie turned to William. Her eyebrows were raised and her head cocked to the side. He tried to read her. It was clear she didn’t know what to tell the good doctor. She wanted him to reply instead.

  “She’s been trying to help Adeena deal with all of this,” William finally interjected. “It’s been a lot for us to go through, all this blacking out and…” He hesitated, not exactly sure how to explain it all.

  Dr. Lochiel nodded his head. William knew the doctor had done a lot of work investigating Adeena’s condition. She was resting comfortably in her hospital room, sedated and monitored. Apparently for the most part, she was fine, even though she had been sleeping for a few hours.

  “Adeena is healthy and in good condition,” Dr. Lochiel continued. “But, we are going to do more tests and then we might need to make some decisions.”

  “Decisions?” William repeated. “What does that mean?”

  Jackie straightened up. “Surgery?”

  “Possibly,” Dr. Lochiel replied. “I am working with Dr. Chung from the University of Ottawa. His research with imaging and laser therapy might be something we could try. He is going to help our radiology department with a new set of ultra high definition scans. He has some new diagnostic software that helps us visualize tumours and growths and uh …” The doctor seemed reluctant to finish his sentence.

  “And what?” William implored. “What is it you’re trying to see?”

  “Mr. Stuart, I’ve explained this to Jackie and I’m not sure what she told you, but the growth inside your daughter has some strange features. It’s almost like a secondary cortex.”

  William needed a translation into a language he understood. He looked at Jackie for an explanation.

  “It’s another brain, dear,” she said, staring at the ceiling. “And it’s growing inside our daughter.”

  IT HAD BEEN a long week of misery and the morning was shaping up to be worse for James Drummond.

  To ensure the size of their regiments remained unknown to English spies, the Prince decided to march by cover of night. In daylight the twenty or even thirty-mile routes they travelled were unfit for cannons and carts, and for the men and horses who slowly dragged them behind. But in the black ink of night, the rutted trail covered deep in snow was sheer torture.

  A few days earlier they had trudged ahead, foot-by-agonizing-foot, in cold quiet agony until they reached the town of Carlisle. The town surrendered after intense negotiations, and while the men made camp and tried their best to warm themselves, find desperately needed nourishment and rest, the Prince’s council gathered in the little nearby village of Carleton.

  James was shocked at the vitriol cast his way.

  “England is nae place for a Catholic duke,” Lord George Murray spat in disgust on the wooden floor. He glared at James in anger. “I’ll resign ‘afore I fight with him again.”

  James’ religion had not been an issue until now. But Murray was incensed that as instructed, James had helped negotiate the surrender of Carlisle without him. Prince Charles listened carefully.

  “You fight to return a Roman Catholic King to the throne, Lord Murray,” the Prince reminded him.

  “Aye, but we’re in England now,” Murray shot back. “Our army is subject to English laws until we take the crown.”

  James studied Lord Murray, who was among the most trusted members of the Prince’s council. Why Murray had been left out of the negotiations for the surrender of Carlisle was a mystery. And his rage at not being included was fierce.

  “A Catholic duke has no right to negotiate in this country,” Murray barked. “I shuid have bin part of that!”

  “Indeed,” the Prince replied, trying to calm things down. “But you were occupied and Pert
h here and agreeable to the task.”

  “Agreeable?” Murray shouted. “Agreeable? Nae! Ye mean illegal!” He reached for his sword. “I’ll nae risk men to die for such a travesty, to shed blood for illegitimate contracts.” Murray laid his long bone-handled sword on the wooden table before them. “I am finished.”

  James knew that Lord Murray’s departure would spell doom. His men would follow him back to Scotland, and their ranks would dwindle. The English Jacobites were nowhere to be found, and France’s armies were promised, but not given.

  “Lord Murray,” James finally responded to the accusations against him. “I serve as lieutenant general under the grace of our Prince. My only desire is to restore his father as the rightful King.”

  Murray glared at him, unmoved. “We’ll achieve nothing with a Catholic as lieutenant general.”

  “Then I abdicate, Lord Murray,” James announced. “And you must take my place beside Prince Charles. Our cause will fail without you.”

  Murray stood in silence, teeth clenched.

  “Perth, I accept your offer,” the Prince said quietly. “You will remain in command of the baggage and artillery columns.”

  “And nothing more!” Murray added, retrieving his sword. “Nothing more.”

  WHILE SOME COULD doubt the Duncan Cello was a time-travelling machine, the evidence in the diary of Katharine Carnegie’s brother was more difficult to explain. Confined to her hospital room awaiting more tests, Adeena, wide-eyed and spell-bound, read the journal her father left her. She was drawn more to the long gone world of the Captain than to her own life in the present.

  Her dad had brought her the leather-bound diary, probably against his better judgement, she thought. But as her one and only request of him, he must have felt bound to comply. She sat up in bed, reaching for her plastic glass of ice water as she re-read the entry for August 6, 1745, laying it down flat on the tray over her bed.