The Lost Empress

by Steve Robinson

  ‘Archie, I think we’re being followed.’

  Archie looked over his shoulder. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  Alice looked again. ‘It’s dropped back now, but I’m sure I’ve seen it before. It’s dark red with a cream-coloured roof. Do you think the authorities are on to us?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think anyone would have followed us this far,’ Archie said. ‘If it was the police or the Secret Service Bureau, why haven’t they stopped us?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s probably nothing to worry about.’

  They continued for several miles, and Alice kept looking back, but she saw nothing more of the red and cream car. She supposed her nerves were getting the better of her, and she wished the journey were over. As the tappet noise from the engine continued to play its repetitive tune, she began to daydream, and on any other Sunday her thoughts might have been happy ones. Instead, she thought about her father and wondered what the police had told him and what he had made of it all. She wondered whether he had told her mother and how her absence would be explained to her children. She could have cried just thinking about Chester and Charlotte and what they would think of her. She knew she had to succeed in getting Henry back and, in doing so, put everything right again.

  ‘I need to put another can of petrol in,’ Archie said, stirring Alice from her thoughts. He pointed to a road sign ahead. ‘Look there’s a village coming up. Perhaps we can get a spot of tea.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alice said. ‘Tea would be lovely.’

  They approached the village of Turnfield by what was little more than a rough track through farmland that shook the two-seater Vauxhall and its occupants all the way to the village High Street. They crossed a narrow bridge over a tinkling stream, and looking around, Alice thought the population of Turnfield couldn’t have been more than a few hundred people. As the car continued at a crawl, winding around one corner and the next, they passed a few slate-tiled cottages and an elderly man with his dog. Further on, they came to a few more buildings and a church that seemed far too big for such a small village to have all to itself.

  Archie laughed. ‘I don’t think we’re going to find a Lyons tea shop here.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t look as though we will,’ Alice agreed. ‘It’s very quaint, though.’

  When the few buildings petered out, indicating that they had already passed through the village of Turnfield, Archie stopped the car behind a horseless cart, and they got out. He was smirking as he took out one of the two-gallon petrol cans he’d brought along and began to fill the fuel tank. ‘It seems even the horses get Sundays off in this sleepy little place.’

  ‘Maybe the next town isn’t too far,’ Alice said.

  ‘I’m sure it can’t be, but there must be somewhere here to get a cup of tea.’ Archie finished refuelling and put the can back. ‘Look, why don’t you sit tight while I run back and have a quick scout about. We passed a couple of lanes back there. It’s worth a look.’

  ‘All right,’ Alice said. She got back into the car. ‘But hurry back.’

  ‘I will.’

  Alice watched him go until he disappeared around a corner and she could no longer see him. She didn’t think he would find anywhere for refreshment here, but as Archie had said, it was worth a quick look now they were there. A couple of minutes passed, and she soon began to hear an unmistakable sound over the trickle of the stream. It was another motorcar, the engine note growing louder, as though it were coming towards her. She looked back, expecting to see it, afraid that it would be the same car she had seen before. But the sound stopped. She wanted to go and look, but she resisted, too afraid to in case she was right, and they were being followed.

  A few more minutes passed, and then she saw Archie coming back, and she laughed nervously to herself. She got out of the car and went to him. Then as she drew closer, she knew something was wrong. He was clutching his side, staggering with every other step. She ran to him.

  ‘Archie!’

  He smiled at her, but she could see the pain in his eyes. His lower lip was bleeding—his nose, too.

  ‘Archie, whatever’s happened?’

  ‘No joy with that tea, I’m afraid.’

  Alice helped him back to the car.

  ‘On my way back I saw that car you mentioned. You were right, Alice, but it wasn’t the police or the Secret Service Bureau.’

  He looked down as he brought his arm up, and in his hand Alice saw Raskin’s flensing knife, the curved steel no longer gleaming, but nonetheless bright with blood.

  ‘Where is he?’ Alice asked, panic in her voice as she looked back.

  ‘Don’t worry. He won’t bother you again.’

  ‘What happened? Is he dead? How did you get his knife?’

  ‘That car caught my eye first—a Mercedes. Then I saw the driver, and I realised who he was from what you’d told me in the Three Gardeners last night. How stupid of me not to think I’d be followed. I led him straight to you.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Archie. I’m sure you wouldn’t have seen him unless he wanted you to.’

  ‘No, perhaps not. Well, he must have known who I was because he came straight at me, and we went at it like bare-knuckle prize fighters for a few minutes. He was no boxing man, but he took his punches better than most I’ve seen, and he gave better, too. We wound up further back by the little bridge we crossed on the way through. I thought I had the upper hand at one point, but then he produced this knife.’ Archie tried to smile again as he added, ‘I thought that was hardly fair.’

  ‘However did you best him?’ Alice asked. She couldn’t imagine how any man could, as proficient at boxing as Archie was.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure I did.’

  He pulled one side of his coat open.

  ‘Oh, Archie, you’re bleeding.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a flesh wound. The fella made the mistake of leaving his knife in my side when he lunged at me with it. I turned away, and I suppose it was caught through my coat. He came back for it without hesitation, but I must have landed a lucky blow as I returned it to him. I left his body by the stream.’

  ‘We must get you to a hospital.’

  ‘There’s no time, Alice. If you’re delayed, the authorities will catch up with you for sure. They may already have people at the major seaports looking out for you.’

  ‘Yes, but all the same I—’

  ‘Please Alice, I won’t hear another word about it.’

  ‘You’re too stubborn for your own good, Archie Ashcroft. Did anyone see you fighting?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but we’d better move on. Someone’s sure to wonder whose Mercedes that is back there. It won’t be long before someone raises the alarm. Just help me into the motorcar, will you? I can manage from there.’

  They picked up the main road again, and however much Alice tried to engage Archie in conversation, he became very quiet. By the time they had travelled another fifty miles and were not far from their destination, Alice thought he had begun to look very pale, but however much she tried to persuade him to stop and seek help, he would not do so.

  ‘I’ll take myself off to the hospital when we reach Liverpool,’ he kept saying. ‘Once I know you’re safe.’

  They crossed an inland tributary of the River Mersey, with a couple of hours of daylight to spare, and they were soon on the outskirts of Liverpool, where the vista changed from one of nature and agriculture to industry.

  ‘Nearly there, Alice,’ Archie said, struggling now to maintain his usual upbeat tone. ‘I shouldn’t think you’ll get a crossing tonight, but there should be something tomorrow. We’ll find you a guesthouse until then. Something low key.’

  ‘And then you’ll go to the hospital?’

  ‘I will, Alice. That’s a promise.’

  They continued in silence for several min
utes, over cobbled streets that caused Archie to wince and clutch his side every now and then. There were shops to either side of them, the pavements busy with people moving beneath awnings that advertised the shopkeepers’ wares. A moment later a horse and cart overtook them.

  ‘You’re driving very slowly, Archie. People are staring.’

  ‘Am I? I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Please let’s go to the hospital.’

  ‘I’m fine, Alice. Please don’t fuss.’

  ‘You really don’t look fine, Archie.’

  His mouth was open as if he was struggling for breath. His eyelids were half closed, and his face was glistening with sweat. A moment later, Archie slumped over the steering wheel, and the car veered towards an oncoming tram.

  ‘Look out, Archie!’

  He sat up again, his face now pallid and drawn. He turned the wheel in time to avoid a collision.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I’ve let you down. I don’t think I can go much further.’

  Alice shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘No, you haven’t, Archie. You’ll be fine. Pull into the next street, and stop the car. I’ll get help.’

  Archie turned the car off the main road, along a narrow street lined with terraced houses. He stopped the car.

  ‘I think it’s too late for all that, Alice.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Don’t say such things.’

  Archie opened his coat, and with what strength he had left, he reached inside.

  ‘Here, take this.’

  It was a fold of banknotes.

  ‘I won’t,’ Alice said, choking back the tears she knew were not far away.

  Archie managed one of his dimpled smiles even now. He pressed the money into her hand. ‘You’ll need it,’ he said. ‘Please take it.’

  The first tear broke as Alice took the money, knowing he was right. ‘Archie, I’m so very sorry. I should never have involved you.’

  ‘What, and have me miss the best day of my life just for spending it with you?’

  Alice began to sob. ‘We’ll have many more days together. Better days.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  His eyelids began to flutter, and Alice soothed his brow. ‘I do love you Archie.’ She meant every word. ‘I’ve always loved you.’

  She kissed his lips for the very first time, knowing it would also be the last. When she withdrew, Archie smiled at her again, and they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes for several seconds. Then Archie drew a sudden breath and sighed, and he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Monday, 4 May 1914.

  At ten o’clock the following morning Alice Stilwell was sitting in a specially soundproofed telephone kiosk waiting for her long distance, person-to-person call to be connected. She had spent the night in cheap accommodation above a public house in Bootle, not far from the docks, where she had slept for no more than three hours at most. She couldn’t stop thinking about Archie, and neither did she want to. She kept seeing his ghostly face as he sat lifeless in his little yellow motorcar, and she would never know how she managed to leave him there to be discovered by strangers or how she had the strength of will to keep going and not once look back. With every step she took she had wanted to, but she had known if she had that she would have broken down and would never have regained the strength to keep walking. She would never forgive herself for his death, any more than she would forgive those who were ultimately responsible.

  She supposed it would not have been long before Archie’s body was discovered. The story was no doubt already on the cover of the local, if not national, newspapers, but Alice had avoided them all. She could imagine well enough the headline concerning the mystery man who had been found dead in his motorcar; a mystery man, for now at least, because she had taken anything she thought could be used to identify Archie, and she thought it would take time to find out who he was from his motorcar registration. Then the people hunting her would realise that Archie had taken her to Liverpool to make her escape, and after that it would not be long before they checked the ships’ registers and knew her destination. They would surely send a telegram to Quebec, and the Canadian authorities would be waiting to arrest her as soon as she stepped off the ship. But they would have no more than a written description of her, and she would have plenty of time on the voyage ahead to alter her appearance and plan how best to disembark unnoticed. She would have to be careful, and she knew it would be dangerous, but what about her life since Holland had not been?

  The first thing Alice had done that morning was to purchase a second-class ticket aboard the White Star Line’s RMS Laurentic, a triple-screw steamer with a single funnel and twin masts that was leaving that afternoon and was expected to make the journey in thirteen days. It was not a particularly fast crossing, and she had been told that if she cared to wait, there were larger steamers that could make the journey to Quebec in a week, but Alice did not care to wait in Liverpool any longer than she had to. She had thought to use an alias for her departure, but she knew her passport document would give her away if she had to present it.

  She heard another crackle in the earpiece she had pressed to her ear as another connection was made further down the line, and she felt suddenly nervous.

  ‘Hello?’

  This was not a telephone call she wanted to make, and certainly not today, but she knew she had no choice. Having lived in America with Henry and the children, she understood that once she crossed the Atlantic Ocean, there would be no opportunity to do so. Henry had often said how he welcomed the day that transatlantic telephone calls were possible and how good it would be for business, but that day had not yet arrived.

  Alice heard a further series of clicks in the earpiece, and then the female voice of the distant operator said, ‘I’m connecting you now.’ A few seconds later Frank Saxby came on the line, and hearing his voice again made Alice’s skin crawl.

  ‘Hello? Alice? Are you there?’

  He sounded faint, and knowing they were many miles apart made her feel a little easier about what she had to say.

  ‘Yes, Mr Saxby. I’m here.’ She could no longer think of him in first name terms, let alone the ‘Uncle’ Frank she had once trusted.

  ‘Good,’ Saxby said. ‘I was hoping you would get in touch.’

  Alice mocked him. ‘Please don’t lie to me, Mr Saxby. I know you sent your Dutch friend after me.’

  ‘Yes, of course you do,’ Saxby said. ‘How is he?’

  ‘If he were well, do you suppose I would be talking to you now?’

  Saxby didn’t answer.

  Alice had had plenty of time to think about the reason Raskin had been sent after her, and she fully believed that since her activities had been discovered by the authorities, the Dutchman had been sent not only to recover Saxby’s notebook but to kill her, and in doing so, guarantee her silence. Her cover was blown, and what further use was she now? She had become too big a risk and was now a threat to their entire operation.

  ‘Look, where are you?’ Saxby said. ‘Everyone’s worried about you. Won’t you come back, so we can talk about all this before it gets out of hand?’

  Alice wanted to scream down the telephone line. ‘As far as I’m concerned this has been out of hand since you had my family kidnapped.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it has. Well, I’m sure we can help each other now. You have something I want, and I can get what you want.’

  Alice was counting on it. ‘I’m not coming back,’ she said. ‘We’ll do this my way, or I’m taking your notebook straight to the authorities. And you must stay away from my children. Do you understand? I know how to decipher your code. It really wasn’t hard for me to work it out.’

  Alice heard an awkward laugh from Saxby then. ‘Come now, Alice. Let’s not be rash, eh? Tell me what you have in mind.’

  ‘An exchange. My husband for your notebook an
d my silence.’

  ‘And what about those photographs you took? I’d like those, too.’

  ‘No, they’re not part of the bargain,’ Alice said, thinking about Archie again and how she had told him she had no intention of handing the film over. At least that was one promise to him she could keep.

  ‘Very well,’ Saxby said, ‘but how can I be sure of your silence?’

  ‘You’ll have to trust me. You know I won’t do anything to endanger my family.’

  ‘I see. So, if you go to the authorities, my associates or I will come after you and your family. On the other hand, if anything untoward happens to your family, then you will go to the authorities?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it precisely.’

  ‘Do you intend to make a copy of my notebook?’

  ‘I do. And I’m going to make arrangements so that if anything happens to me, either before or after the exchange, it will be sent to the authorities with a letter explaining everything.’

  The call went quiet again. All Alice could hear for several seconds was the ever present sound of static on the line. Then Saxby said, ‘Well played, Alice. I really don’t have any choice in the matter, do I?’

  ‘All I want is my husband back,’ Alice said. ‘And I want my children to be safe.’

  There was another pause.

  ‘Very well,’ Saxby said. ‘An exchange it is. Do you have somewhere in mind?’

  ‘I’m leaving the country,’ Alice said. She saw no reason not to tell him now. ‘As soon as I’ve made arrangements for my return, I’ll send a telegram stating where and when the exchange is to take place.’

  ‘Then I shall wait with great anticipation to hear from you again,’ Saxby said.

  Alice was about to end the call, but there were questions burning inside her that she had to ask.

  ‘Why are you doing this? I mean, how could you?’

  ‘I’m a businessman, Alice, and I’m a survivor. Many people believe a great war is coming, and I thought it was time to choose sides.’

  ‘So you sold yourself to Germany? What of loyalty?’