Working together they began to wean Grace off the laudanum. It was highly addictive, and Dr O’Reilly had been increasing the dose as Grace’s health failed. They’d have to take her off it, little by little; otherwise the withdrawal symptoms would be too severe. Grace was also receiving a daily dose of digitalis. ‘It’s just an extract of foxgloves,’ James explained, ‘it’s been proven to slow the heart rate.’
But when Katie looked it up, she almost fainted. ‘Digitalis is dangerous. It’s an appetite suppressant, and the last thing Grace needs is to eat less. If taken incorrectly, it can poison her. I say, drop the digitalis.’
At the same time, Grace’s meals became larger. Katie demanded she have red meat (she could almost hear Mimi shuddering in New York) and the occasional glass of red wine. She tried to remember all those articles she’d leafed through in Mimi’s endless women’s magazines. ‘Grace must eat bright green vegetables,’ she told James. ‘Spinach, broccoli, cabbage – I mean, what are those super foods they’re always blathering about – beetroot, I think, blueberries, avocados . . . Do you have kiwis? No?’
‘Are you going to cure her by colours?’ James teased. But he sensed she was right.
The Royal kitchens were less than pleased by these dietary requests. They were used to sending up a bit of milk toast or weak broth for Grace. And now they were having to find all these strange vegetables, having to peel and chop them and then barely cooking them! It was a fight to the end, to get the food they needed, but Katie made a game of it, moaning and groaning to make Grace laugh. And laugh she did. Sometimes Katie thought it was the laughter that was really curing Grace.
Or could it be the fresh air? Dr O’Reilly had bolted the windows in Grace’s room. It was so close and still, Katie could almost smell the germs swimming through the thick air. As spring came, Katie opened all the windows. Along with the soot of London came the scent of newly-turned earth and opening flowers. Grace breathed in deeply: ‘It smells of new green things,’ she said, ‘it smells of rebirth.’
And it was like a rebirth. Day by day Katie watched a vibrant, happy Grace emerge. But despite having reached this point, Grace was still ill – there was no denying it. But she was standing, and laughing with James and Katie and Alice. ‘This is going OK,’ Katie thought. ‘With time we’ll cure Grace, and then DuQuelle will send me back to my own time, New York – to Mimi.’ She thought, with a pang, about Mimi. She’d left her, sound asleep, in her career trauma, yet again. Katie never really understood how time worked between the centuries. Would Mimi be awake by now? Maybe Katie was needed there, as well as here. But right now, she’d rather stay with her friends, and laugh.
Much of this laughter was at Katie’s expense. Grace was older, and the most experienced member of their group. She guessed much of Katie’s encounter with Jack, and teased her without mercy. About a month after Jack’s departure, Grace ordered James out of her room. Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she climbed back into bed and turned, with dancing eyes, to Alice and Katie. ‘I have a good reason for us to be alone,’ she said. ‘For in my pocket is a letter from Jack. I will share it with both of you.’
‘But wouldn’t James want to hear it?’ Katie asked.
‘He would,’ Grace said. ‘But more important, Jack would want you to hear it, Miss Katherine Tappan.’ It was Alice’s turn to stare at her friend and wonder about the future; and Katie’s turn to look down and fidget.
‘You know, I think everyone would want to hear about the war,’ she concluded lamely. Grace laughed and unfolding the letter, began to read.
Scutari, April 1854
My dearest Grace:
What an ungrateful boy I am! My life’s desire was this commission with the 17th Lancers. Yet at the last moment I struggled to leave my beloved sister in such precarious health. I can only hope that you are reading this letter with happy eyes; that your cheeks are rosy and the fingers turning the pages are round and plump. I do believe you are in good hands. James and I might quibble about father’s abilities, but he is admired at court. And then James himself has such knowledge and expertise in medicines, though don’t let on that I think so; the last thing we need is a swell-headed little brother. As for your new boon companion, Miss Katherine Tappan: she will enliven your time with a strong dose of mischief!
When we did sail, the town of Portsmouth gave us a rousing send-off. The port was crammed to the gills with well-wishers. You will raise your brows, Grace, but some of the men used this time for a last carouse, and there was many a sore head when we boarded the HMS Tribune. Flags waved from the quay and the men clambered up the riggings for one last glimpse of home. As we weighed anchor, a huge roar rose above the waters, and we banged our caps in response.
But after the excitement, came the sea, and such a fierce sea it was. The men who had drunk and danced the night away paid heartily on the passage. Even I, a good sailor, had my head over the rails from time to time. (As a doctor’s daughter, you will not mind this detail, but you might wish to remove it should you read this letter to your friend Miss Katherine Tappan.)
We had our mounts on board, and the horses were even more seasick than we were. Don’t laugh at the idea of a seasick horse. It was a terrible crossing for them. They were hung in slings, on the deck below us; so as not to be crushed by the roll of the waves. I spent much time with my own mount, Embarr. With legs splayed and head down, he suffered greatly. Several fine cavalry horses went almost insane with the colic. The one doctor on board turned vet, and had these horses shot; but they were too cumbersome to be thrown overboard, so were left in a pile amongst the living. I would not treat a horse so myself, and shielded Embarr as far as possible from the corpses of his friends – some of my regiment thought this soft behaviour on my part, but others understood.
And along with the regiments, the horses, the equipment, and rations – we had the women. They had been chosen by the official military lottery, but several men smuggled their wives on board. They are separated from the men, and bunk below the waterline. The stagnant bilge is directly below them, and the horses neigh and stamp above. A woman is by nature a homely body, Grace. Even in the bowels of a ship she slings ropes, drapes sheets, tries to create some privacy and peace for herself – despite the corpses of horses and the reek of men made sick by the sea. The women are aided much by William Howard Russell, also a stowaway on board. He scribbles for The Times and means to report all our brave actions.
Despite his profession, I must admit, Russell is the heart and soul of the ship; always up for a card game, and with a seemingly unending supply of whisky. (Not that I would drink it Grace, you and your dear friend are not to worry.)He has many jokes and salty stories, and always seems to win at the cards (again, please don’t worry). He has tackled our commander on the subject of the women; says they cannot be left below deck for weeks on end, to cry and be sick in buckets. He has negotiated an hour, on deck for them, weather permitting. And when they cannot come up, he goes down to them, takes up a darning needle, and helps them mend their hosiery! Yet there is nothing unmanly about Billy Russell. He is a puzzle, but an amusing one at that.
We had hoped for a skirmish when we finally landed at Scutari, but the Russians took one look at us and fled! It is strange to have the French as our allies, and they have a different way of doing things. Lord Raglan camps amongst us in a modest hut under the Cypress trees. The French are commanded by a dapper little man, Saint-Arnaud. He bunks on the European side of the Bosporus in an elegant villa. Our men do not think much of him, and it is rumoured he learnt his English as a dancing master in London!
But all this talk of darning socks and dancing masters is not the stuff of war. Soon we leave for a yet unnamed field of battle, where we will take the Russians on and win! The campsite is a merry place, with tall tales, jigs and songs, but I cannot wait for this war to commence.
Again, Grace, here’s to your health. My duty to Father. Tell little Riordan less cake and more lessons will do him good. For James
I recommend more cake and fewer lessons. Too much studying will stunt his growth. My respectful wishes to the Princess Alice; she is so kind to you, perhaps she would take out her globes and maps, to show you the lands where we camp. And as for your friend, Miss Katherine Tappan – she has told me not to address her directly . . .
With all my brotherly affection,
Your Jack
Grace handed the letter to Katie. ‘My eyesight isn’t terribly strong,’ she said. ‘Would you mind glancing through the letter? To make certain I have missed nothing?’ Katie took the letter, and stared down at Jack’s boyish scrawl. As she began to read, it was as if she’d left Grace’s room. The bed, the billowing curtains, the night table with its books, even the letter in her hand – they were all gone.
She was in Scutari. She could see the men, sprawled under the trees in the spring sunshine. She could smell the sweat pouring through their unwashed shirts, and the smoke of hasty campfires. Their talk was rough, and their laughter sharp; but it was a relaxed and happy camp, a camp of men excited at the prospect of a quick and easy victory. If only they could corner the Russians.
Princess Alice gave her friend a troubled look. ‘Katie, Katie, where have you gone? You seem a thousand miles away.’ Katie did not respond, and Alice got up to shake her gently.
‘I can see it,’ Katie said, as her eyes slowly focused on Princess Alice.
‘Yes,’ Alice said. ‘Despite being that bit too ribald, Jack does describe it all so nicely.’
‘No,’ Katie said. ‘It’s like something else. I don’t know anything about this war; we don’t study it in my school. I do remember seeing a book about it once, but that’s it. I’ve picked up that you side with the French and the Turks and it’s against Russia, and it takes place in the Crimea. But that’s all I know. But when I read Jack’s letter I can really, truly see it, I can smell it.’ She ran her tongue across her teeth. Her mouth was dry and sour and hot. ‘I can even taste it.’
Alice squeezed her friend’s shoulder. ‘It might be the power,’ she said, ‘the Tempus. The words do something to you. I believe it’s tangled up with your gift.’
Grace looked at the two girls. ‘This must be yet another part of my treatment,’ she said, ‘this mystery about Katie. It makes me so curious; it really does quicken my brain.’ Alice started to reply, but Grace put her hand up. ‘Katie is special,’ she said. ‘And when I know her better, she will tell me all about it herself. But until that time, I will wait. Now tell me something else: what do you think of my Jack?’
‘This is the part I find most mysterious,’ Princess Alice said. ‘I can be rather blinkered about these things, but it’s obvious, even to me, that Jack wrote that letter for Katie to hear. I didn’t know they’d met. And it certainly wasn’t for a length of time to make such intimacy acceptable.’
Perhaps it had been the European tour, but Grace was less shocked. ‘You are quite correct in your decorum, Princess Alice,’ she said solemnly. ‘Jack has been too eager to make a friend of Katie. But then, my dears, there is a war, and he is young. Don’t you think we should forgive him? And grant his wish that Katie should hear his letters?’
Katie interrupted. ‘I am here, you know,’ she said. ‘I can explain things myself.’ She turned to Alice. ‘I met Jack after the presentation. I didn’t think it was a big deal. At least, he was leaving, and I wasn’t sure he was talking to me the way he should and I told him he couldn’t write to me but anyway, he is James’s brother, and Grace’s brother too, and little Riordan’s big brother, and . . . well, I felt like I knew him already. I mean, I liked him the way I like you and James and . . .’ Every time she talked of Jack, she seemed to trail off lamely.
Grace was laughing. ‘Katie has shown no impropriety,’ she told Alice, ‘or at least no more than is normal for her. Jack knows I will read her the letters. I imagine now that my gallant brother will become quite the correspondent!’
All this teasing made Katie grumpy. She liked Jack, even more so after his letter. But she didn’t want to be a Victorian girl, mocked about her beau. James would hate it too, and her friendship with James counted for a lot. Besides, there were more important things afoot in the Palace than a wartime flirtation. Felix was about to depart for battle, to do the dirty work of Belzen.
There was little time for brooding. The bouncing tread of a small boy reverberated through the sitting room, and with a leap Riordan was on Grace’s bed, pulling her curls and rifling through her pockets. ‘You have a letter from Jack,’ he cried. ‘I want to hear! I want to hear! I wager he’s killed all the Russians already!’
Grace began to read, editing out the parts unsuitable for such young ears, and Princess Alice settled down to hear Jack’s adventures yet again. But Katie retreated to her own room. She could still hear the gruff shouts of the men, and see them lazing in the sun. It was as if she was sitting next to Jack, watching him write the letter. She could see him frowning in concentration, then laughing at the thought of little Riordan eating too much cake. Jack might be unsettling, in a boy-meets-girl kind of way, but the scene in her mind was of far greater worry. Though the sun was shining on Scutari, there was one ominous dark cloud. It continued to move, lazily, towards the military camp. And then a shadow fell on Jack’s half-written letter.
The Challenge
On the surface, life continued uneventfully at the Palace. Each morning Katie had breakfast with Grace, while James absentmindedly drank some tea, took Grace’s pulse and checked her vital signs.
‘I am well, James,’ Grace protested, ‘now, do sit down and eat a proper breakfast with us.’
Katie agreed. ‘You can poke and prod Grace and thumb your books all day, James,’ she said. ‘But Grace is getting pretty healthy; you can see it in her eyes.’ When Katie had first met Grace, they were enormous, glittering, desperate eyes. Now they twinkled, if not with full health, at least with mirth.
Princess Alice came to see them mid-morning, and they all went for a walk in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. She’d had a private chat about Grace with her beloved father, Prince Albert. Unlike the rest of her family, the Prince approved of Alice’s interest in nursing. He thought it an excellent skill for women of all classes, as long as it was not taken to an immodest level. ‘Young Grace is fatigued,’ he said, accepting Dr O’Reilly’s incorrect valuation of the case. ‘She needs rest and nourishment, but I think you are right to suggest moderate exercise.’
Alice had smiled, and taking her father’s hand, held it to her cheek. ‘You look fatigued as well, Father,’ she had said, gazing up at him with her serious grey eyes. ‘Perhaps you need to be nursed too.’
Prince Albert laughed and rubbed his temples with his long pale hand, a larger version of Princess Alice’s small one. ‘It is this war,’ he said. ‘It’s more complex than the British would have it. I am harried, night and day, by Lord Palmerston. Proposal after proposal on the war; he continues to pretend he is still Foreign Secretary. I am awake all hours, counteracting his directives. The Queen complains that I am wearing myself out. If you are the nurse, then I must listen. I will get more rest.’
So each day Alice, Katie, James and Grace set out – to the lake, the rose gardens, the bedded plants, or the stone follies. As Grace leaned on James’s arm, walking through the flower gardens of the Palace, her troubles receded. But Katie’s problems multiplied. It had to do with Jack’s letters. Every week or so, Grace took one from her pocket and, seating herself on a stone bench amongst the roses, read aloud to her enthralled friends.
Varna, August 1854
My dearest Grace:
The cholera is amongst us! It is rampant in the Light Division and sixteen men have died of it this day in the Rifles. The men are doubled over in muscle cramps, lying in their own effusions. To hear their cries, their high-pitched, faint voices, calling in thirst, begging for wine or water. Hundreds of men lay in camp before me. I see them through the haze of such intense summer heat, their eyes sunken, their hands and feet filt
hy and wrinkled. The disease comes on so rapidly, it is so fierce, the poor men age fifty years in five hours. I am glad you cannot see what I see.
The medical care for the British troops is almost non-existent. The French have set up bakeries with fresh bread – they have tents with medical supplies – their men are tended by nurses, sisters of charity in their starched white kerchiefs. We have nothing; sparse rations and no medical supplies to speak of. Our bluff army surgeons are ready to saw off a limb at a moment’s notice, but useless in comforting a man in his last minutes. Billy Russell says it is a crime, a form of murder, that the British do not have proper nurses. Grace, we have lived in a doctor’s household, so I do not hold back in describing these horrors. There must be some women, so trained in England. Perhaps, if you soften the tone, you could discuss the situation with Princess Alice. She has a keen interest in nursing, and the ear of Prince Albert. Talk to James too. See what he suggests. It is best to avoid Father. He does not believe in female nurses. He says no woman has the stomach for war.
Please let your friend Miss Katherine Tappan know that I am one of the fortunate few in good health, even if my spirits are shaken. If she were here, I wager she’d start ripping linens for bandages and boiling water. She might even face up to Lord Raglan and command ‘strike camp, forrrward march!’ And we would all follow. The sooner we leave this godforsaken site, the better.
Tell James I will never tease him about his books again. I can only watch the men die, knowing full well that he has the knowledge to save them. And take care of dear Riordan, his little life is precious to me. I hope your friend Miss Katherine Tappan is as merry and audacious as ever. The thought of her makes me laugh, at a time when I can barely raise a smile.
With all my brotherly affection,
Your Jack
What could they say? The only sound was a tinkling fountain, as Grace passed the letter to Katie. Within months, Jack’s merry military encampment had become the sickroom of the Baltics. James stared at the ground, and kicked gravel into the tidy flower beds.
The Queen at War Page 10