Alice listened with quiet concentration, but for once lost her self-control. ‘Oh, that I were a man!’ she cried, eyes flared, cheeks red. ‘Or that I had the training to aid those men in need. The French provide everything for their men: wholesome food and the care of proper nurses – gentlewomen from religious orders. Yet we, the so modern British, feel our women are too delicate, too fragile to nurse. We must do something. James, tell me what to do!’
James looked closely at Alice, who was alight with indignation. It made her very pretty.
‘We must find the right person to talk to,’ he said. ‘Not your father – not Prince Albert – but someone in the government who is naturally sympathetic to our cause. Much as I dislike this course of action, I think we must go to Bernardo DuQuelle.’
Alice nodded, regaining some calm. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘He knows everyone and everything. If we can get him to take us seriously, he will help. What do you think Katie?’
But Katie was no longer with them. Clutching Jack’s letter, she stared – not at it but through it. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, her bushy black hair curled damply around her neck. Her breathing was harsh and quick. ‘There must be water,’ she murmured. ‘Somewhere in this godforsaken place, there must be water.’ She looked up wildly, but did not see her friends. ‘You can’t just leave him dying in the sun!’ she cried, and unwinding her light shawl, threw it up into the air. ‘Take this,’ she commanded, ‘improvise some kind of tent; try to make him cool and comfortable. And damn it, there must be some water!’
Grace stood up and started to say something, but James put out a restraining hand. ‘It gets worse when she reads,’ he said. ‘I think this is like sleepwalking; and I’ve read that one must never wake a sleepwalker. It affects their heart rate.’
Katie paced the gravel path, talking and talking, into thin air; and then stopped to stare down at the letter.
‘Perhaps if we take the letter,’ Alice suggested. The letter was tight in Katie’s grasp. Taking her friend’s hands, Alice stroked them in her own, until Katie’s finger’s loosened. Slowly and gently, she pulled the letter from Katie, and folding it twice, handed it to James. Katie stood very still, her wild voice subsiding to a murmur. Alice guided her to the bench, and again, with the greatest gentleness, helped her to sit down.
Grace watched them all attentively. Someday James would explain this strangeness of Katie’s, and she trusted him enough to wait. As for James and Alice, it had not escaped her how well the two of them worked together. Gradually Katie began to regain her normal self. With a shake of her head, she turned to her friends and wiped the sweat and tears from her face. ‘The soldier,’ she said, ‘he’s going to die.’
‘I know, my dear,’ Alice said softly. ‘We are trying to help, I promise. We’re asking Bernardo DuQuelle to help.’
‘And he’d better help with Katie too,’ James added. ‘Yes, she’s the Tempus, the Chosen, but chosen for what – to frighten the rest of us, I think.’ The little group was shaken. This war in the Crimea was not going well. And Katie’s gifts were stirring in a troublesome way.
The uneasy stillness was broken by footfall on the gravel. Someone else was walking in the Palace gardens. They could hear him before they could see him. Bernardo DuQuelle’s voice was low, but easy to recognize. There was an archness, an irony in his tone, that was both entertaining and irritating.
‘I do not expect you to confide in me,’ he was saying to his companion, ‘as I know you are the soul of discretion. And I do sympathize with the danger of your position. All I ask is that you reconsider. Think of yourself for once.’
Before DuQuelle’s companion could answer, they turned into the narrow path and came face to face with Katie and her friends. DuQuelle immediately ceased his conversation and bowed low to Princess Alice. He looked singularly out of place in the bright sun of high summer. His white skin took on a chalky grey hue, and the creases of his face could have been carved from old ivory.
But the biggest surprise was his companion. It was Lord Twisted, groomed and moustachioed to within an inch of his life – all lavender gloves and pomaded hair; the least discreet and unselfish man at court. He looked relieved that this tête-à-tête with DuQuelle had been interrupted, and doubly so when he spied Grace. She was very lovely, and so very young – really just leaving girlhood. Out of duty, he bowed to Princess Alice, but ignoring James and Katie, spoke only to Grace.
‘Ah, Miss O’Reilly,’ he exclaimed, ‘I have heard reports from my daughter of your return to health. And now I see it – no, feast upon it – with my own eyes! There was a time when we thought this great beauty was to be taken cruelly from our grasp. Your father is to be applauded for his medical skills. He has vouchsafed a goddess for us mere mortals.’
James looked furious, and Grace hardly less so; but before anyone could respond, Felix came skidding around the corner, spraying gravel into the group before him. He was, as always, in ill humour. ‘How dare you leave me?’ he spat at Lord Twisted. ‘If you are to be my guide, you must stay by my side and do as I tell you!’
Lord Twisted winced, but carefully arranged his face into one of concern. Katie felt that dull pain behind her eyes that Felix always brought on.
Only Bernardo DuQuelle smiled down at the blond curls. ‘But Master Felix,’ he remonstrated. ‘You were so occupied sailing your toy boats on the lake. We didn’t wish to disturb your child’s play.’
This made Felix even angrier. He was growing up; and to be ridiculed as a baby, in front of the other young people, was unbearable. ‘I was not playing with toy boats,’ he practically shrieked. ‘I was planning a naval attack on the Baltic seaports. I was seeing how the little boats could fire upon the people on shore. I am going to war. I will triumph in battle, while you make garlands of roses. I will be killing your enemies, while you make polite conversation. I am a brave soldier! None of you are the least bit brave!’
It was a shocking way to speak. Alice pursed her lips and James looked as if he might throw Felix to the ground. Bernardo DuQuelle, having egged the child on, leaned back and watched impassively. But it was Grace who responded. The colour had drained from her face, except for two round red spots on each cheek. ‘I know of brave soldiers,’ she said. ‘Every week I receive a letter from one of the bravest. He does not boast or berate. He does his duty manfully, God preserve him, dear Jack . . .’ Her voice trembled, and she faltered. The warmth of the day, the emotion of Jack’s letter, the strangeness of Katie’s behaviour and the sheer cruelty of Felix – it was all too much for her. Though Grace was better, she was still not well. She swayed and sank to the ground.
Everyone sprang forward, except Katie. She was sitting very still on the bench, trying to break free of the visions. As the cholera-infested campsite faded, a new danger appeared. Through her blurred vision, Katie could see Lord Twisted. He was kneeling on the ground, with Grace in his arms. There was something highly unpleasant in the way he caressed Grace’s cheek as he smoothed her long red hair from her face. Katie wanted to stop him, but she was still too confused. Now she could see James, leaping forward, pulling Lord Twisted roughly from his sister. Felix’s high, unpleasant laugh rang through the rose garden. He seemed to feed off the hostility and anger in the scene before him. Katie stood, but felt so sick she had to sit down again.
James was pushing Lord Twisted away from Grace; bellowing, his face contorted. ‘I don’t care how grand you are, who your father was,’ he was shouting, ‘or your grandfather, or great grandfather. You are not fit to touch the hem of my sister’s skirt.’
‘You! You are little more than a servant, a menial in the Palace!’ Lord Twisted pulled off his glove. He whipped it through the air, and threw it at James’s feet.
James’s angry face became quite still. He knew what the glove meant. James stared at the glove for a long moment, then bent to pick it up. ‘If it is a duel you wish, so be it,’ was all he said.
‘You will be hearing from my second,’ r
eplied Lord Twisted. He did not bow. Turning heel, he marched down the gravel path. Felix followed him, practically dancing a jig.
It had been such a lovely summer’s day. The roses splashed with red and pink, the flower beds heady with colour and scent. And even now, the bees went along their lively way, while the birds sang in the blue sky. But the little group beside the rose garden seemed wintry and dull.
DuQuelle picked a crimson rose. ‘Well, I didn’t see that coming’ he said. ‘You will have to fight him, you know.’ James nodded, while Grace and Alice shook their heads in dissent.
DuQuelle looked at Grace, ‘It is a pity, that beauty of yours,’ he mused. ‘It will bring you no joy. But now is not the time to foretell the future. You are still far from well. I suggest you return to your room. And do not fret. We will all try to think of some way to help your brother.’
‘Help him with what?’ Katie asked.
DuQuelle sighed. ‘What a waste of a gift,’ he said. ‘You’d best go lie down too. I hadn’t realized that things had gone this far. Try to remember, forgetful Katie, how much Felix hates being called a baby. It might just help you at some future date. Now to bed. We will talk later.’
Alice rallied at this. ‘Yes, we’d best go inside. Grace is exhausted, Katie is absolutely green, and James, I don’t know what to say . . .’ Her voice cracked slightly and trailed off at the thought of James fighting a duel with Lord Twisted. They had often teased Alice about her blind faith in bed rest, but today they were grateful.
Taking Grace by one arm, and Katie by the other, Alice supported them down the garden path. James followed, absorbed in what he had done, and what was to come. Only DuQuelle stayed behind. Turning the rose in his hands, he pricked his finger. Katie, looking back, noticed that he did not bleed.
The Duel
They’d tried all week to dissuade James. Katie and Alice had argued with him and Grace’s newly gained health was fading. But even this would not change James’s mind. Lord Twisted had insulted his sister and then challenged him to a duel. He had accepted, and that was final. James had his reasons: anger at his father for his fawning behaviour at court and frustration that he lived in a world where a title was more important than true ability. But these reasons were too personal to share with the girls, so he gave them a more mundane explanation.
‘If I refused to fight Lord Twisted, he would spread the word throughout the court. It would destroy my father’s reputation. Grace would be ostracized by society and my own medical career would be over before it’s even begun.’
‘And if you accept the challenge, Lord Twisted will probably kill you,’ Katie countered, ‘so not just your career, but your life will be over.’
James glared at Katie. ‘If you knew anything –’
‘I know about staying alive.’
Alice sighed; they were going to have a fight, and then James wouldn’t be able to back down. ‘James, listen to me,’ she said quietly. ‘The Palace disapproves strongly of duelling. The Queen would be most disappointed if she heard of this. Even if you survived the duel, it would be a black mark against you forever. I know you well, James O’Reilly. You could not maim or kill another man on such a point of honour. It would be against your personal code of ethics. Can’t you put your pride aside? Won’t you reconsider?’ She looked up at him, her steady grey eyes filled with affection and worry.
He had to look away. ‘I’ll think about it,’ was all he would say.
Alice might have persuaded James, but events were against them. The Royal Court was on the move. It was high summer, and they were all leaving for the Isle of Wight, Alice included. The Queen liked a seaside holiday along with the rest of her nation. Her opinion of cold water was identical to her views on fresh air: one couldn’t get enough of them. Each day on the Isle of Wight the Queen would descend to her private beach by Osborne House and climb the wooden steps into her personal bathing machine, a kind of beach hut on wheels. The whole contraption was then pushed into the water by her servants. Exiting a back door, the Queen would splash in the shallows, hidden from view. ‘Most refreshing,’ was her annual summer observation. Princess Alice, descending from another bathing machine, would cling to a rope attached to the back and shiver, her long, heavy serge bathing costume sagging in the icy waters.
After that the Royal Family would continue on to Balmoral, their Highland home. The Queen loved Scotland even more than she loved sea-bathing. There would be deer-stalking, and reels, torchlight processions and picnics amongst the heather. Scotland in October was hardly a tropical climate and Alice knew she’d spend much of the time sitting outside on a tartan blanket, eating cold venison and half-cooked potato. There would, of course, be more shivering – and she was never offered a nip of Scottish whisky. But go she must.
On her final day at Buckingham Palace, Alice visited Grace, who had taken to the sofa in her sitting room, wan with worry. ‘It seems so wrong to leave you,’ Alice said. ‘You are ill, and James is in grave danger. No one really cares if I am at the Isle of Wight. I simply take up room at Osborne House. As for Balmoral – my mother is much more interested in her sweet little lapdogs and her quaint Scottish servants than she is in me.’
Katie had never heard Alice complain like this. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked. ‘I’ve just brewed a cup for Grace. Doesn’t that fix everything? A nice cup of tea?’
‘I can’t laugh,’ Alice said. ‘It is beyond me at the moment.’
‘You don’t have to laugh,’ Katie responded. ‘No one really feels like laughing. But do try to leave us with a smile. I’m here and I really will try to blunder through somehow. I won’t let James die, no matter how cranky and disagreeable he is about it. I can be a stubborn brat when I want to. And Grace is one tough cookie, despite lying down all the time.’
Alice did laugh and Grace tried to smile. ‘What is a tough cookie?’ Alice asked. ‘It sounds like a term from the theatre.’ Katie poured Alice her nice cup of tea. ‘Couldn’t we somehow postpone the duel?’ Alice said, sipping her tea. ‘Make some excuse, about location, or weapons, or his second – the person who assists him . . . or perhaps there could be a problem setting the date or time?’
DuQuelle stood in the doorway of Grace’s sitting room. ‘The location will be Hampstead Heath. The date is next Thursday, and the time is pre-dawn, by the light of the full moon. The gentlemen have chosen pistols as their weapons, with rapiers in reserve; and the seconds . . . well, I am Lord Twisted’s second.’
Alice sprang to her feet. ‘You! You are Lord Twisted’s second! How could you? To betray us in such a way?’
Katie looked at DuQuelle. ‘The gentlemen have chosen pistols,’ she mimicked. ‘James is not a gentleman; he’s a boy – a really nice, smart boy who’s way out of his depth. He could no more shoot and kill Lord Twisted than he could eat his own head. Why are you doing this, DuQuelle? I know you’re a strange guy, but I’d started to believe you really weren’t that bad.’
Bernardo DuQuelle surveyed the trio. Grace was so still, her tea sat untouched on the small wooden table. Princess Alice was tight with anger. Katie, he could tell, understood him better than the others.
‘You are very quick to doubt my motives,’ he said. ‘Better the devil you know . . . and Katie, James had some trouble choosing a second for the duel. He didn’t wish to implicate others in this possible scandal. So I have nominated you. Good day.’ And with a bow he was gone.
‘DuQuelle acting for Lord Twisted, and a girl as a second? It simply cannot happen.’ Princess Alice was now shocked as well as worried.
Grace leaned back and closed her eyes. Things seemed to be getting worse.
‘It’s happened before,’ Grace told them. ‘But the women were not seconds. They were the duellists themselves. About ten years ago, two ladies, at dawn, in Hyde Park fought with both pistols and rapiers. The challenger managed to draw blood. My father tended the wound. It was a great scandal at court. Neither was ever received again. Oh how I wish . . .’
&nbs
p; ‘Well, I’ll have to go,’ Katie interrupted. ‘I’ll dress up like a man, and try and dissuade James until the end. As DuQuelle said, better the devil you know. DuQuelle has no morals, no passions, no sentiment – but I really do think he’s acting for some secret, kind of good reason.’
They practically had to push Alice out of the door to leave for the Isle of Wight. Grace was put to bed, and Katie continued to tackle James. But every time she opened her mouth, he became more determined to fight. He was impossible: furious with Lord Twisted, and embarrassed at being lumbered with Katie as a second. He barked at her, insulted her, sulked and ignored her. She took it all with surprisingly good grace. She knew that underneath the bravado, he was very, very frightened.
When she failed with James, she turned to Bernardo DuQuelle. ‘It is beyond me,’ she said, ‘but if you’re going to hang around with Lord Twisted, please do something. Make him take back the challenge. James is so young. He doesn’t know anything about pistols or rapiers. It was a cowardly challenge from Lord Twisted. He knows James can’t win.’
‘No, James cannot win,’ DuQuelle agreed. ‘Lord Twisted might be a knave, but when it comes to duels, he is not a coward. He is an excellent mark, and a first-rate swordsman. It is rumoured he has killed several times in duels, and wounded dozens more – though it is also rumoured that he cheats.’ None of this was of any comfort to Katie.
The days ticked by and each one moved them closer to the duel. James would not listen to reason. He simply turned aside, ignoring all arguments. She noticed he spent much of his time at target practice and cleaning his pistols. She suspected he was sneaking off to church. Grace fretted and her appetite disappeared. Her weight plummeted when she realized the duel would, after all, take place. DuQuelle was strangely cheery and, on the whole, unsympathetic. Katie was getting nowhere – and if she failed to persuade him, well, James might just die.
The Queen at War Page 11