The Queen at War

by K. A. S. Quinn

  Up, up, up they went, to the very top of the house. There was a crack of light from under one door, but all else was darkness. As they hesitated outside the door, a quiet but firm voice came from within.

  ‘Don’t fidget in the hallway, please. If you have come to visit, I suggest you enter.’ It was the voice of a woman, distinct, crisp and decidedly upper class. It was not what they had expected.

  James hesitated and shuffled a bit, but Princess Alice squared her shoulders and pushed the door open. Katie followed, tripping slightly over the threshold. She remembered this room with its soot-stained wooden panels, the furniture carved with leering gargoyles, and the endless clutter of books. But the room they entered was quite a different story. It was clean. Every inch of it had been scrubbed. The tapestries on the walls had been beaten until they were free of dust; the sofas and chairs polished and comfortable cushions placed on them. The mountains of books were carefully arranged in the bookshelves. A fire glowed brightly in the hearth.

  Bernardo DuQuelle lay on a sofa by the fire, his long legs tucked into a warm wool blanket. His chest had been bound, and a book lay, face down, upon it. He looked much better, at least for DuQuelle. His green eyes still glittered, but with a less fitful, burning gaze. And there were no big smoke rings of words rising from his chest – that was a relief.

  Sitting very straight, on a chair by his side, was the woman who had spoken. She rose to meet them. Katie noticed her graceful walk, and her perfect posture. It was difficult to judge her age, but easy to guess her position in society.

  She moved forward with confidence and curtsied to Princess Alice. ‘It is good of you to come, Your Highness. M. DuQuelle is dedicated to the service of the Royal Family; how kind of you to recognize this and to call.’ Despite her very good manners, and quiet gentlewoman’s voice, there was something of the rebuke in her tone.

  Alice looked flustered. ‘I should have come before,’ she murmured, her voice trailing away.

  Bernardo DuQuelle sighed from the sofa. Women – they would complicate things. ‘I hope you will excuse me from rising,’ he said. ‘But let me take this opportunity to introduce my friend of long standing, Miss Florence Nightingale.’

  She was a tall, slender woman, with rich brown hair pulled back from a perfectly shaped oval face. Her colouring was delicately white, unlike DuQuelle’s chalk-like pallor. Katie knew a lot about celebrity. After all, she’d lived with Mimi all her life. And this seemingly modest woman was loaded with star power.

  Princess Alice’s eyes lit up as she recognized the name. ‘But of course!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have heard Lady Canning speak of you. You are the Superintendent of the Institution for the Care of Sick Gentlewomen. Mrs Sidney Herbert also sings your praises. You have made that institution a model of organization and practice. They say your methods should be adopted by all medical establishments throughout Britain.’

  James had also lost his reserve. Katie had never seen him look at a woman with such admiration. ‘I have read your pamphlet on the training of nurses in Kaiserswerth,’ he said. ‘I would like to discuss it with you further.’

  Miss Nightingale smiled with great sweetness. Katie noticed she had excellent teeth for a Victorian. ‘So now we are all old friends,’ she said, ‘with the exception of this tall and distinguished young lady; I believe you are Bernardo DuQuelle’s colonial acquaintance, Miss Katherine Tappan? And I think you must know of me as well?’

  Katie looked her up and down, from the white linen ruffled cap on her head to the white lace tipping the hem of her black silk dress. Florence Nightingale: Katie might not know much about the Crimea but she’d read about Florence Nightingale. They had even studied her at the Neuman Hubris School – the proto-feminist, the reformer, the Lady with the Lamp. She would become the most famous woman of her time, but it hadn’t happened yet. Did Florence Nightingale know herself? Katie looked into her grey eyes. Despite the sweet smile and fascinating ways, her eyes were pensive and her mind seemed far, far away. Katie might know a great deal about the Florence Nightingale of history, but the actual woman was still a mystery. Why, for instance, was she a friend of Bernardo DuQuelle?

  ‘M. DuQuelle has been of great assistance to me in the past,’ Florence Nightingale explained, ‘and when I received a message that he was ill, I came immediately to nurse him.’ She seemed to have the uncanny gift of reading Katie’s mind, a gift Miss Nightingale shared with Bernardo DuQuelle.

  ‘But DuQuelle’s illness wasn’t a normal illness,’ James blurted out. ‘I sent that message, but how can you treat him? There’s nothing we can do in the medical profession . . .’

  Florence Nightingale caught James’s eye. Her far-away look had become very direct, and just a little sharp. ‘Hygiene,’ she rapped out. ‘If Bernardo DuQuelle would take proper care of himself and his environment he wouldn’t have reacted so adversely.’ As if to underline her theory, she picked up the book lying on his chest and, giving it a quick dust with her handkerchief, popped it onto the bookshelf.

  DuQuelle groaned. ‘Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.’

  Miss Nightingale laughed and turned back to James. ‘I requested arrowroot and beef tea over an hour ago. James O’Reilly, would you kindly step out for a moment and check on this for me?’

  James reluctantly left the room. Her comments did not explain anything. He knew he’d been fobbed off.

  Princess Alice had been staring at Florence Nightingale in a state of high excitement. Suddenly she remembered her manners. They were there, after all, to visit Bernardo DuQuelle. She crossed the room and took the chair next to him. ‘We have been so worried about you,’ she said, ‘and we are overjoyed to see you making such good progress.’

  He looked at her with something akin to affection. DuQuelle admired Princess Alice; found her a higher calibre of person than her slightly oafish older brother, or domineering older sister. Her quiet, serious nature meant she was often overlooked in such a large family – especially by the Queen. He thought this was a pity. ‘But you are more overjoyed to meet Miss Nightingale,’ he teased, ‘and quite right too. How could I not recover with such a nurse at my beck and call?’

  Florence Nightingale smiled her sweet smile, but she didn’t look like the kind of woman at anyone’s beck and call. ‘I have heard of your interest in nursing,’ she said to Princess Alice, ‘and I was surprised. It is considered a low profession – only fit for coarse women or drunkards, or worse.’

  ‘But you are a nurse,’ Alice replied before she could hold her tongue.

  Florence Nightingale looked at the girl seated in front of her and paused, as if weighing up something very important. Then she began to speak, choosing her words carefully. ‘I had a calling, as a young girl; I knew that I was different.’

  Bernardo DuQuelle tried to rise, as if to stop her, but she restrained him simply by lifting one hand. ‘I had special work to do – though it took me years to understand. I was called to be a nurse, to alleviate the suffering of mankind.’

  Alice’s cheeks had flushed bright pink. Did Miss Nightingale’s family simply let her follow this calling? She thought of her own family, of the Royal Household. The Queen was horrified by the idea of nursing, and nearly had hysterics every time Alice mentioned the word. Her father had some sympathy, though. He was, after all, the one who had instructed Dr O’Reilly to teach Alice the more womanly aspects of nursing. But the doctor scorned the idea of women in medicine. He would insist on talking of ballrooms and society when she longed to hear of diseases and cures. It was only James who really helped, lending her books and his notes from lectures and medical cases. If it hadn’t been for James O’Reilly, she would know nothing about the thing that interested her most.

  ‘You are considering your own family, and wondering about mine,’ Miss Nightingale said. Katie blinked hard – she found all this mind-reading very sinister.

  ‘Yes,’ breathed Alice, ‘what did your family do?’

  Florence Nightingale’s soft
face suddenly looked very grim. ‘They tried everything to stop me,’ she said. ‘My mother refused to speak to me; my sister had fainting fits. They would not let me study medicine, they would not let me train for nursing, they would not even let me visit hospitals. For ten years I struggled and I sacrificed much.’

  James had come back, with the arrowroot and beef tea. Katie, moving as quietly as she could, stopped him from speaking. This was a story she wanted to hear.

  ‘I have not married,’ Miss Nightingale continued, ‘and I will not do so. I shall never have the children that most women yearn for. My relationship with my own mother is strained. My sister is but a burden.’ These were harsh words, but uttered with no emotion. ‘Within days I leave for Scutari. It is the hospital for the soldiers in the Crimea,’ Miss Nightingale went on. ‘It is a desperate situation for our wounded. No decent provision has been made. There are not sufficient surgeons, no dressers, not even linen to make bandages for the wounded. I travel with the few good nurses that exist on these shores. I can see even greater physical and emotional sacrifice ahead. But this is my destiny, the path I must take – though it is a journey I may not survive.’

  After a long silence, she turned to Alice, got down on her knees, looked into her face. It was an unusual gesture for a woman of her dignity. ‘What do you think of my story?’ she asked. ‘What do you think of my life?’ Katie suddenly noticed that both Florence Nightingale and Princess Alice had almost identical eyes – deep grey eyes, at first glance mild, but resolute in the depths.

  ‘I think,’ Alice said, ‘that I envy you above all women. You have fought for your vocation, and you have won.’

  Florence Nightingale stood up, jubilant, and turned to Bernardo DuQuelle. ‘I knew it!’ she told him. ‘It is exactly as I thought. You must let me make the request.’

  ‘But she is too young, and too important.’ DuQuelle protested. ‘It will put us all in the path of trouble, even danger. I cannot allow it.’

  Katie had no idea what they were talking about. Alice stood up, very straight. It was almost as if she knew what was coming. Florence Nightingale took Alice by the hands. ‘Will you come with me?’ she asked. ‘Will you sacrifice your life of comfort? Will you nurse with me at Scutari?’

  Before Alice could answer, James had flung himself between them. ‘No,’ he stated brusquely, ‘she cannot go. How can you expect a Princess of the royal blood to travel to a country at war? The Queen would never grant permission – and Princess Alice is too young; the idea that she would travel, alone, amid sickness and danger? Her reputation would be destroyed, her health would be broken; she might even die. It is a preposterous idea, far beyond even her sense of duty. You must be insane to suggest it.’

  Katie nodded her head. ‘It kind of is insane,’ she said. ‘I mean, James was freaking out because Alice walked through the park without a chaperone. And you expect her to travel to a war zone? I don’t see how she can go.’

  Bernardo DuQuelle agreed vigorously from the sofa. ‘I thought we’d had the final discussion on this,’ he said to Miss Nightingale. ‘Princess Alice is a girl, still in the schoolroom. It is too dangerous a journey. The Queen would never allow it. And even if the Princess could slip away, it would be too difficult to keep her identity a secret. It would become an international cause célèbre, and destroy all your own good work.’

  Princess Alice looked at her friends, the inspired glow in her face fading as she stood, quiet and pensive.

  Florence Nightingale understood. ‘Everyone has something to say,’ she said to Alice, ‘everyone except you. I am afraid, Princess Alice, if you do not find your own voice, you will never live fully.’

  The painful silence continued. Then Princess Alice suddenly found her voice – a knowledgeable, forceful and frankly angry one. ‘Do you think I know nothing,’ she said in a voice thrilling in its clarity. ‘James talks of my sense of duty. I know my duty. My life will be one of service. I am the daughter of a great Queen, and my position embraces petty burdens as well as privileges. I study the hereditary lines of my family, I can tell you the second cousins twice removed of William the Conqueror. I do needlework – goodness, but I am exhausted by needlework. I am expected to make polite conversation with cardinals and cabinet ministers – with people who have no interest in me, who are only interested in the Queen and in power. I attend the openings of factories and institutions; I accept bouquets of flowers. And though my gifts and talents are limited, they are not that limited. I am more than a dressed-up doll. I am more than the Queen’s unnoticed third child. I am a person who wants to be something more, to help in a very different way. I want to nurse. This opportunity will never come again. I would risk everything rather than lose this one chance. Would you, my dearest friends, really take this from me?’

  Again, the room was silent. Katie had always known that Alice’s looks deceived; that she was made of sterner stuff. But still, Katie was worried. To want something was not the same as doing it. James stood frozen in doubt. He had known Alice since they were young children. She was the only person outside his family who called him Jamie. He’d always liked her and admired her. In fact, he thought she was about as perfect as a girl could be. But to let her take this risk – how could it be done?

  Florence Nightingale looked at them all. She crossed her arms and leaned her chin on one hand. Her foot tapped in frustration at their slowness. ‘Of course it can be done,’ she answered James’s unasked question. ‘It will all depend upon her friends. And Princess Alice has very good friends, does she not?’ Miss Nightingale gave James a long glance, not without feminine charm, and this seemed to thaw James.

  ‘If Princess Alice is to nurse in Scutari, I must go with her,’ he announced. ‘I have medical training and that can only be of benefit to this expedition.’

  A great gloom descended on Katie. Princess Alice was the best friend she had ever had. She’d stuck by Katie, through thick and thin. But she couldn’t possibly go with her to Scutari. Katie had been called to this time to look after Grace and she could not abandon her now. With a pang, Katie realized she was going to be left behind, in a foreign country, in a long ago time, without the people she depended on most.

  The unconquerable Florence Nightingale ploughed on. ‘By coincidence I was in the Palace this morning,’ she said. ‘Did you know my Aunt Mai is a lady-in-waiting? I can tell you are thinking about Grace O’Reilly, Katie. I examined her myself, this very day. She will never be in perfect health, but she is out of danger at present. Katie has other duties besides those of Grace’s companion. She should accompany us. She has talents, many still untapped, which can be of use – and her, well, let’s just say her inside out knowledge of history might be extremely helpful.’

  Bernardo DuQuelle shifted impatiently and sat up. ‘None of this is what we agreed!’ he exclaimed. ‘The pressure you have put on me . . . the Princess, travelling incognito, in danger; and then Katie, you are sending her right into . . .’ A fit of coughing disrupted his tirade.

  Florence Nightingale pounded his back, nodding in satisfaction. ‘It’s settled,’ she concluded. ‘You will all go.’ James began to look excited. He had envied his dashing brother at war, and now he was going to get a first-hand look. Alice glowed with purpose. Only Bernardo DuQuelle groaned from the sofa. Katie’s mouth was open. Miss Nightingale was certainly a tour de force. Just as Katie formed a hundred questions, Florence Nightingale curtsied to Alice and took Katie by the arm. ‘It has been the most enjoyable of visits,’ she said. ‘But a taxing one, I believe, and now Bernardo DuQuelle does need his rest. I thank you so much for calling. I will correspond soon.’

  They were out of the door and on the landing before Katie could blink. In their imaginations, Alice and James were already in the East, sailing towards the Crimea, amongst the soldiers and wounded at the hospital in Scutari, but Katie had other things on her mind. ‘You go on ahead,’ she said to them, ‘I think I’ve left my reticule behind.’ As they walked down the dark stairs, Ka
tie stayed behind, leaning against the door, listening closely.

  She could hear DuQuelle’s coughing, spluttering protests, and Florence Nightingale’s soft brisk replies. ‘To drag a Princess off to war!’ he exclaimed. ‘Her governess Baroness Lehzen might be old and slack, but she’ll certainly notice when Princess Alice is gone for months. And what of the Royal Family when they return from Balmoral?’

  ‘You will think of something, DuQuelle, you always do,’ Miss Nightingale answered.

  DuQuelle gave an exasperated wheeze. ‘This problem is simplicity itself,’ he continued, ‘child’s play in comparison to the other complication.’

  DuQuelle’s voice grew low and grim. Katie had to strain to make it out. ‘It is insane to take Katie with you,’ he said. ‘For her the Crimea only spells danger. You know Lucia’s plans, I’ve discussed them with you often enough. She thinks this war is the Great War, and the three children, the Tempus: Lucia plots for them to meet on the field of battle. The child who brings peace, the child who brings war and peace, and the child who brings the war to end the world – Lucia believes they must battle to the death. Only then will peace be victorious. One of the three, young Felix, is already on the Crimean Peninsula; for all I know, the other might be there as well. Why take the chance?’

  Katie sat down on the landing in shock. She was prepared for the strangeness of Bernardo DuQuelle, but Florence Nightingale? This wasn’t the woman who appeared in her history books. Was Miss Nightingale really taking her to the Crimea, only to sacrifice her to Lucia and her vision of a perfect world? Was she really to fight Felix? He wasn’t just a brat, he was a supernatural brat. She felt quite sick.

  From the other side of the door she could hear Florence Nightingale’s special voice – calm, firm, mild and inspiring – seeping through the aged wood. ‘Do you think Katie is safe in London, DuQuelle? You know what happened on Hampstead Heath. Belzen didn’t come looking for duels, or danger or violence. He was looking for Katie. If it hadn’t been for that falling tree, he would have her now. It is only a matter of time and you are still too weak to protect her. She will be safer with me, in the Crimea.’