Bertie turned bright red. He’d been speaking quickly and easily, but now began to stutter.
‘Pardon me, Mother, it is un, un, unfff-forgivable, but it came out all, all, all wrong, but, but, but…’
Seeing Bertie flounder, Alice spoke up. ‘Please do excuse Bertie, dear Mama,’ she said. ‘The language is terrible, of course, but his heart is in the right place. He simply wants the household team to perform as well as possible. And we should remember that he has used his own personal allowance to purchase lovely new willow bats for our team. I do believe Bertie wishes he were on the field himself.’
The Queen looked to Prince Albert for his response. Standing up, he put one hand on Alice’s shoulder and the other on Bertie’s. ‘The language is unacceptable, Bertie.’
‘Yes Father. I am s-sorry, Father.’
‘And now that is settled. Alice, you are right about one thing. What young man would not want to play cricket on a glorious day like this? If I were a few years younger, I would be on the field myself.’
Everyone laughed and the Queen smiled thinly. Vicky just looked annoyed as she blotted a punch stain on her silk shawl. What a trial this bumbling brother was.
Seating herself on a velvet cushion next to Leopold’s bath chair, Alice smoothed the shiny material of her skirt carefully over her knees. Katie admired Alice for her spirited defence of her brother, and she didn’t want to make fun of her friend, but the outfit – it really was laughable. ‘She thinks this is a good look for her – as Mimi would say. But anyone standing within fifty yards of Alice and her sisters would need sunglasses. Who chooses those girls’ clothes? It’s a shopping mall meltdown.’ Katie was talking to herself again, a sure sign that she was nervous. She felt vulnerable outside – and alone – in a foreign country and a century that wasn’t her own.
Just then Alice caught Katie’s eye and nodded her head to the left, towards the area cordoned off for the household. Here were scullery maids, kitchen maids, laundry maids, under housemaids, upper housemaids, chambermaids, between maids, nursemaids, lady’s maids, stable boys, pages, grooms, coachmen, footmen, gardeners, butlers, valets and stewards. It took a lot of people to look after the Royal Family. They were all dressed in their very best. The men and boys had scrubbed their faces and spat upon their hair to slick it back. The women and girls were in their finest bonnets, newly trimmed for the occasion.
The cadets had won the toss and elected to bat. They were playing on a large field of flat grass, about a hundred yards across. In the middle of the field was a long rectangle of groomed lawn, clipped and rolled to create a much harder surface. At either end of this rectangle were three small wooden stakes hammered into the earth close together. The Royal Household’s captain, a broad-shouldered footman Katie had seen from the nursery window, was having a final discussion on field placement with his team-mates. Katie was surprised to see that James was not going to bowl. Instead, he was taking a position behind one of the sets of wooden stakes. She didn’t understand this game, and strolling up to either James or Alice for an explanation was out of the question. So she perched on the edge of the back bench, positioning herself near an eagerlooking coachman. He was explaining the game to a pretty chambermaid. Katie noted with relief that the young girl looked as confused as she felt.
‘There are two teams,’ he was telling her, ‘each with eleven players. The cadets are going to bat first and we’re fielding. What they want to do is hit the ball and score runs. What we want to do is get them out so that we can bat and score our own runs. We each have an innings, and then the team with the most runs wins.’
‘What are those little wooden bits stuck in the lawn?’ the girl asked. The coachman laughed. It seemed a perfectly intelligent question to Katie, but he thought it was hilarious.
‘Why, those are the wickets,’ he said. ‘They’re made of three stumps topped by a pair of bails. You use them to get the batsman out.’
The chambermaid wasn’t quite getting this, but the coachman was very handsome, so she ventured another question. ‘And how do you get the batsman out?’
‘Actually, there are two batsmen in at a time. Each batsman stands in front of a wicket: one is the striker, he tries to hit the ball, the other is the non-striker, and he simply runs. The two go back and forth between the wickets scoring points.’
The chambermaid was struggling to understand. ‘Can they run whenever they want?’
‘No, they have to wait until the ball is bowled and can only run when the striker has hit the ball. But the striker is out if he hits the ball and a fielder catches it, or if he misses the ball and it hits the wicket, or if…’ The chambermaid was smiling, making ‘umm, hmm’ noises and twisting the curls under her bonnet. Katie suspected she had lost track of the match altogether and was merely admiring the young man’s profile. Anyway, Katie had grasped enough to know that cricket was a bit like baseball, only more complicated, with more people running, and more poncey uniforms.
Despite his language, Bertie had been right. Drummond opened the bowling. A fast bowler with a new ball is a deadly combination, but the cadets were still managing to make contact with the ball. By the time James O’Reilly replaced Drummond, the household team had taken only two wickets and the cadets had 106 runs. At first Katie didn’t think James was as good as Drummond at bowling the ball. He spent a lot of time examining the ball, and polishing it against his trouser leg. His run up and delivery were much slower. The ball itself looked slower too. But then she noticed he was using his wrist and fingers to spin the ball as he threw it, and this was making it much harder for the batsman to hit. The batsman snicked the ball and a fielder behind the stumps caught it. The umpire raised his finger, the batsman was out. Then the next batsman missed the ball completely and it went crashing into the wicket.
‘Crikey,’ the coachman muttered to the chambermaid. ‘His bowling was top-notch there. But look, Jack O’Reilly is next in, he’s certain to give his little brother a rough ride.’
Katie turned to examine the young man swinging the willow bat in preparation. Jack O’Reilly was taller than James and broader in the shoulders, but they both had the same strong nose and thick straight hair. As he walked on to the pitch he shot James a challenging look. While James’s eyes were dark, almost black and often angry; Jack’s blue eyes were full of laughter. His challenge to his brother was more impish than defiant. ‘Jack must have his mother’s eyes,’ Katie thought. ‘Kind eyes. Fun eyes. Those boys must miss her very much.’
Jack lived up to his billing. As James bowled his first ball, Katie heard the distinct ‘thwack’ of leather hitting willow. The ball sped past James, then bounced through the legs of a despairing fielder. The two men at the wickets were running up and down the pitch, scoring runs for the cadets. Jack knew James as well as any brother could. They’d lost their mother as young boys, and their sister had been sent abroad. Their father was always more interested in his own career than in his little boys. Jack and James had brought each other up as best they could. Jack could guess what James was thinking, feeling and how he would act. He knew in advance what type of ball James was going to bowl. Who else could have this advantage on the pitch? Jack batted superbly, blocking the good balls, and driving and cutting the bad. James finally ran Jack out, but the damage had been done. The score was now 172 for five. The cadets shouted themselves hoarse. With a cheery wave Jack loped off the pitch.
Katie turned her eyes from James’s sullen, disappointed face to the player coming up to bat, a powerful thickset man. The batsman was good, and James was struggling with him. It was early afternoon. The sun was hot for so early in the year, and Katie gave up trying to follow the match. Baseball made much more sense: first base, second base, third base, home. One, two, three strikes and you’re out. Plus there was the wide screen at the stadium showing instant replay, the organ music, the ice cream and the hotdogs. Mimi had once sung the American national anthem before a big baseball game… mimed it actually… but just when she hit ‘
and the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,’ she’d had a ‘wardrobe malfunction’. Something snapped, something else popped out, and two million fans saw more of Mimi than was necessary. Katie smiled to herself. Mimi was a total pain, but at least she wasn’t boring. Not like cricket. The score was 826 for six… or was it 127 for three… ‘Bizarre,’ she thought, and started to fall asleep.
James was running towards the wicket, ready to bowl again. As the ball left his hand, the rough-looking batsman stepped forward, stumbling slightly. ‘Thwack!’ He made strong contact with the ball, but at an awkward angle. It was travelling – at high speed – directly towards the royal tent. Now Katie was awake, adrenalin pounding through her veins. A ball at that speed could knock someone unconscious. Everyone in the royal party was at risk. But if it hit Leopold – a blow like that would surely kill him. He’d bleed to death.
It all happened in a flash. Katie might not understand cricket, but she did know how to catch a ball. She grabbed the crown of her straw bonnet like a catcher’s mitt and ran backwards, leaping over the cordon separating the Royal Family from the household. Without ever taking her eye off the ball, she scrambled through the gilt chairs and taffetaclad princesses to get to it. With a final effort, she leaped into the air, arm outstretched, directly in front of Leopold, and ‘thud!’ She caught the ball in her straw bonnet. Katie thanked the fates that the straw bonnet was stuffed with her excess underwear. Even with that, her wrist snapped painfully, and the force knocked her backwards into the Reverend Robinson Duckworth’s lap.
Looking across the field, Katie could see the batsman sink to his knees in despair. The Queen and Prince Albert were beside Prince Leopold. Dr O’Reilly was taking his pulse. ‘Very rapid,’ he said, ‘the closeness of the accident has disturbed his nerves.’
‘Please,’ Leopold said weakly, ‘no ice baths, no purges. I’m fine.’
‘Perhaps just a rest in his rooms,’ the doctor conceded.
The Reverend Duckworth was trying to push Katie from his lap. ‘If you will excuse me your Royal Highness, I will remove Prince Leopold now. If only this young girl would please…’
Katie, too, was trying to untangle herself, to get away from the hundreds of eyes focused on her. Staggering to her feet, she looked up to a most unwelcome sight. It was Bernardo DuQuelle. ‘I believe we have much to thank this young girl for,’ he commented, lifting her hand still clutching the bonnet and cricket ball. ‘Without her quick actions the ball would most certainly have hit Prince Leopold, with disastrous consequences.’ DuQuelle bowed – he seemed to adore bowing – ‘That was quite the catch,’ he said to Katie. ‘Might I have your name, young lady? I am certain the Royal Family would like to thank you properly.’
Katie stood frozen. The entire court was staring curiously. Leopold was open-mouthed and Vicky – for once – had shut hers. The Queen and Prince Albert, having ascertained that Leopold was fine, had turned their attention to his saviour. Alice looked relieved and alarmed in equal measures. Katie suddenly saw the flaw in Alice’s plan. She couldn’t shout ‘Crystal Palace!’ any more than she could reply to DuQuelle’s question: ‘I am Katie Berger-Jones-Burg if you please, sir’. Not with her broad American accent. The questions would never stop. She’d be placed in an orphanage or deported to Australia.
The silence became heavy and DuQuelle spoke again. ‘The child is shy, uncomfortable with the attention.’ Turning to the Queen and Prince Albert, he bowed. ‘I believe she must be the child of one of the Palace servants. If you would permit me, I will take her back to the Palace myself and seek out her family.’ DuQuelle took Katie by the arm and began to lead her away. Katie could see Alice trying to reach her, but Leopold was clutching his sister’s arm and had begun to whimper.
‘Well, this is it,’ Katie thought. ‘He’s got me now.’
Then James pushed through the crowd around DuQuelle and Katie. ‘Excuse me sir,’ he said politely, ‘but I know this girl. She is the niece of one of the kitchen maids – here for the day to enjoy the cricket match.’
DuQuelle looked peeved. ‘Ah – young master O’Reilly yet again. Always on the spot with an explanation, I’ve noticed. Your young friend is certainly silent,’ he added. ‘I believe the Royal Family would like to thank her and her silence is beginning to border on the insolent.’
‘She is a mute,’ James replied, with more stubbornness and less politeness. ‘It would be a great thing indeed to get a mute to speak.’ One of Alice’s sisters giggled at this.
Beneath DuQuelle’s pallor, Katie could see a fury raging. For one moment she thought he would strike James with his cane; and then he regained control. ‘Well, that does answer all of our questions, doesn’t it?’ he replied softly. ‘It would be best, perhaps, if now I took her…’
Alice had managed to break free of Leopold and was at Katie’s side. ‘I am returning to the Palace with Prince Leopold,’ she said. ‘I will take this girl with me and make certain she is returned to the kitchens.’ Alice did not look at Katie. She stared at DuQuelle, her usually mild grave eyes turning steel grey with determination. Even the brazen DuQuelle had to look down.
Alice’s glance flickered briefly towards James. ‘Your spin delivery is excellent, but its direction is quite predictable,’ she commented. ‘If the household is going to make any kind of show in this match I suggest you produce a few good top spinners, or even a flipper – if you are capable of bowling such a tricky ball.’
James could do nothing but bow deeply. Bertie was roaring with laughter, the princesses were giggling into their handkerchiefs and the cadets were heckling James without mercy. Alice had managed to divert everyone’s attention away from Katie. ‘Come along now, this way, girl,’ she fairly barked. DuQuelle could do nothing but let go of Katie and watch her disappear – out of his grasp yet again.
The little procession wended its way across the lawn; Alice stalking regally over the grass, followed by Prince Leopold, his chair pushed by a perspiring Reverend Duckworth. Last (and least she thought) came Katie, frogmarched between two footmen – her coarse clothing in great contrast to their silk stockings and brightly buckled shoes. ‘A miniature Queen parading with her miniature court,’ thought Katie. It would have been funny, if Alice hadn’t carried it off with such dignity. ‘There must be something to DNA after all,’ Katie reflected. ‘Alice’s blood is truly blue.’ As they went down the field the various onlookers involuntarily bent their heads or bobbed a curtsy. Alice had that effect on people – when she wanted to – and right now she was in need of her dignity.
Once they were in the Palace, the Reverend Duckworth tried to take control, but Alice was determined to stay in command. ‘Leopold looks exhausted. I suggest we return him to his rooms immediately,’ she ordered. At Leopold’s feeble protest she adopted a gentler voice. ‘We can see the cricket pitch from your window,’ she coaxed. ‘And I’ll tell you what’s happening while they tidy you up and make you more comfortable.’ Turning to the footmen, Alice added, ‘I will take the girl below stairs to her aunt myself.’
The footmen didn’t dare say a word, but Leopold had no such qualms. ‘Why would you become involved with a servant girl?’ he asked peevishly. ‘She looks like a rag-bag, and I’m not certain she’s washed. Even being near her I might catch something dreadful.’
‘Do hush up, Leopold!’ Alice interrupted. ‘She might not be able to speak, but this girl can certainly hear. How dim, how insensitive can you be? That cricket ball was heading directly for you. You would probably be bleeding to death this very moment if it weren’t for this “rag-bag” as you call her. I am going to thank the girl’s aunt and give her some form of reward for her good deed. Invalid or no invalid, sometimes Leopold you are a spoilt and selfish child.’
Leopold began to cry and Alice softened. ‘There, there,’ she said, smoothing his dark hair from his pale forehead. ‘You’re tired and this has made you cross. Now let the Reverend Duckworth settle you and we’ll see who wins the cricket match.’
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br /> ‘It’s always the cadets,’ said Leopold – but he stopped crying and let the Reverend Duckworth push him into his cool, darkened room.
‘You are dismissed,’ Alice told the footmen. As they hesitated, she continued with a smile. ‘The cricket match is at an exciting moment. I’m certain you do not want to miss it.’ With this, they bowed quickly and beat a hasty retreat. As they disappeared around the corner Katie saw all the royalty melt from Alice. In its place was a small tired girl.
Katie understood. She could feel the energy leaking from her own body. Her wrist ached from the difficult catch she’d made, and her head was swimming. ‘That was a narrow escape,’ she said, as she and Alice slipped into the secret passage and headed towards the schoolroom. ‘I’m all jitters now, and tired, and starving… Things just seem to get worse and worse.’
‘What you need is a short nap. Lie down on the chaise longue behind the screen in the schoolroom. I need to check on Leopold, and then I’ll nip down to the kitchen…’
‘You think a nap solves everything,’ Katie complained. But as she eased herself on to the sofa, the world did seem a better place. She could hear Alice next door, talking to Leopold. Her voice drifted further and further away.
Chapter Twelve
What’s To Be Done?
Alice sat on a footstool by Katie’s feet, absently nibbling a sticky bun. ‘I’ve been thinking about today,’ Alice said. ‘I was so stupid; I almost exposed you. Why did I ever believe I could come up with a plan all by myself? That’s for more intelligent people like you, or James or Vicky. I should stick to sitting quietly with my hands folded in my lap from now on.’
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 14