Dolores tried to stand up in protest, but she was too weak. Princess Alice sat down next to her on the sofa and fixed her with those serious grey eyes. Dolores calmed down immediately. Her face softened, her agitation vanished. Princess Alice had this effect.
‘You need to convalesce,’ Alice continued in her sweet, calm voice. ‘But you won’t be alone. Miss Nightingale has many interesting visitors. You will enjoy meeting some of them. Miss Mary Seacole is visiting from Jamaica. She is kind-hearted and most entertaining.’
‘Alice is right Dolores,’ Katie encouraged her. ‘I promise you, I’ll be fine here. And Florence Nightingale is the best, the greatest.’ Katie couldn’t help speculating. Dolores had bossed her, mothered her and nursed her for years and years. What would the mighty Dolores make of the mightier Florence Nightingale?
James helped Dolores to her feet as DuQuelle returned. ‘I’m not going with that man,’ she protested again.
‘No, you are not,’ DuQuelle replied crisply. ‘James, my carriage can be found at St George’s Gateway. Please escort this . . . person . . . to London – South Street, Mayfair, to be exact. There you will find Miss Florence Nightingale and her friend from the Crimea, Miss Mary Seacole. Give Miss Nightingale this letter, it tells all. She will receive you. ‘
‘You’ll be safe with James,’ Katie reassured Dolores. ‘He’s, well, he really is a good friend.’ James shot Katie a look – rather startled – but she felt he was not displeased. James might be gruff, but he valued friendship. Dolores was too weak for further protest. Katie kissed her gently on the cheek and James half led, half carried her from the room. Katie hated to see her go.
‘I’ve had enough of hysterics, fainting and fits,’ DuQuelle announced. ‘These displays of emotion are most unsettling.’ He looked decidedly unruffled. Couldn’t he care for anyone? At that moment, Katie truly hated him.
‘I have some understanding of your feelings, Katie,’ he added. ‘If I were capable if it, I’d probably dislike you as well. For now, though, we have work to do.’ His uncanny ability to read her mind irritated Katie even more.
‘Question number one,’ he said. ‘Who called Katie, and what were their motives? For once I am baffled. Perhaps Katie has re-entered our lives as a figure of malevolence.’
Princess Alice tossed her head and put out a hand to silence DuQuelle. ‘James, Katie and I have a bond beyond your suspicions. We have been through much together, and I expect we will go through much more.’
Katie looked at Alice with admiration. She really could be quite regal at times. And yes, they had been through a lot – wars, and anarchists, duels and demons. But there had also been much laughter – midnight feasts, whispered secrets and good times. A wave of affection washed over Katie.
DuQuelle bowed slightly. He actually seemed to like being bossed about by Princess Alice. ‘I believe Katie can do little harm if we guard her carefully. We will keep Katie here, at Windsor Castle. And while she rests, I will revive her alias, Miss Katherine Tappan, so that Katie can move freely at court. My forgery skills are quite useful in a case like this. There are letters to be written. Mr Lewis Tappan is sending his daughter to England, again.’
DuQuelle picked up the debris around Katie, handing her the walking stick and the ancient book. ‘What is this?’ he asked. It was the glass snow globe. He examined it carefully.
‘That thing, that’s the culprit!’ Katie cried. ‘You know perfectly well that’s what started all this trouble.’
Bernardo DuQuelle ignored her, and rolled the globe in his slender white fingers. ‘Now, what could this be?’ he murmured to himself.
‘Really, DuQuelle,’ Katie protested, ‘you might not have called me, but you did send this gift. It came with your calling card. The writing was yours.’
Alice came forward to look at the object. DuQuelle shook his head. ‘I sent no gift.’ He held up his pincenez and examined the globe carefully. ‘I have never seen this – not in your time, or any time.’ He turned it upside down and then shook the globe. ‘It carries no message,’ DuQuelle said. ‘It tells no tale.’
Katie tried to take it from him. ‘But it’s very clear,’ she said. ‘Let me show you.’ Reaching for the glass ball she gave a startled cry. There was no snow. The snow globe was empty. The Victorian family was gone.
Chapter Six
The War in America
Katie should have had more faith in Dolores. The shock had been huge, of course. Dolores was no traveller, and now to be hurtled through time and space . . . But Dolores was a robust woman with her own equally strong beliefs. She had no intention of dying. Her health flourished in the care of Miss Nightingale. She was up and about within a week. ‘Thank God for tough, capable women,’ Katie thought as she walked along the London streets with James and Alice. At that moment, though, Katie didn’t feel very tough. She feared she might collapse, right there on the pavement. Would she ever get used to these clothes?
DuQuelle’s forgery skills had come in handy and Katie had a new identity, one more acceptable to the Palace. She reappeared as Miss Katherine Tappan, daughter of Lewis Tappan – businessman and abolitionist from New York. Her identity had been a savvy choice by DuQuelle. Prince Albert, as the President of the Society for the Extinction of the Slave Trade, admired the anti-slavery work of Lewis Tappan, but did not know him personally. Katie had taken this role in her last plunge through time. She had been presented at Court and was now free to socialize in royal circles.
This freedom, however, did not extend to her body. With a Victorian identity came Victorian clothes. She wore a dark green silk-and-wool challis gown with double layered bell sleeves. The bodice hooked in front with hundreds of tiny buttons. To fend off the December cold, she was wrapped in a matching velvet mantle, wonderfully fringed and braided. She almost sank to her knees each morning when she put them on. Katie had to admit the clothes were beautiful. But this beauty came at a price. Underneath the soft woollens was a corset with whalebone stays, and that morning Princess Alice had laced it for her – very tight.
‘Hold on, you guys,’ Katie complained. ‘I’ve got whalebone digging into my side, I really can’t breathe.’ She leaned against a lamp post, gasping.
‘It’s your own fault,’ James snapped. ‘You call yourself modern, yet you’re trussed up in a corset. Don’t you know how what a corset does to you? It will weaken your muscles, rearrange your internal organs, affect your respiratory system, and damage your health for life.’ As a doctor in training, James felt he had the right to lecture women on their health, and their vanity.
‘There was no other way to fit into this dress,’ Katie protested. ‘I’m so big – Alice filched it from the wardrobe of some courtier, a tubby middle-aged woman who’s been eating ten-course meals for three decades.’
Katie pushed off from the lamp post, but came to an abrupt halt. The spring steel hoops of her crinoline had become entangled with the lamp post. James was scowling and even loyal Alice looked slightly disconcerted. Katie gave the thing a sharp tug and it sprang back into place, her skirt swinging madly like a tolling bell. Other people in the street stopped to stare. She was showing much too much ankle and leg.
Princess Alice turned slightly pink; but in truth she was used to James’s direct way of speaking, and Katie’s blunt manners. She’d even grown to like their quirky behaviour. It made life more exciting.
‘First of all, I did not “filch” the dress, as you put it. I borrowed it,’ Alice said rather primly. ‘Secondly, you’ll have to admit that the new steel hoops are ever so much lighter than the endless petticoats we used to wear, even if they are rather difficult to manage at the beginning. And finally, Katie dear, you are not big. It’s simply that women are larger framed in your time. I think you look lovely.’
It was a kind compliment even though Alice was the pretty one. Now that she was older, Alice chose her own clothes, of a simpler, more elegant style than the rest of the Royal Family. Her dark blue velvet dress suited her slend
er frame. And when she walked, her crinoline skirt swayed gracefully.
‘You’re the only person in the world who thinks so,’ Katie replied. ‘Me? Lovely? I think we all remember my nickname at Court – the giraffe. And I’m even taller now. I’ll have to leave Court life and join the circus if I keep growing.’
James spoke up, rather dourly, ‘You look like Katie, that’s good enough for us. And Jack so liked that lively funny look of yours . . .’ He stumped along after that and all three were silent. Jack was James’s older brother, killed in the Charge of the Light Brigade. After some time, James spoke again. ‘I don’t mean to spoil our day out,’ he said. ‘It’s such a treat for Alice.’
Princess Alice hated her life of privilege and seclusion, and today she’d had a tiny victory, a minor escape. She had travelled by train from Windsor to London. Not in the Royal Carriage, attended by governesses, servants and a military escort, not even in a first-class carriage. She had travelled second class, in a carriage filled with normal people – her people, the public.
Princess Alice’s eyes gleamed. She had found the speed and the crowds quite intoxicating. As they crossed Piccadilly, James reached out to take her elbow.
Even studious James had noticed the glow in her cheeks and the toss of her head. Turning the corner to South Audley Street, they came upon a long trench in the centre of the road. Dozens of men were hard at work. James stopped staring at Princess Alice, and looked with even more admiration at the building site before them. ‘It is the new sewage system, the most modern in Europe,’ he explained. ‘They have finally broken ground.’
Alice stepped closer to peer into the deep hole. ‘How wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Dr Snow says this system of waste disposal is vital. I’ve read his treatise on the spread of cholera. It is not air-borne after all, but comes from unclean water. But then you attended his lecture at the Royal Society. Oh! I wish I could have gone. I have so many questions, James. I am certain you will understand it better than I ever will.’
The din around them increased as a steam-powered digger began to fling up piles of earth. Katie couldn’t hear a thing. She could only watch a mute show of affection, as James moved Alice away from the dirt and din. Shouting in her ear, he gestured to the piles of bricks and drew diagrams with his finger in the air. Alice nodded and smiled, looking decidedly enthusiastic about all this talk of effluence and disease.
Katie wanted to laugh. They were so suited to each other, so happy. ‘They are falling in love,’ she thought, ‘and they don’t even know it.’ The laughter was quickly replaced by a pang of sadness. James and Alice came from different worlds. They could be friends, study partners, medical pioneers, but not the thing they might like most. Katie sighed, and they turned up Park Lane towards South Street, and the home of Florence Nightingale.
‘I am so pleased Miss Nightingale has taken in Miss Seacole. I find it criminal, the way she has been neglected since the end of the Crimean War,’ Alice said.
James nodded. ‘She did much good for our soldiers and gave her all: her knowledge of natural medicines, her extensive experience nursing and all her wealth besides. And what did she get in return? A trip to the bankruptcy courts.’ They both shook their heads over the unfairness.
‘The Times has set up a subscription to aid her,’ Alice said more brightly. ‘My brother Bertie has agreed to give funds. There is a festive ball at Windsor Castle tonight; a large celebration with courtiers, clergy, diplomats and artists. This would be the perfect time to announce the subscription for Mary Seacole. Perhaps, James, you would draft a message. Bertie could read it to the guests.’
The streets became crowded once they’d turned into Park Lane – carriages filled with ladies out for a winter ride, hansom cabs hurrying to appointments. A military guard trooped out from their barracks, towards Buckingham Palace, and pedestrians stopped to watch. Despite the people all around her, Katie suddenly felt lonely. James and Alice had their talk of science, their shared life at court and their endless do-gooding. They’d grown closer and left Katie a little bit behind. She felt a tiny pang of bitterness. This would not do. She thought of Dolores and picked up her pace. Dolores’s health might be improving, but she was still in a strange nation, and an even stranger time. Best get to South Street as quickly as possible.
James and Alice, wrapped up in their own conversation, had moved ahead and were soon lost amongst the many bobbing heads. Katie hurried after them, but then something pulled her back. ‘Damn this crinoline,’ she thought, and turning to unhook it again, came face to face with an unknown man. His clothes were rough and his face even more so. Dark lines fell from the ridge of his nose to the bottom of his chin. The man needed a shave and probably a wash. Katie’s annoyance turned to panic when she realized that he was deliberately stepping on the back of her skirt.
‘Going somewhere?’ he jeered, ‘I think not.’ And pinning Katie’s arms roughly behind her back, he hustled her along Park Lane. ‘Any noise from you and I’ll break your arm,’ he hissed into her ear. A sharp tug showed Katie that he meant it. Alice and James turned the corner and disappeared from view.
Katie tried to attract the attention of the people on the street, mouthing the word ‘Help’, her eyes wide with pleading. But everyone seemed interested in their own lives. The nannies complacently pushed their babies in prams. Servant girls swung their baskets as they went about their shopping. Young ladies hurried into carriages with their lists of social calls. No one had time for Katie. Park Lane flashed before her, and then she was shoved down a flight of steps, into the basement area of a grand house. As Katie cried out, a coarse hand clasped over her mouth, and with a final painful twist of her arm, she was pushed through a door.
The basement was dark, and as she struggled, Katie couldn’t see much. She only knew that there were others around her now. She fought hard, kicking and scratching, but they were too much for her. The corset, the skirts and the sheer volume of clothing did not help. She felt as if she might suffocate, but still she fought on. She had no choice. So few people knew who she was or even that she existed, and two of those few had moved on, talking together, unaware. She was on her own.
Katie was no match for the men. Quickly they tied her arms behind her, and balling a piece of cloth, forced it into her mouth.
‘Is this really necessary? I’d hardly call it diplomacy,’ called a young man’s voice from the darkness.
‘If she’d clawed you like a cat, you’d tie her up too,’ came the gruff reply. ‘She’s dangerous, this one.’ What was it about their voices? With a start, Katie realized they were Americans.
‘Do stop struggling. Please sit down,’ the younger voice said. A chair was pushed forward; a gentler hand guided her to it. ‘We don’t want to harm you,’ he added, ‘but we do need to talk with you. We need your help.’ Someone struck a match, and in the brief glow Katie saw a face that startled her. The straight brown hair, the strong nose, the blue eyes that held a private joke – why did she know the face of this young man? He turned from her, and fiddling with the wick, finally got the oil lamp burning.
Her hands were tied, but Katie still had her feet. Rising, she made a dart for the door, but it was useless. ‘Don’t run,’ he almost pleaded, ‘don’t make us tie you to the chair.’ He held the lamp closer, and Katie again looked at the familiar face of a stranger. Gently he took the cloth from her mouth. ‘Don’t yell,’ he said. ‘Just listen.’
Katie’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and the flame of the lamp grew stronger. There were quite a few of them in the basement – all men. They moved closer and, crouching on their heels, stared. Her thoughts changed abruptly. She now hoped Alice and James wouldn’t find her. It would only place them in peril. With this dangerous band of men, who knew what would happen? It would be better if she didn’t cry out. Clearing her throat to steady her nerves, and breathing deeply, she spoke quietly. ‘Why am I here? What do you want?’
‘We want the truth.’ There was nothing gentle a
bout the older man as he glared at Katie. ‘We all know Lewis Tappan, and you are not his daughter. You’ll need to be telling us who you really are.’ He appeared to be their leader, and he didn’t like Katie at all.
Still, she tried to sidestep his demand. ‘Why should I tell you anything?’ she said stoutly. ‘You’re just a bunch of thugs. And I asked the first questions: who are you? And what do you want?’ All this sounded very brave and tough, but it wasn’t how Katie felt inside. She was sick with fear.
The older man stood up and Katie flinched. She wished she hadn’t, it made her look such a coward. Her knees were shaking and her burnt hand pulsed with pain. She scanned the room, searching for the doorway. She had to get out of there.
The younger man sensed her desperation. ‘You’ll want to help once you understand,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I know this must seem terrifying to you – being abducted in the street, in broad daylight, and dragged into a basement – and we’re sorry it has come to this. We did need to meet with you in secrecy.’
Katie tried to keep her guard up. ‘Who are you?’ she asked again.
The young man laughed. ‘You are stubborn.’ There was admiration in his voice. ‘Our cause is just; I can assure you of that. We know you will sympathize once you hear our story.’
Katie peered into his face. He wasn’t much older than she was, but his face was etched with faint lines; a young face that had seen too much.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘You talk. But it has to be you. I’ll only listen to you.’
He pulled up a chair and sat directly opposite Katie. The others muttered in protest but kept their distance. ‘We come from President Abraham Lincoln of the United States of America.’
Katie gave a start. She was used to Princess Alice and even Queen Victoria, but a figure like Abraham Lincoln – someone from her own country, her own history – that was a lot to take in. ‘Abe— I mean, the President has sent you?’ she asked.
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 50