by A. E. Moorat
'Ah,' said the Prime Minister, his hands clasped behind his back, 'he has truly captured your heart, has he not?'
'You had notions otherwise? That I might have agreed to a marriage of convenience?'
'Perhaps not,' he demurred, 'knowing Your Majesty as I do.'
'And Albert also,' she reminded him. 'He is certainly a man who knows his own mind.'
'And how pleased I am to hear of it, ma'am.'
'He has been explaining to me some of his ideas on reform.'
'Ah.'
They walked in silence. She sensed the unease pouring from Lord Melbourne. He and Lehzen, though hardly the best of friends, did at least have common ground in their distrust of Saxe-Coburg, though possibly for different reasons: Lehzen she wasn't sure about, though she felt it had more to do with a fear of being replaced in the young Queen's affections than practical matters or those of state. The Prime Minister, on the other hand: in the weeks leading up to the visit, not only had he been complaining about German habits of toilet, but had voiced reservations about the family. 'The Coburgs are not popular abroad,' he had told her, warningly.
Now, this crisp October morning, she could sense his resistance still. Neither was he being especially discreet when it came to expressing his reservations. Anybody else and she would have dismissed them with a curt rebuke for their impertinence. But this was Lord M. Dear Lord M. So she indulged him. For now.
'Ma'am,' he said, 'on the subject of Germans I have heard it said that when visiting a spa, our Teutonic cousins use somewhat underhand methods when it comes to reserving a place at the water's edge by placing a towel on a seat prior to partaking of breakfast. The latterday Germans I'm talking about, of course, not those of Your Majesty's ancestry.'
'Come, come now, Lord M, you hardly expect me to believe such outlandish falsehoods.'
'I fear it is true, ma'am.'
The two of them laughed.
'But on to more serious matters, ma'am. Is it not your concern that the Prince will side with your mother on certain issues; thus that you may inadvertently be in danger of handing the reins of power to our friend, Sir John Conroy?'
'If the Prince should side with my mother and her comptroller, then he would find himself literally side by side with them-sharing apartments with Sir John,' she laughed.
'Yet again I make the mistake of underestimating Your Majesty's resolve.'
'Indeed you do, Lord Melbourne, if you think I would place matters of the heart before my duty to my country.'
'Even if the country disapproved of the union?'
'Why should they do so?'
He spread his hands. 'Prince Albert, though undoubtedly a man of fine character is nevertheless...a foreigner, ma'am.'
She sighed. 'Oh, Lord M, this really is below you. Albert is a perfectly delightful gentleman, whatever his nationality. I have every faith that the people will see this.'
'Alas that we cannot introduce him to each and every one of them, ma'am,' he noted.
'They will learn to love him,' she said.
'Perhaps. Nevertheless, by making that request you set them a test,' he said darkly.
'A test I believe they will pass.'
'And if they don't?'
'More talk of revolution, Lord Melbourne?'
'The memories of what happened in France, though now some four decades gone, are still fresh. There is unrest in Europe, ma'am. On the home front we've seen Chartist unrest. There are those who say we were a hair's breadth from national revolution after the Newport Rising. Had that uprising been successful, Your Majesty, who knows what might happen?'
'Our heads might be decorating pikes, Lord Melbourne?' she laughed.
Melbourne coughed in surprise. 'Possibly, ma'am. One dreads to think. The fact of the matter is, however, that there are those who would wish to question the established order. Dangerous revolutionaries.'
'What if these people are not dangerous revolutionaries as you claim, Lord M, but merely "people"-those who need and deserve a change?'
'Ma'am...' he sounded doubtful.
'Lord M, Albert talks very eloquently of reform. It seems to me that reform is exactly what the people need. Ergo, Prince Albert is what the people need. Do you not agree?'
'That, ma'am, is open to debate.'
'You don't have a very high opinion of ordinary people, do you, Lord Melbourne?' she said.
'I...I wouldn't quite say that, ma'am,' he protested.
'You call them rabble.'
'Well...they can be...it's true, somewhat...'
'The hoi polloi?'
He squirmed. 'Perhaps, once or twice, I have been known to...'
'The great unwashed, the riff raff, the lower classes, the proles, the plebs? Sometimes, Lord Melbourne, it strikes me that you have a great many synonyms for those lower in rank than yourself. Far more than you employ to describe the nobility.'
He coughed. What she supposed he intended as an embarrassed, chastened cough.
'Perhaps it is because I believe that the people need to trust in their Queen, and that their Queen needs to win that trust. That marrying a German may not be the most expeditious way in which to achieve that trust.'
'Lord Melbourne, we might as well be in the maze for you are beating about the bush to such a degree. If in your official capacity as my Prime Minister and private secretary it is your advice that I should not marry Prince Albert, then say so and keep your own counsel while I reach my decision.'
'Before I do, ma'am, I think there is somebody you should meet.'
She had not realised it, having been so deep in conversation, but their walk had led them off the usual path, Lord Melbourne having steered them across the grounds. In fact, Victoria realised with a slight lurch that she was not fully aware of exactly where she was in relation to the Palace, which she could no longer see. The only building was the one they now stood before. A low, stone cottage with a sloping roof, a thick, gnarled wooden door inset into the stone, upon which Lord Melbourne rapped hard, twice.
From inside came a voice. 'Melbourne?'
'The very same. With me I have Her Majesty the Queen.'
'Code word?'
Melbourne furrowed his brow, looking at Victoria as though she might know, to which silent enquiry she shrugged, feeling thoroughly offset by the turn of events.
Melbourne seemed to remember.
'The code word is sasquatch,' he said into the door.
From the other side came a sound of great unlocking of bolts and the door swung open. Melbourne ushered Victoria through and she picked up her skirts to descend a short flight of stone steps that deposited her into a room, which, with the exception of a WC, was quite the smallest accommodation she had ever entered, and certainly the lowest ceiling. In the room were two beds, a food preparation area, a fire in the grate, an old rug, and very little else. This one room, it seemed, comprised the entire cottage. Some kind of gardener's quarters, perhaps? She felt very grateful for the presence of Lord Melbourne as he closed the door behind him then came to join her.
Already in the cottage were two people standing to attention; both had taken up position at the other side of a large wooden table that dominated the room: a young boy, perhaps in his early teens, and by his side an older man, who looked like the boy's father, sporting a beard and long, untamed hair through which he passed a hand now, attempting to neaten it, unsuccessfully. Melbourne cleared his throat meaningfully, and the older man remembered himself, bowing low then administering a clip round his son's ear to do the same. In return, Victoria smiled, looking to Melbourne for the introductions.
'Your Majesty, may I present John Brown, and his son, John Brown.'
'It's an honour to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,' said the older Brown and she immediately warmed to him, being so fond of the Scottish accent.
The boy, who stood with his hat screwed up in his hands, did a short, low bow.
Victoria smiled in return. 'Brown?' she said. 'Am I to assume, then, that you are...'
Just then there came another knock at the door.
'What's the code word?' called John Brown.
The door opened. Down the stairs came a figure wearing a cloak, who reached the bottom before sweeping back the hood.
'The code word is sasquatch,' snapped Maggie Brown, shaking out her long, dark hair, 'but it might help to lock the bloody door, don't you think?'
'We had guests,' protested Brown the elder.
'Aye, we will have guests if you leave the door unlocked. Plenty of them and all.' She addressed Victoria, voice softening and curtsying slightly, her eyes bright, 'It's an honour to meet you again, Your Majesty.'
Victoria looked from her to the door. 'You come from outside? Did you know...? Were you following...?'
'Was I following you? Aye, Your Majesty, always. I wouldn't be much of a Royal Protektor if I sat on my arse in here all day, now, would I?'
Victoria looked sharply at Melbourne. 'Is this true?'
Melbourne, still visibly recovering from Maggie Brown's 'arse', managed, 'Indeed, ma'am, your protection is assured around the clock.'
'But I've never...'
'Seen us?' finished Maggie Brown. 'Well, no, we offer a fast, professional but above all discreet service. I have to say, I thought there was a moment the other day when you spotted me, you seemed to look right at me during your talk with the Privy Council, but I think it must have been a trick of the light.'
'Sorry,' said Victoria, who was having much difficulty taking in so much information at one time, 'did you say "we offer..."?'
'Aye, ma'am, and they should be along any minute now.'
Right on cue there came another rap at the door.
'Come in,' barked Maggie Brown, 'it's open.' At that John Brown senior made an exasperated sound to which Maggie responded by shooting him a look and poking out her tongue.
Down the stairs came three more hooded figures. Like Maggie Brown, they each swept back their hoods as they reached the bottom. Victoria, gently ushered by Lord Melbourne, moved around the table to make way for the new arrivals, the room suddenly even more uncomfortably small than before.
'This here is Hudson,' said Maggie Brown and one of the men stepped forward. He bowed, murmuring, 'Your Majesty.' A rather handsome man, Victoria could not help but notice.
'Hicks.' Maggie Brown introduced the second of them, who did the same.
'They are two legendary swordsmen,' said Maggie Brown, in a rather arch, ironic manner, then nodded towards Hudson, who took a step away and swept back his robe to reveal a sword which he drew then twirled for all to see. It was like no sword Victoria had ever seen. Thick and curved. One edge seemed to boast an orthodox blade, the other side bristled with what looked like barbed hooks. It was quite the most evil-looking thing Victoria had ever seen and it was all she could do not to recoil in horror. Hicks replaced his sword in its scabbard and Hudson was about to step forward to demonstrate his own blade when Melbourne, perhaps sensing his Queen's discomfiture, stopped him with an upraised hand.
'Their weapons are designed especially for them by the Quartermaster, ma'am,' he said, 'and have been most effective in battle. To the layman, of course, they might appear a little unsettling.' This last comment he directed with a frown at Maggie, who moved on to the last of her introductions, a woman with long flaxen hair, about Victoria's age, very pretty.
'And this is our archer, Vasquez,' said Maggie Brown.
Vasquez curtsied and Victoria nodded in reply.
'And you four are my bodyguards?' asked Victoria.
'Aye, though from what I saw in your chamber two years ago, you're scarcely in need of one,' said Maggie Brown. She addressed the other three Protektors. 'I dare say there's a thing or two she could teach you about close-quarters combat,' she said, 'this wee lassie is a natural.' She turned back to Victoria. 'Have you thought about training, Your Majesty?'
Victoria bridled. Wee lassie? 'No,' she snapped, 'I most certainly have not. I am the Queen. Queens do not wield swords nor do battle with demons. Any prowess you detected in that situation was entirely as a result of the extraordinary situation in which I found myself.' She caught herself, her voice becoming more gentle. 'For which, Mrs Brown, I don't believe I have ever had the opportunity to thank you.'
'That's quite all right, ma'am,' said Maggie Brown, with a wry smile, 'all in a morning's work.'
'I recall the...monster pledging to meet you again. Was there ever such an encounter?'
Maggie Brown rubbed a hand across her stomach at the memory of the encounter. 'I would very much like to have met that particular demon again, ma'am, believe me, I would. Sadly, she's yet to show her face. In fact, our friends from the other side have been a bit quiet of late, truth be told. Activity: zero. I think they're waiting for us to get fat, actually.'
'Or,' said Lord Melbourne, 'there is another reason for their inactivity. That there is another conspiracy in the offing, yet more sophisticated than ever before.' He looked at Victoria. 'Your Majesty, I think there's something you should hear.'
Victoria nodded.
'Mrs Brown,' said Melbourne, 'over to you.'
Maggie Brown looked to the end of the table. 'John?'
The boy stepped forward.
Then, everybody in the tiny cottage was shuffling around. 'Perhaps you'd like to take a seat, Your Majesty,' Maggie Brown was attempting to direct operations, seven adults and a child in a space barely big enough to swing a cat.
'Hudson, you go there, next to Vasquez. Hicks, you go...no, not there. If you stand there, then Her Majesty can talk to John. John. No, not you, the big John, what are you doing standing there? Make way for the Prime Minister, man. John. No, not you, little John, take a seat here opposite Her Majesty...'
Until, at long last, after what felt like many minutes of shuffling and arrangement, John Brown the younger sat at one end of the large table and Victoria at the other end, facing him. Around them crowded the others, all but Maggie and Vasquez having to bend their heads beneath the eaves of the low ceiling.
'Right, little John,' commanded Maggie, 'do you want to tell Her Majesty what you saw?'
The young John Brown began to speak, then stopped, his fingers twisting the cap he still held in his hand. Victoria looked at him, trying to smile encouragingly.
'It's...' he looked over at his mother, who nodded, urging him on, 'it's these visions I have, miss...'
From the corner of her eye, Victoria could see Melbourne about to interject, to give the boy a swift lesson on how to address his sovereign, but she held up a hand to stop him.
'They are visions I have when I'm asleep, and sometimes when I'm awake,' continued the young John Brown.
'Clairvoyance, ma'am,' said Maggie Brown. 'John has certain psychic abilities that we are aware of...'
Somebody standing about the table huffed disbelievingly but Victoria did not see who was responsible. Not Maggie Brown or Lord Melbourne, that much was for certain. For when she looked at them their faces were set gravely, and for their sakes at least she suppressed a smile and determined to take the boy seriously.
'What,' she leaned forward, 'what do you see, John?'
The colour drained from his face.
'Death, miss.'
'I see,' said Victoria slowly, choosing her words carefully, 'Who, young John? Who do you see dying?'
'Many, many people, miss. Men. I see fire and I hear explosions.'
'Ma'am,' said Lord M, leaning forward, 'we think that what young John is seeing is revolution.'
'Is it, John? Is it an uprising in England?'
'I'm not sure, miss,' said John in reply.
'Tell Her Majesty about the voices, John,' prompted the Prime Minister.
'Some of the men spoke in a foreign tongue, miss.'
Victoria looked sharply at Melbourne, who nodded, his face as grave as she had ever seen it.
'The language they speak?' she asked John now. 'Do you know what it is?'
'I have been told, miss, that it is...'
'No,' she said, holding a finger up to silence him, 'John. Ist es die deutsche Sprache, die Sie horen? Sprechen die Manner Deutsch?'
'That was how they spoke, miss,' said John, 'just like that.'
Victoria sat back in her chair and cast a glance at Melbourne who met her gaze. Then she turned her attention back to the young John Brown.
'And this was happening here was it, John?' she asked, 'This was happening in England?'
'I don't know, miss, I'm afraid. I think so.' His face was ashen.
'Thank you, John,' said Victoria. 'You've been very brave.' She looked to Melbourne, nodded to indicate the meeting was at an end and went to stand up.
Melbourne stepped forward, 'Before we take our leave, Your Majesty, there is one more thing young Brown has seen.' He addressed the boy, 'Go ahead, John.'
'I see you grieving miss, underneath a tree inside your castle.'
Victoria caught her breath, shocked suddenly, feeling as though her privacy had somehow been invaded. She heard the frost in her voice as she said, very slowly, 'There is no tree in my castle, John.'
'It's what I see, miss. I see great sadness.'
'Lord Melbourne,' said Victoria, not taking her eyes from John Brown.
'Yes, Your Majesty?'
'Kindly escort me back to the palace, at once.'
XVII
Sir George Kraft MP, his manservant, Frederick, and Lord Fawcett had commandeered one of the upper corridors of The Reform Club on Pall Mall and were, with great dedication and serious intent, constructing a new parlour game. It was a variation on bowls or boules. At one end of the corridor sat a heavy medicine ball awaiting use. At the other end, along polished boards chosen for the very reason that they provided a smooth uninterrupted passage, was standing a series of pegs, or pins, that had been carefully painted, each numbered to indicate a score, then placed with infinite caution in an arrangement meticulously worked out beforehand.
Other members were invited to make their way along the corridor carefully, for fear of upsetting the apparatus the three men had so carefully laid out, and they were, in the main, good tempered regarding the unorthodox use of the area, most stopping to arch an eyebrow and enquire after the studied activity taking place, before moving past the pins, carefully and with their backs to the wall save the arrangement was upset, and onward to one of the club's legendary rooms.