“If they dug deep,” Daniel said, “and protected the charges as you suggest—even if some got too wet to detonate, enough would go off. They brought plenty of ammunition. Bloody hell.”
He spun to me, caught me by the shoulders, and kissed me noisily on the mouth. “You are an amazing woman, Mrs. Holloway. Of all the great minds I have access to, you are the only one with any sense. You spark me. Thank you.”
Another quick kiss—liberties I was allowing due to the anxiousness of the situation—and he was out the door, his step as exuberant as ever.
“Tea and scones,” I said to the open door. “Nothing like them for settling the mind.”
I put on my coat and gloves, snatching up a shawl for my head, and went downstairs and out. Daniel was not leaving me to drum my fingers and wait for him this time.
• • •
I could not be surprised when James joined me on the strand. He tried to be quiet about it, but I knew he was behind me—not because he made noise, but because I expected him.
The night had grown very cold, the wind blowing the storm higher. James stopped beside me, hunkering into a coat that was too big for him—one of Daniel’s, I imagined.
“What’s he doing?” James asked as we peered into the darkness.
The wind was high, muffling his speech. I stood on tiptoe to answer in his ear. “Looking for explosives in the river.”
James shuddered and turned up the collar of his coat. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
I had no idea. I kept Daniel in sight for a time, while he shouted for the constables and other men to join him. Then they piled into a boat and rowed out into the water.
As the rain came down, the boat vanished into the mist and darkness. I could no longer see Daniel, and my heart beat with worry.
“He’s clever,” I said, to reassure myself as well as James. “He knows how to take care.” When James turned a skeptical gaze on me, I shrugged. “He’s lived this long,” I amended.
We both fell anxiously silent.
The wind was strong and cold, so we retreated to the leeward side of the inn. I did not want to wait indoors—for some reason I thought things would go better if I remained outside. At least, I would feel less helpless.
“I wish I had a spyglass,” I said after a time.
“Dad has some brilliant spyglasses,” James said gloomily. “He took me out to the country once, away from the coal smoke, and showed me the stars through them. One had rings around it.”
“That is a planet,” I told him. “It’s called Saturn.” I thought about something Mr. Davis had read in the newspaper the other day. “He didn’t show you the one that’s supposed to be throwing off the orbit of Mercury, did he? A planet nearer to the sun?”
James shook his head, not looking very interested.
“There’s no such thing,” I said determinedly. “We have eight planets, and that is all.” I paused. “Perhaps your father would show me the stars someday.”
I heard the wistfulness in my voice and hoped the rising wind disguised it from James.
“Wager he will. He likes you, Mrs. H. Ain’t seen him like someone so much in a long time.” James darted me a look of appeal, as though hoping I’d tell him that I liked his father in return. James had never had a family, not really. Perhaps he wished . . .
The turn of conversation was making me decidedly uneasy. “Mr. Rigby might have a spyglass. Or know someone who has, this being a fishermen’s village so near to a port town. People must like to go to the harbor and watch for ships at sea to come in.”
“Could be,” James agreed.
I told James I would inquire, and I hurried back to the inn, but James came with me, perhaps worried he’d lose me as well if he let me out of his sight. I stepped into the inn, glad to get out of the cold, truth to tell, and hunted up Mrs. Rigby.
“A spyglass?” Mrs. Rigby asked in amazement. “What d’ye want one of them for on a night like this? You ought to stay in, you and the lad, before you catch your death.”
“We will.” I curbed my impatience. “When we know all is well.”
“I’m guessing you want it to watch the constables climbing around to make sure the Queen comes through safely. Leave them to it, I say. Nothing you or I can do about it.”
“I know.” I could not think how to explain why I hated doing nothing, without sounding querulous, so I didn’t bother. “Even so.”
Mr. Rigby did not own a spyglass, but the elderly fisherman two doors down did. The man spent much time explaining to me how the device worked and then admonishing me to bring it back in one piece. At the last minute, he nearly didn’t let me take it, declaring that women had no notion of how to work gadgets. James stepped in, however, assured him his father had taught him, and we took it away with us.
The problem with spyglasses is they need light upon which to focus. From what I understand, the light comes in through the lens and bounces off mirrors to the eye—that and you see everything upside down.
James and I returned to the leeward side of the inn and took turns training the glass to the middle of the river. At first, I could make out nothing, then gradually I discovered how to fix on the lights in the boats.
I saw men moving about in these boats, lanterns showing me flashes of one then another as the constables worked. The boats were surrounding the pillars in the middle of the river, the men leaning over, dragging sticks through the water, holding lanterns high.
I grew sick with fear. Any of the boats could stumble upon explosives and set them off accidentally. I couldn’t tell which craft Daniel was in, but I knew he’d be at the forefront. Despite my reassurances to James, both James and I knew that Daniel could be reckless in his zeal.
However, nothing dire happened as we watched. Each minute brought relief, but also more worry because perhaps the next minute could mean catastrophe and disaster.
Eventually the boats spread out, fanning slowly through the river, which told me they’d found nothing yet. Perhaps our conclusions were completely wrong.
The church clock tolled through the night—midnight, one, two. James and I were driven inside by the cold, but we sat in the front room, neither of us willing to go up to our beds until this was over for good or ill. James nodded off in a chair, a faint snore issuing from his young mouth.
I remained rigidly at the window. I used the spyglass, better able to now that I could brace my elbows on the arms of the chair I sat in, though the window glass distorted things a bit.
By five, an hour before the Queen’s train was due, I’d given up trying to see, and merely sat, waiting. James had in turn woken and paced and then sat and slept, and now he dozed again, slumped into his chair.
At half past five, the household began to stir. Mrs. Rigby and her two maids came downstairs to poke up fires and begin the day’s cooking. I knew I ought to help with the cookery, but I could not bring myself to move.
“Good gracious, have you been here all night, Mrs. Holloway?” Mrs. Rigby asked as she trundled into the sitting room. “Everything will be fine, love. You’ll see. Men just like to make a fuss.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, I heard a shout rise from outside. It was answered by another shout and another—cries of alarm that turned to panic.
I could see nothing through the rain-streaked windows, and I was out of the room in an instant, running for the front door, barely remembering to snatch up my coat as I went.
I dragged on the coat as I dashed outside. Rain pelted down, making footing perilous, and wind whipped needle-like drops into my face. I ran for the river, and James came behind me.
On the water, lanterns were moving every which way, glowing through the rain and gleaming on the river’s surface.
I heard yells of “Loose! Get it loose!” “Cut that rope now, damn you!” The last came from Daniel, his voice slicing ove
r the others.
He was all right, I thought. He’d contain the situation, and they’d row in, damp, hungry, tired. All would be well.
The moment after this thought formed, my entire world lit up with a fire brighter than sunshine on a fine and fair day. The bridge glowed above us in silhouette, its reflection repeated on the ripples of water that boiled beneath it.
Pieces of wood and stone burst upward along with a sheet of water that erupted in a geyser, every drop glittering in the flames that shot high. A second later, a hot wind pushed at me, coming on top of a boom that shook my body and blasted the very air.
Shouts sounded as villagers rushed from their homes and from the inn, and fishermen who’d been going for their boats darted back from the water, cursing.
I stood in place, staring at the fire burning like a rope along the river, the light showing chunks of torn-apart boats floating on the surface. My body felt like ice, no blood flowing in my veins, while my throat dried and squeezed shut.
A body slammed past me, sending me staggering. “Dad!” James screamed and launched himself at the burning river.
23
James’s dash for the water unstuck my feet. I ran after him, slipping and sliding on the rocks and mud and not caring a toss. My heart was beating again, pounding pain through me.
James ran right into the river. I couldn’t catch him. He moved swiftly, and I struggled behind.
Another explosion rang high as we charged forward, hot shards of wood bursting from it to cut my face and singe my skin.
“Daniel!” I shouted. “Daniel!”
The river pulled at my boots. It was freezing, the leather of my shoes not meant to be plunged into flowing water. But I couldn’t turn back, couldn’t seek safety. Not until I knew.
Boats poured out of the fire, smoke, and rain, running for the shingle. Fishermen rushed into the river to help them, grabbing gunwales and hauling the craft up onto the strand. Constables and other men piled out of the boats, but none were Daniel.
My throat hurt from my screams, and my voice was broken, but I couldn’t keep quiet. “What happened?” I yelled as the men climbed shakily to shore. “Where is Mr. McAdam?”
None would answer me. They were a quiet lot, round-eyed with horror—one constable staggered over the side of his boat and collapsed to the shingle. Another lifted him over his shoulder and carried him onward.
“Daniel,” I whispered, no longer able to speak.
I could hear James ahead of me, his voice full of fear. “Dad! Dad!”
I started forward. Water poured into my boots, but I kept moving toward James’s voice. My skirts were sodden, and tears trickled hotly down my cheeks.
Large chunks of debris tore by me, the water rushing with the great wave that had boiled out of its midst. In time, the waves would subside, and the natural flow of the river would carry the wreckage and stirred-up silt out to sea.
The glare of the explosions faded, but the dawn was reddened by fires that continued to burn. A few more boats slid up to the shore, but none of them held Daniel.
I wanted to sink down right there, never minding the chill water. I couldn’t feel my feet, and I wasn’t certain my legs would continue to hold me.
I knew in my heart that Daniel had gone to his death protecting a royal woman he’d likely never met, and a country that had consigned him to eking out his life on the streets as a child, that had consigned his son to the same fate before Daniel had found him.
The thought of never seeing Daniel’s blue eyes twinkling with some secret, feeling the warmth of his smile, hearing the rumble of his voice, was an empty one. I wanted to be in my kitchen in London, rolling out my richly buttered pastry, scolding Daniel when he tramped in, pretending not to be charmed by him.
I wanted it so much I could feel the heat of the kitchen’s stove, smell the butter and spices, feel the flour on my hands. I could hear his voice, low with laughter, Daniel making some quip as he stole whatever bit of sweet he’d managed to purloin from my table.
I snapped out of my daze. The warmth was the strange heat from the fires, but everything else was false, except for the voice.
I heard James shout, anguish in his cry, heard a rasp from beyond him. I sloshed forward, my skirts falling from my hands, the wet things twisting my legs and dragging me back.
Daniel came out of the smoke and mist, every bit of him drenched, his hair sodden with water, his face smeared with mud and soot. He cradled the body of a man over his shoulders, the man dead or alive, I could not say.
James splashed to them, reaching for Daniel, helping him. Daniel and James climbed from the water, Daniel hunched with his burden. They rose steadily from the wide shallows to where I waited yards from shore.
As they neared me, Daniel lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were haunted but held a touch of triumph.
“What are you doing, Kat?” he asked, his voice cracking. “You know you are up to your knees, don’t you?”
I tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a hoarse, wheezing sound. Daniel sent me a tired smile and kept walking.
I woodenly turned around and fell into step with him and James, reaching up to steady the young man across Daniel’s shoulders—who was alive. He was warm, breathing, and groaned when I touched him.
We reached the strand. Men and women swarmed us as Daniel set down the young man he carried. The lad proved to be a fisherman’s son who’d volunteered to help look for the explosives, and his family surrounded him and took him away.
“He’ll be all right,” Daniel said, watching them go. He drew a ragged breath. “He was hit on the head when the boat went up, knocked into the water. I had a devil of a time finding him and fishing him out. Thought I’d lost him.” He shook his head, a shiver of remembered fear moving through his body.
I had hold of Daniel’s arm, and I couldn’t seem to let it go. “Come inside. Get warm. And tell us everything.”
“Not much to tell,” Daniel said. We moved slowly toward the inn, he stumbling, but neither James nor I were much better on our feet. “We found the explosives, buried as you suggested, around the base of the pillars. They were in small barrels, sealed with tar and wax, buried well under the riverbed. We dug them out and floated them in boats, towing them far from the bridge. We were going to open them up and drown them when a man came out of nowhere at us, screaming, and lit the lot. Killed himself, the bloody fool. Might have killed others—I don’t know yet.”
“But you found it all.” I rubbed Daniel’s arm. His coat was sodden, his hair slick against his head. He’d freeze to death if we didn’t quickly get him indoors.
“Yes.” Daniel didn’t sound as joyful as he could have. “But I have to wonder why they spread it so thin. All the sticks were accounted for, but divided up so that any one detonation would only make a small blast. Some of the barrels were far out in the river, nowhere near the bridge. They couldn’t hope to topple it like that.”
“But it certainly got our attention,” I said. “Perhaps they only wanted to frighten the Queen away—to show what they could do—”
I halted off because Daniel was staring at me in horror.
At the same time, the cacophony of wind, rain, and voices was broken by the shrill note of a whistle, followed by the rumble of an engine. Sparks shot out from the top of the bridge as iron wheels met iron rails and a train turned to cross the Tamar from Plymouth to Saltash.
Daniel broke from me and began running, running, across the shore, around the inn, and up the lane toward the station. James, after one stunned moment, sprinted after him, and I came behind, lifting my soaked skirts, my feet squishing in my wet boots.
Daniel ran up the hill to where the tracks bridged the lane. He caught a branch of a tree growing close to the low end of the bridge, and used it to help pull himself up the steep bank to the top.
“Jame
s!” I shouted. “Run—tell the signalman to stop the train!”
James gaped at me but understood quickly. He dashed past me up the hill, tearing into the station.
The train came on. So did the three men who were hiding on top of the bridge over the lane, moving straight for Daniel. Daniel met them and they began fighting, the three large men surrounding and pummeling Daniel as the aristocratic lads had done in front of Euston Station in London.
I knew I’d never climb up the steep hill as Daniel had, so I ran on to the station and through it to the platform, hearing James yelling desperate commands at the signalman. I scrambled down from the low platform and ran along the track toward the bridge.
The men had piled rocks and other debris on the ties between the rails, I saw when I reached the spot where Daniel fought. Large stones, tree limbs, and boxes—of dynamite? My heart squeezed in fear.
Trains were heavy and powerful—one could easily sweep aside such things in the tracks, but a well-placed rock or tree branch could derail a train. Explosives would do terrible things if the train couldn’t stop, and the men who’d been waiting alongside the train could do terrible things if it did. They would, if nothing else, break into the train and attack the Queen herself.
This train wasn’t long, a locomotive pulling cars for the Queen and her entourage, and it chugged along fairly slowly. But it kept coming. I didn’t know if the signalman had put out the flag for it to stop, and I couldn’t turn to look without taking my eyes from Daniel and the men he fought.
At any moment, they would fling Daniel from the bridge, or they might all go over the side. Or, the train would hit the four of them, or any incendiary devices in the pile could go off.
It occurred to me dimly that an explosion or the train itself would hurt me as well, but all I could think was to stop the men from beating on Daniel and to get him well away.
The train’s whistle sounded again. I heard the screech of wheels on rails as the train began to slow, the clanking of cars displaced by the change in speed.
Death Below Stairs Page 24
