The Queen Must Die

by K. A. S. Quinn

  Katie looked at Alice, still rocking Riordan in her arms. ‘We knew those men were brutal, and now we know why. The attempt to kidnap Alice was not a one-off. I’m certain that “accident” at the Crystal Palace was no accident – that man shouldn’t have been up in the girders, and he shouldn’t have had that vat of molten stuff. DuQuelle thinks it was a murder attempt by the Black Tide – I pretty much heard him say so. They’re not just thieves trying to make a buck or kidnappers hoping to score a big ransom. They have a cause, something they believe in more than life itself, and they are willing to die for it… or kill for it. And think – they’ve got a hold on MacKenzie. They have complete access to the Palace – and their prey. But there’s one bright spot. They’re not serpents, or cyclones. They’re people, just like us. We can try to fight the Black Tide. We can try to protect Princess Alice, but we’ll have to be doubly vigilant.’

  The rain was heavier now and a deep gloom settled over the trio. There were, after all, only three of them. And it was a heavy burden for small shoulders. Alice was the first to shake it off. ‘Sleep,’ she said, ‘is what we need. Look at little Riordan, sleeping like an angel. I’ll go and tuck him in. Couldn’t you drop your father a hint about the Honourable Emma Twisted, Jamie?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Katie added, ‘I think I ran into Emma’s father yesterday. What a family. He tried to buy, yes buy, a little girl – who, by the way, might be mixed up in this stuff too. Boy, was he a creep.’

  James still didn’t say anything, so Alice spoke up again. ‘Jamie O’Reilly, you’ll definitely need some sleep. Isn’t tomorrow the first day of practice for the big cricket match?’

  This punctured James’s gloom, he was mad on cricket, and even Katie looked interested. ‘It’s the Royal Military College cadets versus the Queen’s household,’ Alice explained. ‘Jamie is one of our top batsmen and a devious spin bowler. And Jamies’s older brother Jack is one of the cadets. A fine young man and a fast bowler, up to seventy miles an hour they say. We never win, but Jamies’s game has improved so much this year. I hope the ground dries out in time… all this rain… And Katie, you forget who is protecting whom. There are servants and soldiers all over the Palace with express orders to keep me safe. But you are alone, except for me and James. I’m afraid you’re sleeping under my bed again. The schoolroom isn’t safe enough. I know it’s not very comfortable, but I’ll loan you Woolie Baa Lamb.’

  As she left the room with Riordan in her arms James commented: ‘She’s very bossy, and she is a girl, but at least she’s brave.’

  Katie lay under Alice’s bed. She could tell by the bustle barely audible from the floor below that the chambermaids were lighting fires in each of the rooms. Though it was still dark, it must be near morning. As she turned over, Woolie Baa Lamb let out a low ‘Baa’. Katie hadn’t slept a wink. She was utterly miserable. Everything, just everything was a mess. She still didn’t know how she had arrived in this time, and she certainly didn’t know how to depart. And which child was she? Her life was in jeopardy – and worse, so were those of her friends. Even without Bernardo DuQuelle and his cast of grotesques, this was no place for Katie. She made a very bad Victorian girl, just couldn’t stomach the decorum, modesty and obedience and she was an unlikely Victorian child, in total rebellion against all that hero-worship of parents. If Alice and James could get through the present dangers, they had a future, in this time. They would grow up to do whatever history had in store for them. ‘What about me?’ Katie wondered. ‘How can I have a future in a time where I don’t exist?’

  Katie found herself thinking about her mother. Mimi wasn’t exactly dependable, and yes, she was shallow and selfish and lived in a pop culture vacuum. But Mimi wasn’t a complete waste of space. Her toughness and street smarts had propelled her into a successful music career. Katie needed some of that toughness now. Plus, Mimi was the future. ‘I want to go home,’ Katie thought. ‘I want to go home, have a laugh with Mimi. Hail a taxi, go out to brunch and eat normal food – bagels and lox and cream cheese. If Mimi could see me now, she’d be thrilled with my weight loss.’

  And that was the problem. Mimi would probably never see her again. She was trapped in the wrong time and no one knew how to set her free. If she had to stay in the nine-teenth century, she had hoped, at least, to protect Alice. But from what DuQuelle had said, she would only do harm. Alice’s words kept ringing in her head: ‘You are going to bring us all peace.’ ‘Peace,’ thought Katie, ‘with what’s going on in my time!’

  Mimi wasn’t exactly a reader of newspapers or a follower of events. For this indifference Katie was grateful, it kept a scary world at bay. But what she learned in her current affairs class in school – what she inadvertently picked up as Dolores switched between soap operas – all that was the opposite of peace. Israel and Palestine, India and Pakistan, America and Iran, North and South Korea, the nations of the world seemed to hate each other.

  Katie groaned as an even worse thought hit her. Alice didn’t know about the great wars: the 58,000 casualties in one day at the Battle of the Somme, the 13,000 men and women killed during the London Blitz, the 6 million Jews gassed or shot or starved to death just because of their religion. These are the things that lay in the future, the future Katie was bringing. ‘Alice is wrong to have such faith in me,’ Katie decided, ‘and James’s suspicions are probably right. Whatever my time brings, it is the opposite of peace. But is it the war to end the world?’ Katie shook her head, trying to think more clearly. ‘No,’ she said aloud, ‘I am not the prettiest, smartest person around – and I’m a disappointment to Mimi – but I’m just not the worst. You’d think I’d know if I was going to destroy the world.’

  She could still see Bernardo DuQuelle in his townhouse, speaking into the fire. ‘I will be ruthless…’ and still hear the terrible hissing and gagging of Mr Belzen. The one thing Katie knew for certain was that they were all in jeopardy. The night dragged on forever, and a part of her hoped the sun would never rise.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Cricket Match

  It was the day of the cricket match, and a strikingly beautiful one at that. The sun was strong for early spring and the sky was achingly blue – the kind of day England delivers every six months or so.

  After three sleepless nights, Katie was willing to miss it, but Alice had other plans for her. ‘Come on lazy head, up you go,’ she said, ‘it’s almost too late to get you to the cricket match.’

  Katie struggled to understand ‘What cricket? What match?’

  ‘You can’t have forgotten! It’s the Royal Military College Cadets. They’re playing us, the Royal Household, today. It’s an annual event. My whole family will be there. Vicky’s back from her tour of the North, and even Bertie’s been let off his duties. The cadets always win, but this year the household team has a good chance. They’ve been practising every hour they have off-duty. Everyone says Mr Drummond can’t bowl but to take a wicket and that James’s leg spin delivery is unplayable.’

  Katie rubbed her eyes. This was gibberish, and she was tired. ‘I think I’ll take a nap instead,’ she said, burrowing back under the blankets. Alice began to get her steely regal look.

  ‘Well, I have to go, Mama’s orders, and I can’t leave you here.’

  When Alice was in this mood, ‘yes’ was the only answer. ‘OK,’ Katie said, ‘I’ll come. I don’t know anything about cricket, but I do play softball for the school team.’

  ‘Softball?’

  ‘It’s like baseball, only the ball’s bigger and you can throw underhand.’

  ‘Baseball?’

  Katie sighed. ‘I think it’s kind of like cricket. Anyway, it’s what we play, and I’m really good at it. I’m the best fielder on the team. Coach says I can catch anything.’

  ‘How interesting.’ Alice looked at Katie, puzzled but admiring. ‘These are games that girls play?’

  ‘Well, girls and boys both. In my time they’re really keen for girls to play sports. But on real professional
teams, men are still paid a lot more money.’

  Alice was getting more and more confused. ‘Katie, are you paid to play this bast ball?’

  ‘Hardly,’ Katie replied. ‘I’m good for my age but no pro.’

  Alice passed Katie a bundle of clothes far plainer than what she had been wearing. ‘I borrowed these from Mabel Evans, one of the kitchen maids. I gave her my rabbit muff in exchange. She thinks I want to play pretend as a servant girl.’

  ‘So the plan is that I’ll play pretend instead,’ Katie said. ‘OK, I’ll go, but why the demotion? Last time I went out I got to be a minor part of the aristocracy. Now I’m a scullery maid.’

  ‘I know it’s not as nice,’ Alice said. ‘Though Mabel is an awfully nice girl; and she’s not a scullery maid, she’s a kitchen maid. She was ever so helpful when I had to smuggle food to Bertie. But you couldn’t wear the grey cashmere. The entire Royal Household will be at the cricket and that includes the Honourable Emma Twisted. She might be a bit of a tippler, but she’d be certain to recognize her own gown, and that would be a scene. If you dress like a servant, everyone will think you are a child from the household, the daughter of a cook or a maid or a gardener.’

  Katie looked at the bundle of sturdy calicoes and coarse cottons. ‘But what about the cooks and maids and gardeners themselves?’ she asked. ‘I might be invisible to your class in these clothes, but they’re sure to sniff me out as a phoney. I’ll be hauled in front of MacKenzie and then we’ll really have that scene you’re talking about.’

  Alice paused at this, but wouldn’t be deterred from her plan. ‘They probably will know you’re not one of them, and will gossip amongst themselves,’ she admitted. ‘But they wouldn’t dare bring it to anyone’s attention above stairs, and certainly won’t tell MacKenzie. I’ve spent enough time in the servants’ hall to know they hate MacKenzie – who wouldn’t? And please don’t say “your class”, it makes me feel horrible, and besides, the Royal Family is supposed to be above class.’

  From outside the nursery they could hear Baroness Lehzen calling Alice. Katie looked more closely at the little bits of cotton with buttons and laces. ‘How am I supposed to get these things on?’ she asked crossly. ‘Even a servant has to wear 800 layers of clothing.’

  ‘Katie, I can’t stop to help,’ Alice replied. ‘I’m late, my dress has yet to be changed and Baroness Lehzen is already cross. Sometimes I think you’ve never seen clothing before, but then you were half naked when I found you. When you’ve got the things on, take the secret passageway to the kitchens and line up with the other servants. There’s a seating area for the household staff near the pavilion they’ve set up for us.’ Alice was enjoying herself, making plans without the usual interference from James. ‘If you get into any trouble, yell something – a code word. I know, shout “Crystal Palace” as loud as you can and I’ll come to help.’

  With an unusually self-satisfied nod, Alice ran from the room, leaving Katie to struggle with the little heaps of clothing. A good hour later, having wrestled with baggy cotton stockings, a chemise, drawstring drawers and the inevitable innumerable petticoats, she looked presentable. Yet despite her best efforts, there were still three or four items of clothing left. She’d pulled them over her head, tied them around her waist and even wrapped them around her ankles, but she couldn’t figure out where they might go on her body. Picking up the straw bonnet that topped her outfit, she stuffed the extra bits of cotton and calico into the deep crown. ‘Next time I travel through time I’m going to do it as a boy’ she told no one in particular, as she slipped behind the schoolroom screen and into the secret passageway.

  Katie had missed the line-up of servants and had to make her own way through the grounds of Buckingham Palace to the match. Play was about to begin when she arrived. The gentlemen cadets were immaculate, almost gleaming in their uniform white caps, shirts and trousers. The Royal Household had made the utmost effort to look smart, but didn’t quite carry it off. It was the contrast of quasi professional and decidedly amateur. Katie could see James in the field, warming up. She caught his eye and braved a little wave. James scowled and looked away. ‘He wants to concentrate on the match at hand,’ Katie realized. ‘He doesn’t want to think about MacKenzie or Belzen or me.’ She thought about going back inside and sliding under Alice’s bed again, but the day was so bright and the sky so deep. She put aside her own questions and doubts, and decided to try and enjoy her first ever cricket match.

  Underneath an elaborate canopy, the Royal Family were chatting with the most senior members of the Royal Household. Katie noted that Baroness Lehzen was particularly hideous in a grey, mustard and olive green paisley print, a small straw hat perched coquettishly forward over her wrinkled brow. Her snaggle teeth were braced in a broad smile as she bent over double to hear what the Queen was saying. The Honourable Emma Twisted moped near the punch bowl: sour and sad and old beyond her years.

  At the back of the royal grouping Mr MacKenzie was sweating profusely, looking over his shoulder and starting at the slightest sound. He’d come to after the night with Mr Belzen and assumed it had been a drunken hallucination. But still, Fräulein Bauer had never returned to the Palace. There was much talk of this below stairs. Baroness Lehzen viewed him with more suspicion than ever and had suggested alerting the Queen to Fräulein Bauer’s absence. Her suspicions about MacKenzie grew. Even on a mild spring day the heat was too much for MacKenzie. His face was so pink, his collar so tight – Katie thought he might burst, and hated to think what would come oozing out. Katie wasn’t the only one watching MacKenzie. Bernardo DuQuelle gazed at him intensely then scanned the crowd for another face. Katie drew back, and pulled her straw bonnet down.

  Alice’s sisters were there for the day and all the girls were dressed in identical plaid taffetas of rust, green and blue, their hair tied back in matching tartan ribbons bunched at the side. The eldest of the royal children, Princess Victoria, was seated on a gilt chair next to her father. She chatted away, making many points and interrupting others when they tried to add their own views. Vicky was unusually tiny and looked a great deal like her mother. ‘Why is it the smaller they are, the more overbearing they become?’ Katie wondered. Prince Albert held Vicky’s hand and nodded approval at the observations and theories streaming from his young daughter. Vicky was his first born, he had tutored her himself, and all of his beliefs and ideals had gone into her education. She was his masterpiece. He rather missed the fact that, while Vicky was certainly knowledgeable, she wasn’t exactly likeable.

  There was another reason for tiny Princess Victoria’s self-importance that day. Though still in her teens, Vicky was newly engaged to Prince Frederick William of Prussia. The two of them had just finished touring northern Britain. It was a way to get to know each other, and an intimate introduction to Britain for Prince Frederick William – with just thirty British and Prussian courtiers in attendance. Vicky was filled with enthusiasm for the trip. ‘I cannot express the cunning of the northern factories,’ she explained to those around her. ‘The workers are used in a “relay system”, so that machinery is manned for the longest possible hours. Of course, the Factory Acts have done so much to help the workers. Particularly the factory children – they now cannot be employed until the age of eight – so much more humane. And the new systems give them much leisure time – only seven-hour shifts. Before that the little mites toiled from five in the morning until eight in the evening!’ She had inherited her father’s talent for facts, and his tedious way of relating them. Several courtiers stifled yawns.

  Prince Frederick beamed, holding a sunshade over his fiancée’s head and adjusting her shawl. ‘The smoke,’ she continued, ‘was abhorrent. The coal stacks puffed away day and night. Sometimes it looked like midnight at high noon. I am convinced the smoke was the cause of young Felix’s illness. As soon as we sent him from Manchester, he made a complete recovery.’ Vicky turned to smile and pat a little boy with blond curls.

  Katie almost leaped from h
er skin. It was the small, smug boy in the shorts, jacket and ruffles. She’d seen him in New York, and she hadn’t liked him then. He spoke as in her dreams – that same flat, high nasal voice. She couldn’t understand him.

  ‘German,’ she suddenly realized. ‘He’s speaking German. And what is he doing here? I read about him, in those letters Alice wrote to Vicky – during this same tour of the North. Prince Frederick’s nephew, young Felix – he dies – of scarlet fever – and yet here he is.’ The child, briefly, caught Katie’s eye – he too looked startled. And Katie could have sworn that he began to glow in the bright sunlight.

  Standing behind Vicky was a rather lumpen teenage boy with a round face, bulging eyes and unkempt hair. It was Bertie, Alice’s older brother, the heir to the British throne. He looked to the field with great earnestness, waving his arms and talking hard. In his enthusiasm he spilled punch in every direction. ‘We can expect a maiden over from James O’Reilly,’ Bertie was telling the Reverend Duckworth. ‘He’s first rate, that boy. But dash it, they can’t open the bowling with him. We’ll need a fast bowler, what with the new ball, and it had better be Drummond. He’s the damnedest…’

  The Queen turned around, her face like thunder. ‘Bertie! I will not have that kind of profanity in this family, or in any persons surrounding this family. I demand an apology now and insist you retire from the event should any such language cross your lips again.’ There was silence in the gay little pavilion and Prince Albert’s usual burdened and exhausted expression returned to his face.