‘Grace knows her time has come,’ he said. ‘She has returned to her family to die. She has resignation and fortitude. She has faith,’ his lips gave an ironic twist at the final word. Alice pressed her hands against the desk, palms down. She needed to remain calm.
‘Grace can live,’ she said. ‘You, by making the call, by bringing her here, you might give Grace life.’
Talking up a long black walking stick, the man turned it slowly, examining the curious shapes engraved on its silver tip. ‘You do remember the last time? The trouble? And though it’s really not something we can discuss, I can tell you in confidence – that trouble is still brewing, building in fact.’ Tapping the walking stick lightly against the floor, he shook his head as if to clear it. ‘You talk of giving Grace the gift of life? I doubt the Archbishop of Canterbury would approve,’ he said in an attempt at a lighter tone. ‘Me? Creating life? A collective shudder would run through your church.’
The princess would not be put off by his banter. Circling the room, she came before him again, holding out her clasped hands. ‘Bernardo DuQuelle, you can help, and you must help,’ she cried, finally losing patience. ‘How can you tease me in the face of death? Grace will die, and James’ heart will break. If you make the call, Grace might be saved.’ The tall pale man looked down on the small princess.
‘You know I can not interfere,’ he said. ‘To save one life you could endanger thousands.’
‘I’ve never believed that of her,’ Alice replied. ‘She can only bring good. She is our friend, our companion. You think so too, I know. She can help. Please.’ Alice took the man’s long, cold hand. She had never touched him before.
The touch seemed to affect him strangely. He looked at her hand. It fit into his palm, delicate and warm as a newly baked pastry. Sighing and shaking his head, he went to his desk and shut his books. He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, and taking up his black top hat and walking stick, bowed to Princess Alice. ‘As I’ve always said, you are a true daughter of Queen Victoria. Such a will, but pressed with great gentleness.’ The creases in his face deepened, but it wasn’t a face to show much emotion. ‘I shall do as you wish. I shall send the message. But there is no need to dimple and clap your hands. I will call, but whether she hears it, that I can not say.’
Chapter One
The Stranger in the Bed
A fire engine tore down 82nd Street, its blaring sirens ricocheting across a canyon of skyscrapers. The sound bounced upwards, finally reaching the 11th floor bedroom of Katie Berger-Jones-Burg. The many windows in Katie’s apartment had no double-glazing. ‘Who needs the expense?’ her mother Mimi asked. ‘It’s perfectly quiet this far up.’ But then Mimi took so many pills at night, she was dead to the world. King Kong could come crashing through the windows, and Mimi would sleep on.
Katie didn’t take pills. She had, according to her mother, a drearily non-addictive personality. Mimi was the lead singer of Youth ‘n Asia, a fading all-girl pop band. Her life had been filled with adventure, drama and a fair share of hallucinogenic drugs. By contrast Katie was, well, bland. Mimi had once complained that she was the only mother amongst their acquaintance who hadn’t checked her daughter into the Betty Ford Clinic. ‘Don’t you have any obsessions?’ Mimi goaded her. ‘Addictions make a person interesting.’
‘I read,’ Katie countered. ‘I read a lot.’
‘Reading,’ her mother sighed. ‘So outmoded. Couldn’t you text or tweet instead?’
An ambulance followed the fire engine, throwing its wail up through the apartment windows. ‘New York,’ Katie said to herself, ‘the city that never sleeps – well that makes two of us.’ Getting out of bed, she went to check on Mimi. Her mother was splayed across her beige cashmere duvet. On the wall above her, a multitude of Mimis were reproduced, in block colors on canvas. Was it a real Warhol? Katie had her doubts. The real Mimi was wearing a pink velvet eyeshade and earplugs with purple tassels. ‘Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ Katie shouted into Mimi’s tightly plugged ears, and was greeted with an answering snore.
Tucking Mimi in firmly, Katie headed back to bed. There was a glow coming from her room, which was strange, since she didn’t have a night light any more. Something made her stop at the door, and looking in, she practically leapt out of her own skin. The ridiculous storybook words rang through her head, ‘somebody’s been sleeping in my bed – and they’re still here!’ But she didn’t believe Goldilocks could have been as scared.
Lying in Katie’s bed was a stranger, a girl, an extremely beautiful girl. She sank back on Katie’s pillows, her chest rising and falling in the effort to breath. She was so thin and pale, her eyes started out of her face, glowing eyes, frightened eyes. She leaned forward to cough, pulling back the ruffles of her muslin nightdress and pushing her long damp red hair from her face; anything to stay the cough and force that precious element, air, into her lungs. It was a desperate, but silent struggle. No sound came from the girl in the bed. As she turned her eyes towards Katie, words slipped like a fog from her mouth, circling round her head and dissolving into the darkness.
‘Can you help?’
And then she was gone. As vivid as the girl had been, nothing remained. Katie rubbed her eyes hard. She too was struggling for breath. Taking a pink shawl from the rocking chair, she crept into the living room and lowered herself, shaking, on to the big cream sofa. For the life of her, she wasn’t getting back into that bed.
The visions were appearing. Again.
To be continued...
The Queen Must Die Page 23
