The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Bronte tsaocb-1

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “I’ve been ordered to meet you,” he said to Hitchman in a low voice; he didn’t want to be overheard. He pretended not to know me. “Here I am.” His scowl expressed bitter resentment.

  “And here is Miss Bronte,” Hitchman replied. “Do as you’ve been told, and all will go well for you.” The threat showed through his genial manner. “That applies to you, too, Miss Bronte. Au revoir,” he said, then slipped away and was lost in the crowds.

  Lord Russell led me to a carriage without looking at me. His face was grim; he didn’t speak a word until we were riding slowly through the London traffic. “Forgive me if I don’t seem happy to see you again. Do you know that I have been forced to obtain for you a position as governess to Her Majesty’s children?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Mr. Slade told me about your letter.”

  Lord Russell clenched his fists and glared about as if looking for somebody to pummel. “The villain’s audacity defies belief! Have you met him? Who is he? What does he intend?”

  I described Kuan and his motives as best I could. I explained that Mr. Slade and I had deduced that Kuan meant me to help him kidnap the children, so that they could be used as hostages to force Britain out of China. Lord Russell’s sickly countenance turned even sicker. Cursing under his breath, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat off his forehead.

  “I cannot possibly abet such a scheme,” he said. “What he plans is the blackest treachery against the crown! Yet he holds my life in his hands. God help me!”

  As the carriage inched along, a man jumped inside. He wore the shabby clothes of a beggar and a cap pulled low over his eyes. He sat next to the prime minister.

  “Sir, this a private carriage,” Lord Russell said in a startled, offended tone.

  The intruder removed his cap. It was Mr. Slade. “Thank Heaven!” I exclaimed. “I thought never to see you again!” Tears welled in my eyes as the emotions I’d suppressed during my journey with Hitchman found release.

  “I followed you all the way from Cornwall,” Mr. Slade said. “You weren’t alone.”

  His manner was businesslike and impersonal, but I could discern that he was glad to see me, too. I felt happy and safe in his presence, even though still under mortal threat from Kuan. How could I have ever divided my loyalty between them?

  Lord Russell greeted Mr. Slade without enthusiasm. He obviously had not forgotten the humiliating confession he had made at the ball.

  “Kuan is gone,” I told Mr. Slade.

  “I know. My men searched his house as soon as you and Hitchman left.” Mr. Slade turned to Lord Russell. “Have you arranged Miss Bronte’s new post?”

  “Yes, I have,” Lord Russell replied in a hateful tone. “I’m taking her to Buckingham Palace now. We have an audience with the Queen at one o’clock.”

  I cowered at the very idea. How unworthy of the honor I felt! To think that I must meet Her Majesty under such ignoble circumstances! “What will we do?”

  “We must tell the Queen everything,” Mr. Slade said.

  Lord Russell looked anxious. “Not everything, surely.”

  “We’ll keep your connection with Mr. Kuan a secret,” Mr. Slade assured him. “We’ll persuade the Queen to let Miss Bronte stay in her employ long enough for us to find out who Kuan’s agents are and apprehend them and him.”

  “How do you propose to persuade Her Majesty?” Lord Russell said, clearly deeming this a futile plan.

  “That’s what we must determine before you take Miss Bronte to the palace,” said Slade. “She would probably like some luncheon first. Take her to the Warwick Club. I’ll meet you there.”

  Lord Russell shook his head as though in disbelief that any good could come of whatever we did, but he said, “Very well.”

  The traffic cleared; the carriage began moving faster. Mr. Slade opened the door. “Where are you going?” I said, loath to lose him.

  “To gather our forces,” Mr. Slade said, then jumped from the carriage.

  Lord Russell and I dined in a private room, at a table laid with heavy silver, fine linen, and china. Velvet draperies covered the window; with candles burning, it felt like night. We had finished and were sitting in grim silence when Mr. Slade arrived with Lord Unwin and a man I didn’t know. This man was in his sixties and handsome with an elegant figure, wavy grey hair, and a jaunty step. Lord Russell and I both rose.

  “Lord Palmerston,” the prime minister said, speaking and bowing stiffly. He barely acknowledged Lord Unwin, whose haughty countenance showed resentment at the snub.

  Lord Palmerston returned the greeting with cool civility. Mr. Slade said, “Miss Bronte, may I present the foreign secretary?”

  I had recognized his name. This was the man charged with managing England’s relations with foreign kingdoms and protecting the interests of the crown. The newspapers extolled his skill at diplomacy as loudly as they criticized his policies. “It is an honor, sir,” I said, awestruck.

  He took my hand and gracefully raised it to his lips. “The honor is all mine.” His smile was shaped like a Cupid’s bow; his eyes sparkled with intelligence and zest. His voice was suave, and I felt the power of his charm. “I had the pleasure of knowing your father long ago. Pat Bronte and I were at Cambridge together.”

  “Yes, I know.” I recalled Papa talking about how, in 1804, when Britain was bracing for an invasion by Napoleon’s army, volunteer militias were formed. Papa and other university men had drilled under the command of Henry Temple, the officer in charge. Papa took pride in this connection between himself and the man who was now foreign secretary, but I never expected Lord Palmerston to remember Papa.

  “When you see your father, please give him my best regards,” Lord Palmerston said.

  “I will, sir.” I could see that his prodigious memory, coupled with his skill at pleasing people, had contributed to his political success.

  “If you’ll excuse my haste, time is short,” Lord Palmerston said, and I glimpsed the man of purpose beneath the charm. We all sat at the table. “Mr. Slade has briefed me on the situation, and we are in agreement on what must be done.” He ignored Lord Unwin, who compressed his lips, disgruntled. “Now I shall tell you how I propose to handle Her Majesty.”

  His self-confidence was supreme. I envisioned Papa as a university student, marching at a young Lord Palmerston’s orders. Now I was under the same command.

  The unpredictability of life astounds me. My adventure had already taken me beyond the limits of where I had ever envisioned going. I had traversed England and crossed the sea; I had found myself among the dregs of society and then among the rich and powerful; I had journeyed into my past. Caught between two men who represented the poles of good and evil, I had done things of which I had never thought myself capable, and enacted dramas more intense than any in my dreams. But even with all that, I would never have imagined meeting Victoria Regina, Queen of England.

  We arrived at Buckingham Palace, whose vast grey bulk of Classical architecture dominates the Mall that encompasses Trafalgar Square and Westminster. Red-coated guards armed with rifles stood sentry outside. A flag bearing the royal standard fluttered over the roof, indicating that the Queen was in residence. Mr. Slade, Lord Palmerston, Lord Russell, and Lord Unwin escorted me so quickly through the palace that I had only a blurred impression of marble pillars, wide hallways, grand staircases, hordes of servants, abundant mirrors, ornate furniture, and gilding everywhere. I found it to be as vulgar as it was magnificent. All I remember clearly is the stench of bad drains and stagnant cesspools.

  My presentation to the Queen took place in her sitting room. She and her Prince Consort were seated on a brocade-covered divan amidst many figurines, gold-framed portraits, and brass cages of pet birds. Dolls and other toys lay strewn about the floral carpet. Through open windows hung with gold draperies came the noise of children at play outside. The informality of the situation surprised me, although I remembered that I was here as a servant, unworthy of a lavish, ceremonial
presentation at court. Trembling and awkward, I didn’t dare look up from the floor until curiosity triumphed over timidity.

  This was not the first time I had seen Queen Victoria. While I was at school in Belgium, she had visited Brussels. I’d stood amidst the crowds to watch her procession. When she flashed by in a carriage, I had thought her not beautiful, and I found my impression still valid now, five years later. She was prettily dressed in a summer gown, but even more stout than before, having borne six children, one of them that past spring. She wore her brown hair in a simple knot. She had a florid, heavy-featured face with a pointed nose and receding chin. The Prince Consort, Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, was tall, rather stiff, and clad in an elaborate coat, breeches, and boots. He wore a mustache and whiskers in foreign style, and looked far less handsome than his portraits.

  Formal greetings were exchanged. The Queen extended her hand to Lord Palmerston, who politely kissed it. She said, “The Queen is delighted that her foreign secretary chooses to grace her with his presence.” Her voice was well bred yet girlish; she was only twenty-nine, very young for a ruler of the Empire. I detected sarcasm in her courteous tone. “His behavior has led her to believe that he preferred to avoid communication with her.”

  Later Mr. Slade explained to me that the Queen and Palmerston were at odds because she wanted to approve all official correspondence from the Crown before it was disseminated, but that he had repeatedly taken action on her behalf and informed her only after the fact.

  “Not at all, Your Majesty,” said Lord Palmerston. “Were it not for the demands of my office, wild horses could not keep me from seeking your delightful company.” He spoke with such gallantry that the Queen visibly softened.

  Lords Russell and Unwin made their obeisance to the royal pair. The Prince Consort was uniformly cordial to everyone. He spoke with a heavy Germanic accent. Although the same age as the Queen, he appeared much older due to his ponderous manner. The Queen was cool towards Lord Russell. I later learned from Mr. Slade that she thought the cross, unhandsome, and brusque little man failed to measure up to his predecessors, of whom she’d been quite fond. She paid Lord Unwin scant attention. When Lord Palmerston introduced Mr. Slade, she studied him with interest as he kissed her hand. Her cheeks flushed brighter; she smiled. Then came my turn. Shaking in my shoes, miserably aware of my plain looks and travel-worn clothes, I tiptoed up to the Queen. I felt like a criminal, approaching my sovereign under false pretenses. Keeping my gaze downward, I watched the hem of my frock move nearer hers. I made an awkward curtsy, murmuring my respects in a scarcely audible voice.

  “This is Miss Charlotte Bronte, Your Majesty’s new governess,” said Lord Russell.

  “Welcome, Miss Bronte,” said the Queen.

  Her voice compelled me to raise my head that she might inspect me. My heart pounded as I stood face to face with the Queen, close enough to touch her. She had round, protuberant, luminous eyes whose intelligence rendered her better than plain. A regal aura surrounded her despite her youth. Her expression indicated that she didn’t think much of me.

  “That the prime minister has recommended you satisfies me that you are qualified to be governess to my children, Miss Bronte,” she said. Mr. Slade later told me that her high officials had a say regarding who worked in her household, and she must often acquiesce, given that handing out political favors was essential to maintaining good relations with them. “But I should like to know something about you.” I saw that she was a mother concerned about the character of the person charged with tending her children. “Who is your family? Where is your home?”

  When I told her, she seemed satisfied, albeit unimpressed. I sensed Mr. Slade and Lords Palmerston, Russell, and Unwin marking time until they could attend to their real business.

  “Where were you educated?” the Prince Consort asked me.

  After I replied, he questioned me in detail regarding the subjects studied and the posts I’d previously held. He was more interested in the education of his children than were many fathers I had encountered while a teacher. I began to understand that he was at least half the brains at the helm of the nation. He conversed with me in French and studied me with earnest, somber attention. When he expressed his opinion that I would do very well, his wife concurred. He had a strong influence over the Queen.

  “You should meet the children now, Miss Bronte,” she said.

  Lord Palmerston cleared his throat. “In a moment, please, Your Majesty.” She raised her eyebrows, surprised that he should contradict her. “My apologies, but there’s an important matter we must discuss.”

  “Very well,” she said, her interest piqued in spite of herself. “What is it?”

  “Miss Bronte has been approached by a man who has offered her a bribe in exchange for helping him kidnap Your Majesty’s children,” said Lord Palmerston. This was the story that he and Mr. Slade had invented in order to shield the prime minister.

  “Kidnap my children!” Breathless with horror, the Queen clapped a hand to her bosom. Her gaze flew to the window, through which we heard the children laughing in the garden. She glared at me, as if I were at fault, then at Palmerston. “But this is outrageous!”

  The Prince Consort’s expression was troubled, but he remained calm. “Who is it that means to engage Miss Bronte in such an evil conspiracy?”

  “Mr. Slade has identified the man as a criminal he’s been hunting for some time,” said Lord Palmerston. “His name is Kuan. He hails from Canton, China. He’s a pirate and renegade whose purpose is to upend order in our hemisphere.” He gave a brief, edited history of how Kuan had abetted revolutionaries in Britain and abroad. He spoke rapidly, with an authority that discouraged questions. The Queen and Prince Consort looked too shocked to ask any. Lord Palmerston omitted my role, thinking they might disapprove of my sleuthing. “He has murdered many people in his quest for power. He must be stopped.”

  “Well, then stop him!” the Queen cried with a grand, sweeping gesture, as if to send the entire British army in pursuit of Kuan. “Don’t let him come near my children!”

  “We shall ensure that he won’t,” said Lord Palmerston. “However, we need Your Majesty’s cooperation.”

  “You shall have it,” the Prince Consort said as he laid a soothing hand on his wife’s arm. “But first, we must reconsider Miss Bronte’s employment. In view of her connection with this criminal, we cannot allow her to join our household, even if she is innocent of any wrongdoing.”

  “My dear Albert is right,” the Queen promptly agreed. She gave me an icy look. “I regret to inform you that you must seek another post elsewhere.” She then addressed Lord Unwin: “Would you be so good as to escort Miss Bronte out?”

  I felt like a leper banished from society, tainted by my unwilling association with Kuan. I would have meekly gone, but Lord Palmerston lifted his hand, stopping me.

  “I must beg you to reconsider, Your Majesty,” said Lord Palmerston. “We need Miss Bronte.”

  The Queen regarded Palmerston as if he had asked her to take a viper to her bosom. Her eyes blazed with her dislike of his overbearing manner. “Whatever for?”

  Lord Palmerston glanced at Mr. Slade, who said, “Kuan has gone into hiding. We don’t know where he is. But he has told Miss Bronte that he’ll be in communication with her as regards kidnapping the children.” The Queen listened, compelled by his personality and the urgency in his voice. “Miss Bronte is a loyal, law-abiding citizen with no intention of abetting Kuan, and she is our only link to him. Unless she is permitted to assume the post of governess, the link will be broken. We’ll lose our chance to catch him.”

  “Oh, Albert, what shall we do?” the Queen wailed, on the verge of tears. I recalled that she had just had a baby; perhaps she was in a more excitable state than usual.

  After careful deliberation, the Prince Consort said to Slade, “You must find some other way to catch this criminal than by planting Miss Bronte among our children and waiting for him to show himself. Even
if she means them no harm, we would prefer some other governess.”

  Slade inclined his head. “With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, I must persuade you otherwise. We have good reason to believe that Kuan has accomplices already inside your household. Even should Miss Bronte refuse his bribe, he can enlist others to harm the children.”

  “My God!” the Queen exclaimed, looking around as if suddenly surrounded by enemies. “Can no one near me be trusted?”

  “Not until Mr. Kuan’s henchmen have been identified and removed,” Slade said. “And the best way to accomplish that is to plant Miss Bronte here among them. I predict that they shall reveal themselves to her when the time comes to carry out the kidnapping.”

  The Queen shook her head, too distraught to reply.

  “But when will that be?” her husband asked. “How long must we wait?” When no one could furnish an answer, he said, “Here is a better idea: We shall interrogate everybody in the household and determine who are Kuan’s confederates.”

  “That’s reasonable, Your Highness,” Mr. Slade said with careful courtesy. “The problem is that Mr. Kuan’s accomplices may be clever enough to escape our detection.”

  The Prince Consort conceded with a reluctant nod. “Then I propose dismissing all our servants and attendants. That way, there can be no question that we have rid ourselves of everyone who means us harm. We shall replace them with new persons of impeccable character.”

  “That’s quite a good alternative,” said Lord Palmerston.

  “Indeed, Your Highness,” said Mr. Slade.

  Lord Unwin echoed them. Lord Palmerston and the Prince Consort began discussing people who might fill various posts. I watched the Queen, whose expression turned stormy as she listened. I saw that she didn’t like the men, her subordinates, leaving her out of the conversation and making decisions for her.