The Last Duchess

by Laura Powell

  ‘You were right!’ Pattern gasped. ‘And look – up there!’

  Another small blond head peeped from behind a barred window in the courtyard outside. But there was no time to stop; no time to question. All their energies had to be focused on their own escape, as they fled through a mazy complex of high brick buildings, their view obscured and breath choked by the clouds of clay dust that hung thickly in the air. An alarm bell began to clang. The foreman was joined by two Chinese guards.

  Turning another corner brought them face to face with an office marked ‘Management’, from which another Elffishman suddenly appeared. He was small and dapper, with a pointed black beard. ‘What is the meaning of this ballyhoo?’

  ‘Out of my way!’ screamed Eleri, brandishing her pistol as she pushed him aside. Pulling Pattern along behind her, she charged through another set of doors into a warehouse filled with towering racks of ceramics ready for market. Packing crates spilling over with straw lined the aisles. This time, however, there was no exit. They were trapped.

  The meaty foreman advanced, grinning, flanked by the two guards.

  ‘Come quietly, now, and we’ll try not to break too many bones.’

  ‘Any damage must be paid for!’ spluttered the bearded gentleman, who was bringing up the rear.

  But Eleri was not done. She had the light of battle in her eyes. Flushed and panting, she grabbed the nearest item to hand – an ornate black stoneware urn in the Roman style – and hurled it to the ground. The crash echoed through the warehouse.

  The bearded gentleman shook his fist. ‘These are precious artworks, you barbarian!’

  Eleri laughed giddily. ‘Not any more!’ Next, she reached for a floral serving dish as wide as a carriage wheel and flung it at their pursuers, who were forced to duck for cover as it shattered into razor-sharp splinters. With Pattern scrambling to keep up, she ran off down the aisles, smashing and crashing and crushing as she went. Pitchers and platters, tureens and teapots – all reduced to smithereens. It made for an unholy din.

  ‘STOP THAT MANIAC,’ howled the bearded gentleman. ‘Whatever it takes!’

  That was when the foreman got out his own gun.

  Pattern plucked at the tails of Eleri’s jacket. ‘You have to stop; please stop. He’s going to shoot!’

  But Eleri did not seem to hear. She rampaged on, a girl possessed. She turned down another aisle and started back towards their pursuers, turning whole dinner services into a storm of missiles.

  ‘Wait, you don’t understand,’ Pattern pleaded with them. ‘She’s the Gr—’

  It was no good. Before Pattern’s horrified eyes, the foreman raised his pistol and took aim.

  ‘No!’

  A man emerged as if from nowhere, sprinting forward and slamming into Eleri so that she was knocked sideways into the wall. The bullet whistled past, grazing him on the shoulder.

  ‘God’s pocket, that was close,’ he observed, with only a slight shake in his voice.

  It was Madoc.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Nothing is more endearing than a frank confession.

  J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid

  ‘Bring me the fetters,’ Madoc ordered. ‘But stay back, all of you. I will deal with this.’

  He was only a valet, yet here in his master’s manufactory, he had a new kind of authority. The foreman and bearded manager made loud objections, but did as he asked.

  ‘Trust me, and I will get you out of here, Your Highness,’ he said, very softly, as he clipped the manacles around Pattern and Eleri’s wrists.

  All the fight had gone out of the Grand Duchess, although thanks to Pattern’s expert pinning, her long hair remained hidden inside her cap, and her disguise, such as it was, seemed intact. She made only the faintest of protests.

  With the intruders under lock and key, and the chains of their cuffs in his hands, Madoc turned back to his colleagues. ‘My master will wish to handle this in person. I will take these miscreants to him directly, so that he can deal with them as he sees fit.’

  ‘I really cannot see how . . .’ spluttered the bearded gentleman.

  ‘How your security was so easily breached by a couple of ragamuffins? That is a very good question.’ Madoc examined his torn jacket, and his fingers came away smeared with blood. He looked at it distastefully. Otherwise, he was as neat as ever, gleaming pale hair lying smooth against his head. ‘I’m sure my master will be most eager to hear your explanation for such a grievous blunder. I suggest you return to your office and set about constructing a full report.’ He looked round the scene of destruction with a weary eye. ‘And get this mess cleared up. We will need an inventory of the day’s losses.’

  It all happened very quickly. Madoc hustled his two captives through the manufactory and out of the gates, straight into a waiting carriage. He directed the coachman to take them along the road into the cover of the forest, where it drew up in a secluded spot. They scarcely dared breathe until the manufactory was behind them, and Madoc undid the cuffs.

  ‘Forgive me, Your Highness. I had to make the pretence convincing.’ He paused. ‘But your own pretence was a far riskier one. Didn’t you realize how much danger you were in, alone and unprotected in such a place?’

  ‘I know.’ Eleri hung her head. ‘It was very foolish. Pattern did not approve either, and I would not listen to her. But I was tired of sitting helplessly about, waiting for my fate to be decided. And then in that warehouse, surrounded by all those costly, fragile, pointless things . . . I don’t know what came over me. But if it was to be my last act on earth, I was determined to enjoy it. And oh! It did feel good.’

  ‘I see.’ Madoc turned to Pattern with a quizzical arch of his brow. ‘Well now, Miss Pattern, how is your reading getting along? Perhaps you are beginning to acquire a taste for fairy tales. Perhaps you take a new interest in their wicked uncles and captive princesses, and monsters that lurk in the dark.’

  Pattern kept her tone level. ‘If Prince Leopold is so wicked, then why are you working for him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eleri, sitting up straighter. ‘I thought you were as black-hearted as he, but here you are, risking your own life to save mine. I do not understand it at all.’

  ‘I don’t entirely understand it myself.’ Madoc suddenly looked very tired. ‘It is true I am not a particularly good man, and working for the Prince has made me a worse one. I suppose I fell into the mire by degrees – as, perhaps, did he. One small mischief led to a bigger one, until we were both so far gone in wickedness there seemed no way back.’ He sighed, and his eyes closed briefly. ‘So now I must make my confession. I visited the manufactory on my master’s orders, to pass on his instructions and oversee the accounts. But my plan was to travel on, all the way to the border. I mean to flee the Duchy this night, and never come back.’

  They stared at him.

  ‘I have forged papers, under a new name. The coachman is in my pay. My worldly goods, such as they are, are stowed in this carriage. They include various small but costly trinkets stolen from my master the Prince. So you see I am not just a criminal servant, but a treacherous one.’

  ‘Cowardly too,’ Pattern said tartly. ‘Whatever mess you find yourself in, you leave a far worse one for the rest of us.’ It was hard to believe she had once been in awe of the man. He had always seemed so upright and sure-footed. But now he wore a rumpled, defeated look.

  Eleri leaned forwards and grasped his hand. ‘Madoc, you must know you cannot leave the country now. You must stay and redeem yourself. Whatever your former crimes, all will be pardoned – I give you my solemn word. We cannot let those poor children remain slaves to that foul manufactory. We cannot let my uncle win. At the very least, you owe it to me to tell all you know of his schemes.’

  And so he did. Most of it was as they had already guessed, but he was able to supply some important details.

  ‘The Prince knew that if Elffinberg was to believe the dragon had returned, a trail of destruction would not be enoug
h. People would need to think they had seen the monster with their own eyes. He had already been in talks with a Chinese agent as part of plans to expand his porcelain business. The Chinese are, of course, famed for the excellence of their ceramics. But they are equally renowned for their skill with pyrotechnics, and it was this that inspired the Prince to conjure a dragon out of fire and smoke.

  ‘Putting the stolen children to work in his pottery enabled him to solve two problems at a single stroke – how to dispose of the dragon’s so-called victims, and how to reduce his labour costs. All the adult workers are Chinese, recruited from the Emperor’s own porcelain manufactory at some expense. For the Prince could not rely on local craftsmen to keep his secret safe.’

  ‘It’s not only pots he’s storing there. We saw a cache of explosives too,’ said Pattern.

  Madoc smiled. ‘The Chinese made gunpowder when our ancestors were living half-naked in mud huts. Pyrotechnics is both a science and an art, and one that can be employed to terrifying effect – especially on simple folk who are already in fear of their lives.’

  ‘They aren’t the only ones,’ said Eleri with feeling.

  ‘Believe me, Your Highness, you have never been in danger of your life. Your uncle is many things, but he is not a murderer.’

  ‘So how does he intend for his firework dragon to dispose of me?’

  ‘There is a private sanatorium in Switzerland,’ Madoc answered reluctantly. ‘A small and closely guarded establishment for those suffering from diseases of the brain. He means to spirit you away and keep you there, disguised as the daughter of a wealthy English industrialist: an English girl who is under the delusion she is Elffish royalty.’

  ‘Imprisoned in such a place, it would not take long for true lunacy to take hold.’ Eleri shuddered. ‘I believe I would almost prefer to be fed to a dragon.’

  An uncomfortable silence fell in the carriage. Madoc cleared his throat.

  ‘I know I can never atone for my part in this, Your Highness. It is only right that I carry the shame of it now and for always. But if you will permit me to make a suggestion . . . ?’

  Eleri indicated that he should.

  ‘The Prince Elffin’s Day Ball is but three days away. All the great and good of the Duchy will be in attendance. It is customary for the Grand Duchess to address her guests, paying tribute to the assembled company and the glory of the nation.’

  ‘Yes, I have to make the same sort of speech every year, and very tedious it is.’

  ‘It is also the perfect opportunity to denounce your uncle: in public, surrounded by people of consequence. He would not dare attack you in such a setting, and your audience will be bound to listen.’

  ‘An ambush!’ Eleri visibly brightened.

  ‘Her Highness would need proof,’ Pattern cautioned. ‘No doubt the Prince’s henchmen at the pottery are already preparing to hide the captive children elsewhere and removing all trace of the explosives.’

  ‘I will do my best to conceal your invasion of the manufactory from the Prince, and I can supply evidence too,’ said Madoc. ‘I will need a little time, that’s all.’ Like the Grand Duchess, he looked newly energized by the thought of action. ‘The Prince and his accomplices often meet at the hunting lodge to refine their schemes. When he is at court, the place is all shut up, and patrolled by his private guard. But I am sent there sometimes on errands, and that is where I will search for evidence to build a case against him. I shall unearth his correspondence with the agent in China and the manager of the Swiss sanatorium. There will be receipts for the fireworks and payments to his foreign workers. And if you agree, I will send them to you by way of the coachman, Howell. He has as much reason to hate the Prince as anyone, for Leopold turned his parents out of their cottage to make way for the expansion of his estate, leaving them destitute.’

  Light was fading by the time Eleri and Pattern parted from Madoc, and made their weary way back to Llanotto Wells. Once changed into their usual attire, they found Lady Agatha awake and alert, and pacing about in an angry manner. It was clear she suspected mischief of some kind, while having nothing certain to accuse them of, and being uncomfortably aware that she would look foolish at best and negligent at worst if the Prince were to find out her charge had escaped her. She vented her feelings in the guise of concern for the Grand Duchess’s health. ‘If you are suffering from a cough, Your Highness, you should not have stayed out so long. You could have caught a chill. Besides, these are strange and threatening times. Who knows what other dangers you might have met with?’

  Eleri was all innocence. ‘Gracious, what a vivid imagination you have! You talk as if Llanotto Wells were a hotbed of radicals and revolutionaries.’

  The journey back to the castle seemed to take much longer than the journey away from it. Pattern slipped into an uneasy doze. She dreamed of the dragon again, though this time it was swathed in billows of dirty smoke, from which a forked tongue flickered.

  ‘Little girl, don’t you wish to look into my heart of flame? My fires burn black and bright, and they are full of secrets. For I have many stories to tell – of the tears of princesses, the rage of warriors; the humbling of the mighty, and the despair of the brave . . .’

  ‘Pattern!’

  Pattern woke up with a start. Eleri was shaking her arm. ‘Whatever are you babbling about?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t remember, Your Highness. It was a dream; I’m sorry.’

  Blearily she turned to the window to mark their progress, when her eye was caught by a gush of reddish-black smoke on the horizon.

  Lady Agatha and the Grand Duchess were soon as riveted by the sight as she. A distant coil of smoke curled and plunged with sinuous power, the sky around it suffused by a deep red glare. The scene was then illuminated by a furious streak of light, as a cascade of fire rumbled and cackled, spitting hot sparks into the night. Was the plunging inky black shape around it made of smoke, shadows or scales? It bore little or no resemblance to the real beast beneath the castle. Yet in the gathering darkness, it was all too easy to imagine that the sky seethed with monstrous life.

  Franz lashed the horses, and the carriage rattled away with all speed from the sight. But shaken as she was, there was no mistaking Lady Agatha’s smirk of satisfaction as she settled back in her seat.

  ‘We cannot be too careful, Your Highness,’ she said. ‘A dark power is rising, and it has the House of Elffin in its sights.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  You should endeavour to employ every minute in improving yourself in such things as you may be deficient in, and in practising what is not sufficiently familiar.

  J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid

  In different circumstances, Pattern might have enjoyed the preparations for the Prince Elffin’s Day Ball. The entire social world of the Grand Duchy was invited, making even the State Banquet seem a small, casual affair. The provision of a buffet supper pushed the castle kitchens to their limit, and taxed the resources of all the local pastry-cooks and confectioners. The two fashionable hairdressers in town were engaged six-deep, and on the night itself no carriage was to be had for love or money at the posting establishments.

  There was even a new sense of purposefulness to the scurrying masses below stairs. As time wore on, their efforts became progressively more clumsy and cantankerous, but Pattern would never have guessed so much activity could be wrung from so inefficient a household.

  Fairy lights were strung up around the central courtyard and along the length of the great avenue. An army of groundsmen appeared as if from nowhere to weed, sweep and clip their way across the terraces and lawns. Inside, dust stirred up by long-overdue sweeping and polishing made the elderly courtiers totter and sneeze. The castle’s halls took on a surface brightness that did much to dispel the air of anxious gloom that had lately settled on the place.

  And Prince Leopold, it seemed, was everywhere. In the kitchens – enquiring as to the seasoning of a syllabub. By the grand fountain – pointing out a missi
ng bulb on a string of lights. In the Musicians’ Gallery – debating the merits of the Danse Ecossoise versus the Danse Espagnuole. His cheeks were rosier than ever, his golden curls had acquired an extra bounce. He had a suggestion for everything; a compliment and kindly twinkle for all. ‘Miss Pattern! You look as if the cares of the world are on your shoulders. Don’t you approve of parties? For there is music in your heart – I am sure of it. Dreams of music and dancing, and the sparkle of champagne! I hope your mistress will save you a bonbon or two at the very least.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness, but I do not care for them.’

  He thinks me a child, thought Pattern, whose favours can be bought with spun sugar. But then he probably believes that everyone has a price.

  ‘My uncle has called an extraordinary meeting of the Council of State for the day after the ball,’ Eleri told her that afternoon. ‘It’s meant to be a secret, yet everyone knows the Council will be debating the dragon. When they are all tired and hoarse from talking, that is when Leopold will strike. It won’t be him but one of his cronies who will first propose my sacrifice. No doubt he’ll put on a great show of reluctance, and weep all manner of crocodile tears. But the motion will be carried, make no mistake. Then it will go before parliament, and all will be lost.’

  They had gone to the chapel again, at Pattern’s urging, since she wanted to examine the wall paintings. She did not know what she was looking for, exactly; only that they were in need of whatever guidance they could find. She looked especially closely at the picture of Prince Elffin kneeling by the fire, surrounded by various strange objects.