The excitement surged through Katie and she gave a little skip as she descended the carriage steps. The skip turned into a stumble, and a liveried footman bounded forward to catch her. Righting herself, she followed Emma through broad double doors into a large red and gold room, one of the most opulent public rooms in the Palace. To date, Katie had spent her time in attic rooms, nurseries and secret passages. She looked around her at the red walls and gilt detail. ‘It’s really gorgeous,’ she said.
‘Try not to expose yourself,’ the Honourable Emma Twisted hissed. ‘The less you say the better off we will be.’
Taking Katie by the arm, she led her up the grand staircase. It was extremely tall and wide, giving an unending sense of parade and pageantry. Katie was just beginning to feel terribly important when they reached the top, made a sharp left and found themselves in a crowded corridor, literally crammed with girls. The stark hall was awash with white dresses, huge bouquets, fans, gloves and feathers. Everywhere Katie looked she could see hundreds of twitching, trembling white feathers. ‘It’s a debutante migration,’ she joked; though she knew by now that the Honourable Emma Twisted was immune to her sense of humour.
Some of the girls stood very straight, as if already in the presence of the Queen; others leaned against the wall, fanning themselves in resignation. A few continued to practise their curtsies. The noise was ear-splitting, the particular high-pitched clip and drawl of the British upper class.
Katie felt stiff and awkward at the back of the crowd. She was a good head taller than the rest. Emma Twisted looked at her with distaste. ‘I was hoping to get through this unnoticed, but that will not be possible. With your extremely peculiar dress and your bizarre height . . . do you know, they have a name for you already? You’re referred to as the giraffe up and down the Palace halls . . .’
The giraffe. Katie looked down at her bouquet. Red splotches were appearing on her arms, just above her long white gloves. She had thought, just this once, that she looked beautiful. But the Honourable Emma Twisted was right, she was a freak.
‘I don’t believe giraffe is the correct term at all,’ a quiet but imperious voice spoke behind her. Katie turned to see Princess Alice, smiling brightly, but the smile faded when she turned to the Honourable Emma Twisted. ‘I am acquainted with Miss Katherine Tappan,’ she continued, ‘and I have always considered her to be one of the finest looking girls of my acquaintance. She is statuesque, yes. Don’t you think this gives her a classical Grecian appeal?’
The Honourable Emma Twisted blushed. She worked in Buckingham Palace, as Riordan O’Reilly’s nursemaid. Despite her grand pedigree, she was nothing more than an impoverished gentlewoman, taking charity from the Royal Family. Mocking this gawky American, Miss Katherine Tappan, might have been a mistake . . .
Word had rippled along the corridor that the Queen’s young daughter, Princess Alice, was already there amongst them. One by one the girls sank into deep curtsies, wave after wave of rustling tulle and silk. The deepest curtsy of all came from Emma Twisted. Katie looked at Princess Alice and slowly bent her knees – DOWN, two, three . . .
Alice helped her up. ‘See’, she whispered encouragingly, ‘you did that beautifully.’
All eyes were on Katie, and whispers went up and down the line of girls. Who was this Miss Katherine Tappan? Perhaps she should be invited to their ball next week, or to a country-house weekend? They turned to consult their mamas. Katie gave Alice a shaky smile. ‘One word from you and I’m a hit,’ she said. ‘Now I just have to get through the curtsy without landing on my – ’ Alice laughed and placed her gloved hand against Katie’s lips.
‘Your language,’ she admonished, ‘is far worse than your curtsy. It will all go well, I know it. And I will be standing directly behind the Queen, willing you on. I promise.’ Giving Katie’s hand a squeeze, she made her way through the crowds of girls, all bobbing their salutation to the daughter of the Queen.
The line began to move and the girls broke off their inquisition. Katherine Tappan might be of interest, but they had a date with destiny, an engagement with the Queen. It took hours, and with each passing moment, the tension mounted. The girl in front of Katie was muttering under her breath, ‘Your Royal Highness, your Highness, ma’am . . .’
‘These interlopers can’t even manage the correct address . . .’ Emma Twisted sniffed. ‘It’s not as if they’ll ever see the Queen again . . . not like us . . .’ Us! Katie’s lips twitched, but she was finally at the door.
To curtsy before loyal Alice was one thing, but to curtsy before the Queen and court – Grace’s prettily papered sitting room had not prepared her for this. It had to be the longest room she had ever seen, filled with ornate columns and statues, dripping in gilt detail. The courtiers were five deep down either side of the room: ladies-in-waiting, gentlemen of the court, the crème of the diplomatic corps, the heroes of the military, titled politicians and a scattering of archbishops. Tired of standing and bored by now, they were talking amongst themselves. The new stars of court life had come and gone, all that was left were some dreary daughters of the clergy and a few foreign stragglers. A footman spread out Katie’s beautiful embroidered train as she handed her card to the Lord Chamberlain. ‘MISS KATHERINE TAPPAN OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,’ he announced.
Katie knew the drill. She had to walk down the central aisle of the room, curtsy to the Queen, perform the ceremonial kiss of the Queen’s hand, curtsy to all the other royalty in the room, then walk back up the aisle – backwards of course. There was one slight problem. She wasn’t moving at all. Mentally, she was telling her legs to go, but physically nothing was happening. She was glued to the spot. She could imagine two of the footmen picking her up by the elbows and carrying her out by a side door, like a statue being removed from the Great Exhibition. At the very end of the room she could see Princess Alice, looking worried even from this great distance. Then suddenly she was on the go, flung forward into the room. Someone had given her a big push from behind. Had she really been kicked in the . . .?
Staggering, she rebalanced and, looking straight towards the end of the room, put one foot in front of the other. Alice was nodding with each step, as if to will her down the aisle. Next to Alice was Bertie, the Prince of Wales, staring at Katie and her great height with some astonishment. On Alice’s other side was her older sister Vicky, the Princess Royal. Vicky was paying no attention to the presentation, but was fussing over a boy with blond curls. As the boy turned his gaze to Katie, she recognized the disagreeable child with bright ringlets, now grown to youth. He tossed back his curls and laughed out loud. This was Vicky’s young nephew Felix.
Felix’s laugh was picked up by the courtiers, a whisper of a snigger rippling down the room. Katie held her head high, careful not to overbalance the awkward headdress. She recognized a handful of people. She had met them before, on her first foray into times past. Alice’s younger brother, Prince Leopold, was seated, because of his illness. When he saw Katie, he opened his mouth and nudged his tutor, the Reverend Robinson Duckworth. ‘So Duckworth is still employed,’ Katie thought, ‘even after all the trouble we gave him last time.’ James’s father, Dr O’Reilly, was there, delighting in such a pompous occasion. Alice’s governess, the Baroness Lehzen, was standing near the Queen, sallow and snaggle-toothed as ever.
And finally, there in front of Katie, was the Queen, seated on a gothic-style throne with her husband Prince Albert at her side. She had grown stouter since Katie’s last visit, her nose sharper, her eyes more prominent. The handsome Prince Albert had also aged. There were circles under his eyes, and his hairline was fast receding. The Queen pursed her lips. She was above class herself, and disliked the twittering snobbery of the courtiers, sniggering at this extraordinarily tall girl. She gave Katie an encouraging look.
DOWN, two, three . . . Katie made her curtsy to the Queen. With knees hovering above the floor, she reached forward and kissed the royal hand. With surprise she saw that the Queen’s fingernails really co
uld have been cleaner, though this was compensated for by bright jewels on every finger. UP, two, three . . . Katie had done it. Princess Alice smiled broadly as Katie curtsied, really bobbed, to the other members of the Royal Family. Bertie was looking at her with admiration now. Up close, he liked what he saw; there was nothing better than a tall strapping girl.
For Katie, the worst was over. All she had to do was walk backwards, down that long aisle. As she tried to step back, she wobbled badly. Once again, she couldn’t move. She lurched dangerously. She seemed to be caught in something; trapped, directly in front of the Queen. Katie began to panic.
‘Your train,’ Alice mouthed, ‘you’re caught in your train. Hold out your arms.’ Having successfully curtsied to the Queen, Katie had forgotten all about the three-foot-long train. She was hopelessly entangled. Following Alice’s advice, her arms shot out, much in the manner of a scarecrow in a cornfield. The Lord Chamberlain had to get on to his hands and knees to release her. He then looped the beautiful embroidered train over her extended right arm; doing so with great dignity, as if this were a revered part the ceremony. Katie had to hand it to the Lord Chamberlain – he had a lot of class. But down the room, the sniggering, in some places, had turned to open laughter. Felix was pointing his finger and shrieking.
‘I won’t cry,’ Katie said to herself, more annoyed than anything else. ‘I’d like to see them drive a car, or log on to a computer, or use an iPhone. Who’d have the last laugh then?’ As she backed away she could hear the Queen speaking to Prince Albert.
‘The Americans are not known for their grace, but they have a certain exuberance, a raw health that one must admire.’ She too was annoyed with the courtiers, and swept the room with a stern look. That shut them up. Katie’s exit seemed even longer than her entrance. She backed out of the room to a leaden, oppressive silence.
Jack
It had been a disastrous presentation, but at least it was over. Katie was desperate to get away from the crowds and the courtiers. But where was the Honourable Emma Twisted? ‘I think she’s deserted you, my dear,’ a voice beside Katie commented. ‘I find her a fair-weather friend, the Honourable Emma Twisted.’ It was Bernardo DuQuelle.
‘You pushed me, didn’t you?’ Katie exclaimed. ‘I mean, right at the beginning, you gave me a big kick. That really got me off on the wrong foot.’
‘I don’t believe you have a right foot,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I gave you a gentle nudge. I thought you’d never start down the aisle. Stage-fright, perhaps. But when you did, it was quite the performance.’
Katie’s annoyance boiled over. ‘Yeah, I know I totally bombed; but I don’t give a flying . . . anything . . . about all that. What a stupid waste of an afternoon.’
‘It wasn’t the worst presentation of the day,’ DuQuelle consoled her. ‘A Miss Anne Moorden McPherson of Canada fell flat on her face, hurling her bouquet in the process. It hit the Baroness Lehzen and knocked her wig askew.’
‘Not a waste all,’ DuQuelle continued as Katie laughed. ‘You have had your introduction to the Queen. Every drawing room in Britain is now open to you. You can stay in the Palace as Grace’s special friend and help care for her. There are other uses for you as well, but you must be careful.’ He peered around the room, and led Katie to a quiet corner. ‘I’ve heard this morning of a most curious case,’ he told her. ‘Sir Lindsey Dimblock. Always a man of little use – well, now he is of no use. They’ve fished him out of the Thames, horribly bloated, dead for some time.’
‘Yuk,’ Katie shuddered.
‘A strange word, yuk. But I believe you use it in context. Yuk it is.’
‘Foul play?’ Katie asked.
‘Most foul,’ DuQuelle answered. ‘The mutilation was a sickening sight. His eyes had been gouged out, his tongue ripped from its root, and a strange tar-like substance oozed from every orifice.’
Katie searched into the recesses of her memory. DuQuelle seemed to be foraging in her mind too. ‘So you remember now,’ he said. ‘You recognize the mode of attack – the frightful death of Fräulein Bauer. What else do you see?’
‘The Black Tide,’ Katie said. ‘They tried to assassinate Queen Victoria in the Crystal Palace. But this isn’t their style.’
DuQuelle shook his head. ‘I find style a soft word for mutilation and murder. But you are correct. Do you remember your last exit from our time? It was midnight in the Palace and you were bungling it as usual. There was an intrusion and a scuffle. The Black Tide were seized by the palace guards and imprisoned for treason. They are silent for now. You must look further than European revolutionaries for this murder.’
A figure, svelte and snake-like, arose in Katie’s imagination along with a name she had tried to blot from her memory. ‘Lord Belzen,’ she said.
DuQuelle sniffed the air in distaste. ‘I can almost smell him from here. But why is he interested in Sir Lindsey Dimblock? I suspect the connection is with Dimblock’s gambling companion, Lord Twisted.’
Katie looked across the room for Emma Twisted’s father. Lord Twisted was standing next to young Felix, in conversation with the Lord Chamberlain. Usually such a close connection to the Royal Family would have thrilled him. But today, he just looked nervous. ‘Lord Twisted is a jerk,’ she said. ‘And Felix there is worse.’
‘You are perceptive,’ DuQuelle commented. ‘Rather coarse, extremely tall but very perceptive.’
Katie groaned, as more and more unwanted information flooded her mind. She’d almost forgotten about Lord Belzen and the Malum; Lucia and the Verus. There was a world beyond this world, and they were in never-ending conflict. The Malum sought power through brute force. The Verus mined the globe for words and exported communication to their own realm. Both wished to control the actions of this world. Both had champions, the Chosen, who did battle for them. ‘Is young Felix enslaved by the Malum?’ she asked DuQuelle.
‘Can you not feel it when you are near him?’ DuQuelle asked her.
She looked down at her bouquet, once so lovely – now wilted. A new, disturbing thought occurred to her. ‘Are you really so sympathetic to Grace?’ Katie asked; ‘or is there another reason I am here?’ DuQuelle was silent. ‘Have I been brought here as part of your Great Experiment?’ Katie ploughed on, ‘To stop the war in the Crimea? Or must I participate in another battle: the endless struggle between the Malum and the Verus?’
DuQuelle suddenly looked very tired. He hated the convolutions of his own world. It was a topic that always seemed to age him. ‘The war between the Verus and the Malum is more real than this tiff in the Crimea, or what the Queen quaintly calls the East,’ he replied, not really answering her question.
Their conversation was cut short, however, as the Queen and Prince Albert entered the room. At the Queen’s side was a military officer. He was well past his prime, between sixty and seventy years old, with grey hair and sideburns that swept down from temple to chin. In his person, he was unassuming – of medium build, with light, mild eyes and a gentle smile. But his dress uniform was gorgeous beyond belief: a scarlet tunic ornamented by gold-fringed epaulettes, an opulent silk sash and more decorations than a Christmas tree. He held his plumed hat under one arm. His other sleeve was empty, and pinned to the front of his tunic.
The Lord Chamberlain stepped forward. ‘THE QUEEN,’ he announced, as everyone bobbed down. Katie wondered if he spoke like that at home. The Queen seemed to take it for granted.
‘I have an announcement to make,’ she said. ‘It is with great pleasure that the Queen makes the appointment today of Field Marshal FitzRoy James Henry Somerset, 1st Baron Raglan, to command our troops in the future expeditions to the East. Lord Raglan has long served the Crown; first under the Duke of Wellington and now as a commander in his own right. He was vital in leading us to victory at Waterloo, and should the need arise, is certain to do so again.’
A murmur of surprise ran through the assembled courtiers. DuQuelle gave a low whistle. ‘Is this really the best we can do?’ Katie heard him say u
nder his breath.
The Queen went on. ‘Further appointments include the Earl of Lucan to command the Cavalry Division, and the Earl of Cardigan to command the Light Brigade.’ The mild-looking Lord Raglan seemed both surprised and annoyed by this additional news. ‘The Queen is most pleased to announce that our young German relation, Felix of Hanover, has requested leave to observe in the East, and when the troops are established, he will depart for the Baltic, under the excellent guidance of Lord Twisted.’ The Queen continued. ‘Some will begin their journey as early as the morrow, and the Queen and her family will salute these troops from the balcony of Buckingham Palace.’ At this, the Queen and Prince Albert withdrew from the assembly.
So the dangerous Felix was moving closer to the war. Katie turned to demand answers from DuQuelle, but he had slipped away during the Queen’s announcements. Most of the other debutantes were gone too, escorted home by their mamas. Alice and Leopold were the only other people Katie knew, and they’d been whisked away by their own mama, the Queen. They were probably back in their rooms, having toast and hot milk.
Katie felt a pang. All these unanswered questions. She would have liked to have talked it over with Mimi. After all, any mother was better than no mother. And the presentation – Mimi would have loved that. The pang was followed a growl of her stomach, so loud that a nearby archbishop jumped. ‘I have got to eat,’ she said to herself, hunger driving away a hundred questions. ‘I did think that, having been presented, they might give us some food, a sandwich or something, some canapés maybe . . .’
She looked around, but could spot nothing. A door at the far side of the room was slightly ajar. Perhaps it would lead towards the kitchens, or at least to a bowl of peanuts. Sidling along the walls, she nipped quickly through the door, shutting it behind her. The room was empty, except for a young man with his back towards her. She thought she recognized him. So this was where James was hiding. He seemed to be in some sort of court uniform and he was stuffing the remains of a large cake into his pockets.
The Queen at War Page 7
