The security guard escorted Dr Dyer to his office where he was surprised to find Detective Inspector Wheeler in full flow. He had expected him to be in London, interviewing witnesses in Covent Garden. Presumably he felt that he would get more answers here. And perhaps he was right, thought Dr Dyer. He stood for a moment, silent and unnoticed in the doorway, listening to the policeman.
‘… and by lunchtime you can be sure that some bright young journalist will have managed to get hold of the pictures of the children floating above the supermarket car park. The editors of every newspaper in the land will be rubbing their hands together with glee! At last – proof that ghosts exist! But, you see, I don’t think you believe in ghosts any more than I do. You know something. I am sure of it. And, with respect, Dr Pirretti, American citizen or not, senior NASA official or not, if you don’t change your attitude – and fast – I have a mind to charge you with police obstruction.’
Anita Pirretti sat opposite the policeman, gripping a china tea cup so hard that she was in danger of snapping off its handle. She had been through enough stressful moments in her life, however, to know how to appear relaxed and in control even when, on the inside, she felt about to crumble into a thousand pieces. She also wondered if she was coming down with something – these headaches and the peculiar ringing in her ears had been getting worse and worse ever since her arrival in Derbyshire.
‘Please believe me,’ she said, taking a deep, calming breath, ‘when I tell you that I am sorry – truly sorry – that I am not in a position to give you the answers that you seek. It’s true that some of the work undertaken in this laboratory is of a … sensitive nature – but I can assure you that even if I were to give you a detailed explanation of the purpose of our research here, it would not help you to solve your case.’
Dr Pirretti saw Dr Dyer in the doorway and flashed him a brief smile.
‘Ah, your partner in crime,’ exclaimed Detective Inspector Wheeler, standing up and pulling up a chair for Dr Dyer. ‘Now, I ask you, Dr Pirretti, is this flushed and excited expression one that you might expect to find on the face of a father who has just seen a photograph, allegedly of the ghost of his child?’
‘You go too far!’ protested Dr Pirretti.
‘It’s all right, Anita,’ said Dr Dyer. ‘Inspector Wheeler, I’ve already told you that I don’t believe in ghosts.’
‘Well, I am afraid that the parents of Peter Schock are not so sure what they believe after seeing this morning’s newspapers. Perhaps you might have some explanation that might ease their anguish? I talked to them this morning and to say that they are in deep distress is an understatement. Have you no grain of comfort which you would be prepared to toss their way?’
Kate’s father could not look the Inspector in the eye. Guilt and sorrow etched themselves across his face like cracks through ice.
Dr Pirretti watched, in alarm, as Dr Dyer responded to the policeman.
‘I’d like you to tell Peter’s parents that … that … they must not give up hope. All is not lost …’
‘What on earth is going on here?’ shouted the Inspector, banging his fist on the table. ‘Tell me what you know, damn it!’
An uneasy silence fell upon the room. Sergeant Chadwick cleared his throat nervously. His boss did not have what you might call an easy-going temperament and, by the look on the Inspector’s face, a storm, if not a hurricane, was brewing up behind those bushy eyebrows.
All of a sudden Dr Pirretti let out a low moan and clapped her hands to both sides of her head as though she were trying to protect herself from a loud noise. She had turned very pale. Staggering forwards a few steps, she swayed from side to side in the middle of the room. Inspector Wheeler caught her before she crashed to the ground, unconscious.
‘Sergeant Chadwick,’ he shouted. ‘Call for an ambulance!’
The King’s messenger arrived at Lincoln’s Inn Fields shortly before seven o’clock in the morning. By the time Peter and Kate emerged for breakfast, vainly trying to work out how they were going to explain the blurring episode to Sir Richard, the whole household was already in a flurry of activity. Parson Ledbury, who was eating a second plate of scrambled eggs and devilled kidneys in the sunny, flower-filled dining room, explained the cause of all the excitement. It appeared that Queen Charlotte, who was due to give birth to her second child in barely a month’s time, had, owing to the hot weather, decided to quit the city for the country. The royal couple would leave London the following day and so the King would be unable to receive the party at the Court of St James on the date that had previously been agreed. However, since Sir Richard was a dear friend of the King’s favourite, Lord Bute, and since the King and Queen were fond of children, their Majesties would be pleased to receive Sir Richard informally, that very afternoon at Buckingham House – along with his nephews and his guests from Derbyshire. Besides, the King let it be known that as he did not wish to reinstate the public ceremony of the laying on of hands to cure ‘The King’s Evil’, he would prefer to receive the Byng family in a private setting.
Gideon, due to his inferior social position, was not, of course, invited, and in any case, the Parson told the children, he had left early that morning on an urgent errand. On the other hand, much to Peter’s dismay and Kate’s amusement, Sir Richard insisted that they come to Buckingham House to meet the King and Queen. They could thank the Honourable Mrs Byng for their invitation. In a letter to Sir Richard, his sister had explained how the children were of a good family – branches of which, Master Schock had told her, were to be found both in Germany and Scotland. It would be a comfort for the Queen if Master Schock could converse with her in her native German …
‘How much German can you speak?’ asked Kate once the Parson had cleared his plate and had gone upstairs to have his new wig fitted.
‘I can only say one thing: Sprechen Sie Englisch?’
‘What does that mean, then?’
‘Do you speak English?’
Kate snorted with laughter. ‘That’ll teach you to make stuff up! You’re going to be in big trouble …’
‘Thanks, Kate. That’s just what I need …’
‘Don’t look so worried! I mean, they’re hardly going to throw you into the deepest, darkest dungeon for not being able to speak German!’
‘Oh yeah? How do you know …?’
Hired by Sir Richard at the last minute and at great expense, a small army of hairdressers, seamstresses, shoemakers and wigmakers were let loose on the household to ensure that everyone, from the eldest to the youngest, looked the part on this most important occasion. On the advice of the tailor, Parson Ledbury’s ample stomach was squeezed into a gentleman’s corset to show off his new waistcoat to the best advantage. It was double-breasted and made from cherry red silk generously trimmed with gold lace and two rows of gold buttons. The waistcoat was a triumph but the Parson hated fuss of any kind and was soon in a terrible temper. He could be heard roaring at the wretched servants through the closed door of his dressing room.
‘Damn your eyes, sir, not so tight! Where is the point in cutting a fine figure for the King if one has not breath enough to speak?’
Finally, when all the preening and polishing and primping had finally stopped they set off for Buckingham House in two carriages. The width of Kate’s court dress meant that she had to have one side of the carriage all to herself. Like the Parson, her stays had been pulled so tight it was impossible for her to take a deep breath or to slouch. Peter, Sidney and Jack sat opposite her. No one spoke – everyone was too excited at the prospect of being presented to the King and Queen. Peter had no idea what to expect but the image of the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland saying ‘Off with his head!’ kept coming to mind whenever he thought what he should do if Queen Charlotte decided to speak German to him. He caught Kate smirking at his legs which, in truth, looked very shapely in spotless white tights and high-heeled buckled shoes. Sir Richard’s manservant had declared that Peter’s evil-smelling trainers were unaccept
able attire for a young gentleman and had carried them at arm’s length out of the room.
Sidney was sporting a new set of wooden false teeth, hastily fitted that morning by a so-called ‘Operator Dentist’ in Mayfair. His tongue constantly explored the contours of this foreign object. It was taking all of Sidney’s willpower not to pluck them out and throw them through the carriage window. However, the sight of Kate took Sidney’s mind off his discomfort. His eyes were forever sliding over to her, taking in the ringlets that framed her heartshaped face, the large grey eyes, the white skin, lightly speckled with freckles, the silk gown in pale, forget-me-not blue that set off Kate’s red hair to perfection … Kate pretended not to notice but Peter did and he found Sidney’s attention intensely irritating. He kept shoving him hard with his elbow but it had no effect at all. Sidney did not even try to shove him back.
Young Jack was more interested in what was going on outside. Every so often Sidney had to haul him back into the carriage by his breeches for he was leaning dangerously far out of the window. It was worth it, though, for Jack was the only one to catch sight of the Venetian Ambassador’s enormously long, gilded coach which disappeared into Whitehall like some glorious, golden stretch limo. Sidney had heard tell of this marvel but by the time he looked it was too late.
The party was shown into a high-ceilinged drawing room which overlooked the gardens of the recently acquired Buckingham House. The room was sparsely furnished and there was a smell of beeswax and sun-heated carpet. Several gilt armchairs upholstered in maroon velvet were carefully placed around the room – although nobody showed any inclination to sit down – and there were fine rosewood commodes, mirrors with ornate golden frames and two landscape paintings which depicted St Paul’s Cathedral and the Thames. Kate felt sure she recognised one of these paintings from a school trip to an art gallery in London. In pride of place stood a French long-case clock, at least seven feet high and fashioned from precious wood and intricately worked gold that gleamed richly in the soft light. King George III was fond of timepieces. When, on the stroke of three, George and Charlotte entered the room, Buckingham House echoed to the sound of a dozen clocks chiming the hour. The party had already been waiting expectantly for ten minutes. During this time Peter’s stomach had started to rumble and Jack had got an attack of the hiccoughs. Jack’s hiccoughs, which were unaffected by a strong thump between the shoulders from his elder brother, were miraculously cured by the shock of seeing the King of England walking towards him.
Sir Richard introduced the party to their Majesties one by one and the children bowed, or in Kate’s case curtsied, as they had been taught. Prince George, only a year old, was carried into the room by Elizabeth, Countess of Pembroke, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. The King, in a scarlet jacket trimmed with gold, worn over snowy white shirt and breeches, was not a handsome man but he had a kindly, fleshy face with prominent, pale eyes, thick blond eyebrows and apple-red cheeks. He spoke in a clipped, abrupt fashion. Queen Charlotte was eight months pregnant but still wore court dress. She was a quietly pretty woman and was flushed with the heat. Her elaborate hairstyle was excessively high and her ivory satin skirts were excessively wide. With all her younger brothers and sisters, Kate knew how tired and uncomfortable and hot a mother becomes in the last few weeks before she gives birth. It was no wonder, then, that in an outfit like that Queen Charlotte sounded out of breath and was forever fanning herself with her beautiful painted fan.
Peter, who had presumed that King George and Queen Charlotte would be at least as old as his parents, was astonished when he saw the royal couple. Despite their regal bearing and their grand clothes and the number of pearls and diamonds and gold buttons that adorned the royal couple, George and Charlotte seemed far too young to be the rulers of a great country and its colonies. They could be college students! Even Gideon and Hannah looked older! Peter took an instant liking to the King, whose manner was easy and natural. Queen Charlotte was a little more reserved but her lady-in-waiting bent down to talk with Jack to put him at his ease. Soon the grown-ups were talking comfortably about this and that while Sidney, Peter and Kate stood and listened politely or watched the baby prince totter from one pair of legs to another. Kate held out a finger for the toddler to hold. He grasped it with a hot, sticky hand and Kate pulled a silly face at him. He stared back with wide blue eyes and for a moment Kate thought he was going to cry but he laughed instead and for a moment the King and Queen looked pleased and proud. Suddenly Kate felt a pang of sadness for she remembered learning that George III grew to heartily dislike his eldest son and that although he lived to a great age the King died mad and alone. Tears sprang to her eyes and she thought what a terrible thing it was to know what was going to happen. She wondered, if she were to tell the King what the future could hold, whether he might somehow be able to alter the course of his life. But she decided it was not her place to say anything and blinked away her tears.
Sir Richard shared George III’s enthusiasm for clocks and the King promised to show him a new acquisition sent to him by an horologist in Effingham, in Surrey. It was, he said, a quite remarkable piece – he had never seen anything like it. The clock was set in a gold bracelet, to be worn, if Sir Richard could imagine such a thing, on the wrist! The clock face was scarcely larger than a gold sovereign and the inner workings were nothing short of miraculous! The King was anxious to know who had the skill to make such an impressive timepiece and had sent word to the horologist to track down its maker with all speed.
Meanwhile, every time Queen Charlotte opened her mouth to speak Peter looked fixedly at the floor, terrified that she would start speaking in German. Happily, she did not appear to be taking any notice of him whatsoever and Peter began to breathe a little easier. In fact, he was beginning to feel a little bored, not to mention hungry as they had not eaten lunch for fear of dirtying their finery, and he was becoming more aware how exceedingly hot and stuffy it was. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back. Stupid tights and breeches and jackets! If this is a summer costume, he thought, what do they wear when it’s cold? He tugged at his collar and when he looked up he found that Queen Charlotte had caught his eye and was smiling at him.
‘It is very warm this afternoon, is it not, Master Schock? Shall we take a turn around the garden? There may be a little breeze and we shall perhaps feel cooler under the shade of the trees.’
Tongue-tied, Peter nodded violently.
‘A capital idea,’ said King George. ‘Let us move out into the garden.’
They walked together around and around in a huddled group under the spreading branches of some large trees. A small troop of dignified footmen in curled and powdered wigs followed at their heels. Kate thought that from the house, they must have looked liked a small flock of sheep whom the footmen were failing to guide into an invisible enclosure.
Parson Ledbury told the King about their meeting with Erasmus Darwin in Lichfield and how Dr Samuel Johnson’s mother had been one of his patients.
‘The young Dr Johnson suffered from the King’s Evil just as my poor nephew, here. His mother sent him to London to be touched by Her Majesty, Queen Anne in the hope that his condition might be improved. And who knows if Dr Johnson would have become the illustrious man of letters he is today had she not done so? Master Jack’s mother, the Honourable Mrs Byng, who is my cousin, would be eternally grateful to your Majesty if you would consent to touch her own son.’
King George listened and nodded and then bent over and lifted young Jack high into the air.
‘Dr Johnson,’ the King commented to Jack, ‘is a devilish clever fellow. I have a copy of his Dictionary in my library. Though I admit I have never read it. Have you?’
The King supported the little boy in the crook of his arm. Jack shook his head slowly.
‘Neither my grandfather, nor my great-grandfather,’ King George continued, addressing himself to the Parson, ‘favoured this kind of ceremony although I know that Queen Anne and King Charles II touched m
any thousands who suffered from scrofula. I am not in the habit of laying on hands to cure the sick but on this occasion I should be happy to oblige you if it would console his mother. Perhaps you, Parson Ledbury, would say a prayer.’
The King put the boy down and there, on the grass beneath the trees, he placed his square, pink hands onto Jack’s blond head. Everyone followed the Queen’s lead and lowered their heads while the Parson prayed that if it be the Lord’s will Jack’s affliction might be cured.
When the impromptu ceremony was over Jack, who had been looking very solemn, turned to the King and Queen and on a signal from the Parson bowed low and said: ‘I am much obliged to your Majesties … Pray accept a small gift which I have brought to ex— ex—’
‘Express my gratitude,’ prompted Sir Richard.
‘… express my gratitude.’
Then, reaching into his pocket, Jack drew out a small muslin bag tied with ribbon. The King took the bag and looked inside.
‘Upon my word – seeds! Are you a gardener, my little fellow?’
‘I am, Your Highness. They are seeds from my biggest cabbage. Mama says I grow the best cabbages in Derbyshire. The rabbits are fond of them, too, and are grown very fat and greedy. It is most vexing!’
‘If I were not King, Master Jack, there is nothing in the world I should rather do than grow cabbages. I am certain that the rabbits are vexatious but at least they will teach you how to defend what you hold dear – which is a valuable lesson. However, if the problem becomes insurmountable you must send word to me and I shall send a company of guards to Derbyshire to help you beat them down.’
Jack beamed a huge smile of pleasure.
Gideon the Cutpurse Page 24
