by David Wake
“You should stay here,” Nanny insisted.
“I’m a Deering–Dolittle and I must go.”
“I believe your mother gave you strict instructions.”
“She did,” said Earnestine: no exploring, no trouble, no adventures.
“I thought you, at least, had listened.”
“I have to go.”
“Up the river?”
“Not that.”
“You might not come back.”
“Then I won’t come back.”
She ran down the stairs past Nanny, past the daguerreotypes of her grandfather, uncle, father and mother and slammed the door behind her.
A moment later she let herself back in to fetch her precious umbrella.
She caught a Hansom cab to the deserted docks and found the passageway that led down into the sewers. She lit her dark lantern, opened the shutter to allow just enough light to see by and made her way into the marvel of the age.
Peg for her nose, that’s what she’d forgotten.
Mrs Arthur Merryweather
“Arthur will save us,”? Georgina said.
“We could grab one of those cavalry swords,” Charlotte suggested.
Georgina glanced up at the rosette of blades and hilts set on the wall. There were many military souvenirs on display, sharp evil things, and suits of armour guarding either side of the grand fireplace. It seemed a foolish room to keep enemy prisoners, for that’s what they were, she realised, but then there were plenty of soldiers coming to–and–fro with messages and they were the weaker sex.
“They’re not fixed, just held in loops.”
“Charlotte, sit still.”
Georgina sat with her hands on her lap, carefully arranged. The unfamiliar ring on her finger was comforting.
“We should do something.”
“I’m sure the matter is in hand.”
“The Graf is our enemy, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He looked so smart in his uniform,” said Charlotte.
“Oh for goodness sake, you silly girl,” said Georgina. “Lottie, the man is a… he’s some sort of foreigner.”
“You can still admire his uniform.”
“Lottie!”
“We must do something,” Charlotte insisted.
“Arthur will have everything in hand, I’m sure.”
“But it’s one for all.”
“It’ll be dangerous,” said Georgina.
“Not for us, the Deering–Dolittle Sisters,” said Charlotte holding up her hand to prevent Georgina interrupting: “Even if you are a Merryweather now, you are still one of us.”
“One of us?”
Charlotte summed it up: “The Derring–Do Club.”
“You’ve had that idea in your head for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and I did a coat–of–arms for us in my French exercise book.”
“Instead of doing French?”
“You’re as bad as Ness!”
“Thank you.”
The electric lights flickered: surged in brightness. One above the fireplace exploded and the room was plunged into darkness.
The Graf roared: “Ha, ha! Es beginnt!”
Candles were lit.
“What are you doing, Liebchen?”
Charlotte was standing on tiptoe on a chair and reaching for a sword.
“It looked pretty,” Charlotte said. “I was going to have a closer look.”
“Sit with your sister.”
“I wouldn’t have broken it.”
Charlotte came down and sat with Georgina again.
The Graf considered them for a moment: “Watch them,” he ordered. A soldier snapped to attention and then stood on guard.
“I wouldn’t have broken it!” Charlotte repeated. “I was only going to look.”
“Honestly, Charlotte,” Georgina said.
“We have to do something.”
“Arthur will save us.”
“How?”
“Even now, he, Captain Caruthers and Lieutenant McKendry, along with a detachment of Peelers, are no doubt presenting a warrant at the embassy door.”
“They won’t accept a warrant. There’s diplomatic immunity.”
“Nonetheless, they will insist and brush aside all objections. If not, they will force an entry. Peelers will go left and right, up and down, and they’ll search the whole building rooting out these villains. But my Merry will storm ahead–”
“Revolver at the ready.”
“If you like,” Georgina agreed. “And then he’ll barge in here, give the Graf a piece of his mind and… there’ll be fisticuffs. But Arthur boxed for his regiment… probably. They’ll fight back and forth, knocking over candlesticks and suits of armour until finally Arthur will just biff him on the nose.”
Unconsciously, Georgina punched with her own hand, a sharp uppercut in miniature.
She raised her voice: “These cowards who murder innocent girls will show their true colours and run all the way back to that cold, horrible castle, while we put out bunting and bake cakes. See if we don’t!”
There was a commotion at the door.
“I say,” said Merryweather, as two burly soldiers hauled him in.
“Arthur!”
Merryweather looked across, relief on his face: “Georgina! Are you safe?”
The guard stepped forward menacingly; Georgina stayed seated.
“Not really, dearest,” Georgina said.
“But you are unhurt?”
“I’m unhurt.”
His captors threw him to the marbled floor, but Merryweather ignored them: “And these bounders have treated you reasonably?”
“Yes dear.”
“Bring him!” The Graf ordered as he swept out.
Merryweather struggled and other soldiers came to subdue him. They picked him up and dragged him along the floor pulling his red regimental dinner jacket askew and ripping some of the braid loose.
“Arthur!”
“I’m afraid, darling, things haven’t gone according to plan.”
And then he was gone.
Miss Charlotte
Charlotte looked around the grand room: “Their uniforms are different.”?
“Charlotte,” Georgina replied. “I think–”
“All the guards who were here at first went with the Graf, so these are all new ones.”
“I suppose.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Idea?” said Georgina. “You’re not going to fight your way out.”
Charlotte stood up, turned and waved her finger at Georgina.
“Let that be a lesson to you!” she shouted, loudly.
“I beg–”
Charlotte stepped back: “You! Yes, you.”
“Jawohl.”
“Guard her.”
“Fräulein, you must–”
Charlotte shrieked: “Her Royal Highness to you!”
The man quailed, then clicked his heels and snapped to attention.
“Better. And make sure she doesn’t escape. She’s one of those troublesome Derring–Dos,” said Charlotte, and she swept out imperiously, with a slight shrug to Georgina as she left.
The trick, Charlotte knew, was to have a reason to be wherever she was: collecting the late slips from the second form, putting up a notice for the chess club or running an errand for Miss Hardcastle. These worked for the corridors, the main hallway and anywhere in the College for Young Ladies. Here, in the Austro–Hungarian Embassy, they were all useless strategies. Worse than useless.
Outside the Grand Room in the corridor were two guards. She’d managed three yards before being captured. Perhaps she could persuade them to delay taking her back, so that her sister wouldn’t be too disapproving.
The officer clicked his heels smartly and bowed from the waist. His waxed moustache stuck out as rigidly as his attention.
“Excuse me, Fräulein.”
“I’m lost,” Charlotte said.
“I’m sorr
y, Your Royal Highness, I did not recognise you,” he bowed. “Please allow me to escort you back to the Royal Party,” he said.
“Thank you.”
The officer led the way and two other guards boxed her in at the rear as her escort. So, she was going to go down the corridor to be re–introduced to the Graf only to be marched back again.
Charlotte was shown in to the billiard room, which had wooden cues as well as the ubiquitous armoury of swords and spears attached to the walls. A younger, clean shaven version of the Graf stood with a drink.
“Prince Peter,” she said.
“Pieter,” he said, clicking his heels. “At your service.”
“I would like, very much, for you to release an Englishman, who is being held captive here.”
“You would?”
“It is a Royal command.”
“From a school girl?”
“Ah… you know too.”
“You are still technically a Princess, if not by blood but by marriage.”
Charlotte shuddered.
“I am impressed,” he toasted her with his glass. “It is not everyone who can climb the social ladder so quickly.”
“Or can cast off those responsibilities so quickly.”
Prince Pieter grew sombre: “Sadly no.”
“The officer is very dear to my sister.”
“Indeed.”
“So if you could help.”
“Alas, this English officer, you and even myself are prisoners here.”
“You?”
“Ja.”
“But perhaps he could be a prisoner here rather than in some smelly dungeon?”
“It would please your sister, you say.”
“Yes, she and the officer are one,” said Charlotte. “I’m the youngest Deering–Dolittle and–”
“Deering–Dolittle!”
“Yes.”
The Prince dashed his glass down and strode over to the door. He hammered loudly and shouted in German, before turning back to Charlotte.
“This officer, his name?”
“Merryweather.”
The Prince began shouting and the word ‘Merryweather’ included amongst the German like an island in a stormy sea.
Presently, a large number of men appeared. Captain Merryweather in red was the exception to all the black material and brass buttons. The guards kept their heads down to avoid the gaze of the angry Prince.
“You!” the Prince demanded: “Explain yourself! Why are you here?”
“I’m here to find my bride,” Merryweather said.
“Miss Deering–Dolittle?”
“That’s her.”
“Deering–Dolittle!” Pieter interrupted. “Your bride? But that’s impossible. Miss Deering–Dolittle and I have an understanding.”
“An understanding – what utter nonsense!”
“I assure you that it is true.”
“What about marriage vows?”
“I was going to take her as a mistress,” said Pieter.
“No! I challenge you!” Merryweather shouted. He turned to one of the guards: “Caruthers, give me your glove.”
There was a sudden shuffling of men by the door, a pushing and shoving, rather like a change of partners in a dance, and guns were levelled. Charlotte recognized two of them: Caruthers and McKendry.
“Drop it!” McKendry warned. He and Caruthers had been in disguise: they’d come in with Merryweather using the old ‘prisoner–and–escort’ trick from the Penny Dreadfuls. They had the jump on the two real Austro–Hungarian soldiers and there was nothing those two could do but surrender; so guns clattered to the floor and were kicked away to skitter across the marble. Charlotte claimed one.
“Miss?” Caruthers warned.
“Souvenir,” Charlotte said.
“What is the meaning of this?” Prince Pieter demanded.
“We’re just here for a little reconnoitre,” Caruthers explained. “If you don’t mind, old boy.”
“Caruthers, your glove!” Merryweather insisted.
“Steady on, Merry.”
“Your glove.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to call this bounder out.”
“Merry, duelling is strictly forbidden in England.”
“We’re not in England, technically we’re in Austro–Hungary.”
“Which you have invaded by force,” Prince Pieter added. “And the wearing our uniforms means you are spies, rather than soldiers.”
Merry turned his rage on the calm Austro–Hungarian: “What, precisely, pray, are your designs upon Miss Deering–Dolittle?”
“Honourable.”
“With an ‘understanding to have her as a mistress’ – you cad.”
“Steady on Merry,” said Caruthers, as he tried to take over from the guards and hold his comrade back. Captain Merryweather shrugged him off just as easily as they had the Austro–Hungarians.
“I am happy to put my steel to the test,” Prince Pieter said.
“Ooh, this is so exciting,” said Charlotte.
Prince Pieter took note of Charlotte’s presence: “Perhaps the Princess should retire.”
“And miss the fun,” Charlotte objected.
“Princess!” said Caruthers.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that,” Charlotte admitted.
“Sabres?” Merryweather said.
“I believe form requires you to challenge me first?” said Prince Pieter.
“Fine!” Merryweather tapped his pockets. “Anyone got a glove?”
There was a general show of checking pockets, but to no avail.
“Caruthers?” said Merryweather, his hot temper turning to embarrassment.
“Chap at the cloakroom collected hat, coat, gloves, the lot.”
“I’ve got this lacy pair,” said Charlotte helpfully.
Merryweather came over: “Thank you.”
He took the pair, paused with a pained expression as he saw how light blue and feminine they were, and then handed one back: “I only need the one.”
Merryweather strode into the centre of the room.
“I call you out, Sir,” he said with muster. He flung the glove to the ground, an effect lessened in impact when it fluttered down like a wounded butterfly.
“It’s hardly a gauntlet,” Caruthers said.
Prince Pieter clicked his heels, bowed and with extraordinary dignity picked up the lacy object.
“Right–” Merryweather began, but events paused as the Prince returned the glove to Charlotte.
“Thank you,” she said, beaming.
“Your weapons, Prince?”
“I choose sabres.”
“Right… do you have any sabres?”
Prince Pieter pondered for a moment: “I think there are some on the wall in the display room… Hauptmann!”
A captured officer snapped to attention: “Ja!”
“Fetch some sabres.”
“Jawohl.”
“He can’t go, he’s our prisoner,” McKendry said.
“I give you his parole,” Pieter said. “Hauptmann, you will obtain two matching sabres from the Display Room and return. You will not raise the alarm.”
“Jawohl.”
McKendry kept hold of the man’s collar: “I don’t think so.”
Merryweather, Caruthers and McKendry huddled together as much as they could while keeping an eye on their two prisoners and the Prince.
“We could fight with foils…” Pieter suggested signifying the weaponry, “… or spears… or billiard cues.”
“I can’t fight with foils,” said Merryweather, “he’s aristocracy, they use foils all the time. And they practise!”
“Fair point,” said Caruthers. “All right, you, straight there and straight back.”
“Ja,” said the Hauptmann.
The man departed for the display room.
The rest of the men stood around for a while, admired the paintings as if fascinated by the illustrious Austro–Hungarians on show.<
br />
Suddenly, the mantelpiece clock chimed, its tinging announcement of midday taking an age.
“Nasty weather,” said McKendry.
“Ja,” said the Prince. “Is it usual for this time of year?”
“We have a lot of rain here,” said Merryweather.
“Ach, so my brother has been boasting.”
“It’s something to do with low pressure from the Atlantic.”
“British science and industry rising to the greatest challenge of the age, predicting the weather.”
“Yes, ha, you could say that. Jolly tricky…” Merryweather stopped himself from laughing aloud and steeled his expression: “…and all that.”
“Ja.”
“Yes–sss.”
“Yass.”
“There is the matter of the seconds,” the Prince said.
“Right,” said Merryweather. “Caruthers?”
“Preferred being your best man, but delighted, old boy.”
“And you?”
“I choose the sister as my second,” the Prince said. Charlotte took a few paces into the assembly.
“Thank you.”
“You can’t choose a woman as a second, she’s not even supposed to be here,” McKendry said.
“I believe my step–mother has every right to be here.”
“Step–mother?!” said Caruthers.
“Yes,” said Charlotte, “I was going to mention that as well.”
“But you’re old enough to be her… older brother.”
Everyone pointed their guns at the door as it opened!
It was the Hauptmann laden with cutlasses and various other swords. He placed them down on the baize of the billiard table.
“This is a farce, Merry, let’s just call it off and have a brandy.”
“Rubbish,” said Merryweather, his gander up. He picked out a cutlass and swept it back and forth experimentally to get a feel for the weapon.
“You are not trained in the cavalry cutlass,” observed the Prince.
“No, I suppose not.”
“How about pistols?”
“Why not just punch the living daylights out of each other and be done?” said Caruthers. “And then we can get on fighting the rest of them.”
Charlotte, completely beside herself with the idea of it all, jumped up and down and the men squared up.
“There’s a lady present,” McKendry pointed out. “Miss, I think it best if you retire to the… somewhere else?”
