Isabella Rockwell's War

by Hannah Parry

  She swung her feet over the polished floor. She needed to keep her thoughts on the present. If she were to take the picture tonight and then not leave until the morning, someone might notice it was missing. If she were to take it tonight, she should leave tonight.

  Shouting distracted her. Where was it coming from? She got to her feet and went to the door of the dining hall.

  “I understand your worries, William, really I do, but she is to be queen. She can’t just run away from her home when she has a little accident.” There was a muttering and then Isabella heard the voice again. “Well, no, I know it was more than that, but it was still an accident, and accidents happen. She needs to show a bit of backbone. You know… get back in the saddle.” It was Prince Ernest. “What will the public going to think if she suddenly starts living here?”

  The king’s voice was rising. “Why does it matter, Ernest? Poor little mite looks all in. I want her here with me and that’s all there is to it.”

  Well, I think you’re a fool,” roared Ernest so loudly, the doors shook.

  Now it was the king’s turn.

  “That’s enough Ernest, you forget yourself. I can’t help feeling you’ve more invested in this than you’re letting on.” Isabella could hear the bluster in Ernest’s voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” the king still sounded furious. “If the duchess gets her money, that doesn’t leave much in the pot left for you does it? And diamonds might grow on trees in India, Ernest, but they don’t over here.”

  Ernest snorted.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do. Now, Alixandrina will move here the day after the ball, and I don’t want to hear another word from you about it. In fact, I want your support in this matter.”

  “But…but I just think she should stay…”

  The king cut him short.

  “Not another word, Ernest! Not another word.”

  Isabella heard footsteps and rushed back to her seat. The door was flung open so hard it banged against the wall outside and Isabella froze. Ernest stomped out across the hallway, not even noticing her presence. She sat for a moment. What should she do?

  “Isabella, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.” It was Alix, appearing like a wraith at her elbow.

  “Oh, you made me jump. I got the wrong room – the Russian Ambassador was in the one I thought I was supposed to go to, so I came back down here to wait for you. I thought you were still inside the dining room with the king.” She gestured with her head. Alix shook her head.

  “No, Captain Courageous arrived so I thought I’d come and find you. Come on, shall we play some cards?” Isabella smiled, pleased Alix had heard nothing of the exchange between the king and his brother.

  “I’m very good at cards,” she remarked following Alix up the same corridor as before.

  “You say that about everything.”

  “I am though.”

  Alix snorted. “You can’t dress yourself. You couldn’t put together a nice outfit if your life depended on it.”

  “Sorry your highness, I thought we were talking about being good at things that are important.”

  Alix laughed. “In my life, that is very important.”

  Isabella hugged her with her good arm, walking next to her. “That is why you are going to make such a wonderful queen.”

  Alix smiled, more relaxed than Isabella had ever seen her, as if a load had lifted from her shoulders.

  “Do you really think so?”

  Isabella nodded. “I do.”

  Alix stopped outside a pair of double doors.

  “But this is the room I came to earlier. The Russian Ambassador is waiting for the king in here. I saw Mr Al Hassan in the corridor.” Isabella muttered in a stage whisper, having no wish to exchange pleasantries with the grim faced Ambassador.

  “No he’s not,” replied Aix, opening the door. Inside the cosy room, by the fire sat Mrs Jolyon doing her tapestry.

  “Hello girls, did you have a lovely lunch?” Isabella blinked.

  “I must have gone to a different room.” She scratched her head.

  “Why dear?” asked Mrs Jolyon, rolling up her tapestry and getting out her cards.

  “I came here earlier, but the Russian Ambassador was here. I saw Hassan outside, so I went to wait for Alix downstairs.”

  “Oh. Well I haven’t seen him. Now then, what shall we play?” There was another knock at the door. It was the queen and two of her ladies. A pleasant afternoon was enjoyed, during which Isabella spent thinking of the coming evening. She wished she didn’t like Alix so much. When Isabella thought of her, she found her guilt about the upcoming raid overwhelming. When she thought of the duchess, however, she found those feelings disappeared. She just didn’t want Alix to think she’d stayed with her out of greed rather than friendship, but she couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. She would have to accept that Alix would think badly of her. For her friend, it was a price she was willing to pay.

  That night, as they returned to Kensington Palace, they’d barely taken off their wraps, before John Conroy shot from one of the rooms off the main hall. He must have been lying in wait for them.

  “Your mother wishes to speak with you, your majesty.”

  “Why? As if I didn’t know.” She added in an undertone. “Come on Isabella, come with me.”

  “She wishes to see you alone.”

  Alix turned on John Conroy like a snake.

  “If Isabella doesn’t come with me, I am not coming at all.” John Conroy took a step backwards.

  “Your majesty, please!”

  “Don’t say one more word to me John Conroy or I will have you taken away.” Alix’s face was white but her eyes were furious. Her temper hung by only a thread. Sensing this John Conroy remained silent, watching as they walked down to the Blue Salon.

  “I’ll see you in the morning dearest,” said Mrs Jolyon “and,” she whispered, “good luck.”

  “Good night Mrs Jolyon,” said Isabella smiling at the kind woman she liked so much. If all went well, this was the last time she would see her. She sent up a little prayer to Abhaya for Mrs Jolyon’s future happiness… she deserved it. She watched the small upright figure walk up the stairs and then she turned, squared her shoulders and followed Alix. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  The duchess seemed not to have heard Alix clearly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am going to live with King William and Queen Adelaide until… for a little while…. They have asked if I would like to stay with them for a bit.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Your home is here, with me.”

  “It isn’t Mother. A home is a place of refuge and a place where you’re loved. This palace has stopped being one and never was the other.”

  The duchess gasped.

  “How can you say that, Alix? After all I’ve done for you? All I’ve given up?”

  Alix’s face was diamond bright and unreadable.

  “What are you talking about, Mother? What exactly have you given up for me? Your clothes, your jewels, your admirers, your title… your time?” The duchess’s mouth was opening and closing now.

  “You’ve given up nothing for me… if you had have given up maybe one tiny thing for me, we might not be having this conversation now. The king and queen love me… they love me for who I am, not for who I might become. I am going to go and live with them.”

  The duchess looked at her, her face drained of colour.

  “Here,” Alix took a bank draft with a royal seal on it out of her skirt pocket and waved it under her mother’s nose. “This becomes valid on New Year’s Day, as soon as I am safely at St James’s. It’s for the full amount, twenty thousand pounds. Quite a good price for your only daughter, I thought.” Alix’s voice was like dead leaves on a stone floor.

  “Come on Isabella.” Isabella followed her from the room. She didn’t speak as Alix’s frantic pace gradually slowed and as th
ey approached her apartments, her shoulders relaxed.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I don’t care. I’m glad you said it.”

  Alix nodded.

  “So am I. It’s all over now.”

  Alix’s room was warm and her bath had been drawn earlier. There was a tray with warm biscuits and a cup of hot chocolate with cream. Alix fell on the biscuits.

  “Gosh, I couldn’t eat a thing at lunch I was so upset. Now all the nasty stuff is out of the way, I’m starving!” Isabella slurped the hot chocolate. Alix threw a gold taffeta dress at her.

  “Here, try this on whilst I have my bath.” She pulled at the bell for Bea to come and help.

  Isabella took the dress into the dressing room feeling she’d better go through the motions. If she refused, Alix might get suspicious. Alix must think she was going to be at the ball. To her great surprise the dress fitted her perfectly. Alix must have had it quietly altered since she’d been here. How very kind of her. She knocked on the bathroom door and opened it to find Alix nose deep in pink bubbles.

  “What do you think?” Isabella twirled in front of her.

  Alix smiled, her white bath cap skew-whiff and her cheeks pink from the warmth of the bath.

  “I think I am a genius.”

  Isabella frowned.

  “Why?”

  “To transform a wretch like you into a lady. Look in the mirror. Isabella went pink, but she was entranced by her reflection. The gold brought out the red lights in her dark hair and made her skin look olive instead of sallow and the only suggestion of what she’d been through was now the shadows beneath her eyes. She’d even put on weight.

  “You’re right – I look very nice, the nicest I’ve ever looked, probably. No one from home would recognise me.”

  “What, because you’re clean?” Isabella threw a handful of bubbles at Alix’s head. “Go and get my brown velvet cloak and hat, they will go beautifully with it.” Isabella slipped the heavy garments on, the cloak a little short, but the hat fitted her well. Lifting her hair up into a bun, she shoved it under the hat and paraded slowly into the bathroom.

  “Ooh Miss, you gave me such a start,” said Bea, hands full of towels. “I thought it was the princess coming in!”

  “Don’t be daft,” said Isabella, laughing. “I don’t look anything like her.”

  “Well, Miss, with the clothes and the hat covering your hair, you do a bit. She loves that hat….”

  Later, when they were ready for bed, Isabella came to Alix’s room to say goodnight. She found herself clinging to the princess, tears pricking behind her eyes.

  “Steady on,” laughed Alix. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “See you in the morning,” said Isabella biting back all the words she wanted to say, but which would have given her away. She forced herself to turn from Alix and walk steadily back to her own room, but once there she had to stuff a hanky into her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud. Locking the door, she packed her belongings and then opened her father’s satchel. Taking out her locket, she breathed on it to clean it, and then left it carefully propped up on the lamp next to the bed. She wanted to write Alix a note, but she couldn’t find the words and didn’t want to incriminate herself. Hopefully Alix would find the locket and that would be enough.

  Her money was secured at her waist, her boots were mended, her old clothes were clean and in her bag, and she had odd pieces of silver she’d pilfered and the chocolates wrapped in tissue within her clothes. She looked up at the beautiful dress and cloak on the wardrobe door, and then she put them on, and sat down to wait.

  Chapter 10:

  Betrayal

  A brief thought of the Molesey’s house went through Isabella’s mind as she tiptoed down the servants’ staircase at the back of Alix’s apartments. That night had been a night of fear and cold with the awful feeling of being out of control. Tonight, she felt different. She was in charge and she had a plan which would work. There was no reason, in two nights’ time why she shouldn’t find herself on board the clipper bound for Bombay. She just had to be careful and keep her wits about her.

  As she put a foot on each stair, it creaked, and then creaked again when she took her feet off. The skin on the back of her neck pricked, but when she looked behind her, there was nothing there, just shadows, which seemed to move in the bright light of the moon. She waited, but all was still. Not even the watchman was calling the hour, probably asleep.

  A guard sat, dozing on the chair outside the Blue Salon, but he did not wake as she passed. She left the door ajar. The room lay silent in front of her, robed in shades of midnight blue and grey.

  She opened her satchel, placed it on the sofa, and lifted the little picture down. Carefully she replaced it with one she’d taken from her room, one of a similar colour and size. Then she got out her old jacket in which she could wrap the picture. The painting was in her bag, in a trice. It was as she lifted the bag’s strap to lie across her shoulder that she caught the faintest scent of chocolate; and an iron grip closed on her nose and mouth. Something was thrust into her mouth. Before she had time to breathe, or spit, or fight, her mouth was flooded with a bitter liquid, some of which went down her throat before the iron grip was released. The pain in her head was something she’d never experienced before, as if someone had put her head in a tiger trap and then released the spring, and her knees gave way.

  The carpet of the Blue Salon pressed into her cheek, she moved her head to bring the room into focus, but it was impossible. Her eyesight seemed to wander in and out, like a cat between someone’s legs. What had happened to her? Her limbs were leaden, she couldn’t feel them and she certainly couldn’t move them. A high, tight taste of metal was in her mouth and up her nose. She felt herself gasp for breath.

  She must not panic, she must not lose her head. Fright was muddling her.

  What was it her father had always said to her? She thought of when she’d been cornered by a cobra in the bathhouse. She could see her father’s face, white but calm, at the open window:

  “Breathe, Isabella, breathe…! Don’t let fear get the better of you. If you move he will strike. Focus on me! We can do this….” And focusing on his face she’d found a way out of her panic and remained still, the cobra had passed her by and she had survived. She summoned up his face now.

  Was she dying? It certainly felt like it. The tightness of her limbs was creeping upwards and now her hips felt stiff and her shoulders. Soon the muscles, which controlled her breathing would be affected. Her father’s satchel lay on its side on the floor next to her head, Abhaya’s pouch hanging out of it, half unravelled.

  Abhaya’s voice:

  “The Calabar Bean, beautiful, but deadly. Don’t push your nose in it like that, even though it smells of chocolate.” Abhaya had swatted the top of her head, one quiet afternoon during the rains. “It induces paralysis. The only cure is to chew Deadly Nightshade, but again, only the tiniest amount otherwise the Nightshade will kill you too. Always remember, a powerful poison will always need a powerful antidote.”

  In one breath, calling on Abhaya, Isabella rolled her head towards the pouch and grabbed it with her teeth, shaking it so as many of the little leaves, pods and seeds fell onto the moonlit carpet next to her. Which one, which one? Lemon verbena white as a bride, Hemlock with leaves as black as Deadly Nightshade’s but with a grey line around the outside, Mulberry, a midnight purple but smelling strongly of blackcurrant.

  Where were they?

  Her poor twisting vision moved this way and that, until she stopped trying and closed her eyes.

  She would try one more time.

  She could feel her eyelids getting heavy. Wait, pause, conserve your strength.

  With one last effort she opened them.

  The Deadly Nightshade leaves lay tiny and heart-shaped with serrated edges, their black so deep, it made every other colour look insipid. The leaf that had brought about the downfall of kings lay
on its back, right next to her head.

  How could she not have seen them?

  She turned her head and licked up two of them. Their bitterness stuck to her bone-dry tongue, but she forced them down into her stiffening stomach. Waves of sickness swept over her, but her body hadn’t the strength to bring them back up. A clock struck four and then played a tiny tune from the music box beneath it. The song was beautiful and it tinkled over her like a sparkling stream, whilst she lay on the ground and waited to see if she lived or died.

  Despite her fear, anger hardened inside Isabella. She mustn’t die now, not like her father so far away from home. The faces of Abhaya and her father flashed before her and Bumblebee and all the men of her father’s regiment and lastly Midge, Zachariah and Ruby. Isabella smiled.

  As she did so, she saw her left little finger start to move.

  It took two hours for her to fully regain the power of her limbs and it was as if, as she healed, her feelings about Alix became clear and solidified. The thought of leaving Alix was no longer an option. Isabella was now sure she was in great danger. The painting would have to wait.

  Finally she could push herself into a sitting position. She gathered the scattered herbs and packed her father’s satchel. The door was no longer ajar, but closed. Who ever had poisoned her, had closed it behind them. As she tiptoed through it, the guard shot to his feet, muttering sleepily, “Your Majesty,” as she passed him.

  Who else that night, had thought she was the princess?

  The great doorway to the courtyard overlooking Hyde Park stood in front of her. Outside she could see eight guards in bearskins. Though it was still dark, the morning star glittered on the horizon to the east and she could hear the rumble of carts from far away on Kensington Gore. Life seemed suddenly cut from crystal, clear and lovely as the dawn.

  A carriage pulled into view and the guards stood to attention. Isabella pushed herself in behind two suits of armour and watched as the Russian Ambassador and Hassan Al Hassan crossed the hallway to be greeted by John Conroy, who ushered them into his study. It wasn’t the oddness of their arrival at five o’clock in the morning which took Isabella by surprise. No. It was the four grooves, red and deep, on Hassan’s cheek which had not been there that afternoon.