by Hannah Parry
Grooves, which looked as if they could only have been made by fingernails.
As the study door closed, Isabella tiptoed to the staircase and made her way to Alix’s room. She nodded at the guard and entered. After checking Alix slept safely, Isabella locked the door from the inside, and lay down on the sofa in Alix’s living room. Too tired to think, and shock having left her limp, she needed to sleep. Answers would be sure to present themselves in the morning.
“Wake-up sleepy head!” Alix sat on the edge of the sofa. “Ughh, you look dreadful. Are you ill?”
Isabella sat up, feeling as if she’d been run over by a carriage.
“Umm not feeling brilliant, no. I’ll feel better later though, I’m sure.”
Alix felt her forehead.
“Don’t you dare get sick for the ball. I know you’d do anything to get out of it, and I’m not going without you.”
There was a knock. “Come in.”
The door handle rattled. “I can’t open it!” came Bea’s voice from outside.
Isabella got to her feet and unlocked the door. “Bea, sorry. I must have locked it out of habit last night. I think I was doing a bit of sleepwalking.”
“Ooh Miss, don’t do that, that’s spooky that is. There’s people that says you’re possessed when you do that.” She dropped a curtsey to Alix and placed her breakfast tray on the little round table in the window, then she left.
“Come and have something to eat.”
Isabella sat down opposite Alix. Would her breakfast be poisoned? Surely not? The murderer wouldn’t have been planning on the princess still being alive this morning, would they?
Isabella drank some juice. Alix’s face took on a serious look as she reached into the pocket of her dressing gown.
“I’ve got something for you.” She brought out a little piece of yellowing paper, folded over and wrapped with a fraying white ribbon. It was addressed to Isabella in a fine spidery hand.
Alix looked a little nervous. “I had Mr Barker visit India House. I’d hoped there might be news of your father, but there wasn’t. There was this, however. Mr Barker persuaded them to give it to him. Well, go on, open it.” The paper was a heavy vellum, such as the ones the travelling writers used when villagers would pay them a rupee to write a legal letter, or a love letter, or a letter to a beloved child who had settled far away, one that wouldn’t fall apart as it travelled along dusty roads, up mountains and down streams. As she opened it she smelt heat and dust.
It was from Abhaya.
“Dearest Isabella-Bai
It is my dearest hope you will come to read this in time, for that will mean that you live. You have been missing for three weeks and though others believe you dead, I do not agree, for I should surely feel it if you were. I understand why you have left and I hope, in some small way, you may have had success in the venture you have undertaken. I wanted you to know, and I sincerely hope this letter finds you so you will know, how much I love you and how much happiness you brought to my life. I do not want you to feel guilt, which you may, if you survive and I do not. Our paths are laid before our feet even as we are born and death must come to us all. It is this, which is sometimes our greatest sadness, but should yet be our greatest happiness for it means we will all eventually meet again. I will look forward to meeting you very much, once more, my Isabella-Bai. Become the person you were born to be, and cause no hurt or harm to any living thing. You will have a fine future.
Your Mama-gi, Abhaya Singh.
Tears ran down Isabella’s nose and dropped onto the paper and her head dropped. Alix’s arm snaked gently around her shoulders and Isabella found herself crying herself out against the softness of Alix’s dressing gown.
“She must have written it whilst she was waiting for me….”
“What a lovely thing for her to have done,” said Alix in a gentle voice. “It’s as if she knew how you would feel, if you ever found out she had died. She knew you well. How lovely to have had that.”
Isabella thought of Abhaya and her father and the relationship she’d had with them. She might have lost them both, but at least they’d loved her. Alix hadn’t ever had that luxury… and now someone was trying to kill her, she was sure of it. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and walked over to the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen, her lips bruised, but she suddenly looked older than her twelve years, as if she now had one foot in adulthood and only one in childhood and there could be no going back.
She hugged Alix.
“You are right. I was very lucky.”
A weak ray of sun came in between the curtains. “Thank you so much. I cannot tell you how much it means to me.”
Alix smiled. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s the least I could do. Now, I must dress.”
“What? For the ball already?” Isabella looked horrified.
Alix laughed. “Oh no, not yet, it’s a bit early even for me. No, I said to Mrs Jolyon we could take a walk around the grounds after breakfast, if it were still fine. I want to say goodbye to the place, as I have no intention of returning.”
Isabella nodded, determined not to let Alix out of her sight for long.
“I’ll dress and come with you.”
A few minutes later she was knocking on John Conroy’s study door. As much as she didn’t want to, she felt it was right to tell someone about her suspicions. She couldn’t tell of what happened to her last night, otherwise it would mean owning up to theft, but she felt if she told John Conroy, he might be of some help. After all it was in his interest to keep the princess alive.
“Come in,” John Conroy’s round face was tired as he looked up from his desk. “Yes?” His face fell. “Oh, it’s you. I thought you were to leave this morning. Why are you still here? It’s money I suppose… how much do you want?” He rooted in his waistcoat pocket as Isabella approached the desk. How typical of him to judge everyone by his own standards.
“The princess is in danger.”
John Conroy pushed a hand through what was left of his hair.
“We’ve been through all of this Isabella. Her majesty has had two unfortunate accidents close together. Nothing more. You would do far better giving her some reassurance, rather than planting ideas in her head which make her go running off to her uncle’s, when her place is here with her mother.”
“But her mother doesn’t love her. Why should she care?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“No, it’s not, but I am telling you now, she is in grave danger…”
“You have proof then do you?” he said coldly.
“Um, no…no I don’t,” she finished, realizing how lame this sounded, even to her own ears. John Conroy slammed his hand on the desk and there was the tinkle of glass as something fell and broke.
“I’ve had more than enough of you, Isabella. You may have the princess’s protection, but if you don’t get out of my sight now, I may do something I regret.”
Isabella regarded him for a moment. What a fool she’d been to think he would take her seriously. The responsibility for Alix was going to be hers and hers alone. The familiar smell of chocolate came through the air, warm and distant. Her gaze fell on the marble floor behind John Conroy’s desk. A tiny silver stopper spun slowly and a clear liquid pooled amongst tiny shards of glass.
Isabella turned and left the room. Outside the door she pressed her burning face to the cool stone wall.
Why did John Conroy have a bottle of Calabar Bean poison on his desk? Was it he who tried to smother her last night? Had he thought she was Alix? Or had he thought she was herself, just a street urchin to be done away with when she become too troublesome?
Isabella felt sick.
Fear and worry weighed on her heavily as she made her way to Alix’s room. Alix’s door opened and shut and Mrs Jolyon came down the corridor toward her.
“Good morning, dearest. I’ve heard you’ve had a lovely letter. Will you walk with us this morning and tell us all about it?”
> Isabella, took one look at Mrs Jolyon’s kind, open face and knew she couldn’t carry her secret on her own. It was too big for her. She had to tell someone.
“Mrs Jolyon,” Isabella took her hands and pulled her into an empty room.
“Why Isabella, what is it?” All the worry and fear of the night’s adventures poured out of her in a garbled rush, as if through a dam, which had broken. Everything except the real reason she’d been in the Blue Salon.
Mrs Jolyon’s face turned from pink to red, to white.
“I cannot believe what I am hearing. And you? Are you all right? You’re not hurt?” She put her arms around Isabella, who relaxed into their warmth.
“No I am fine. I was lucky to have my pouch with me otherwise things might have been very different.”
“Thank heavens you did. I cannot believe this.”
Mrs jolyon’s face was screwed up in concentration.
“The question is who on earth would wish to harm Alix? At first it seems there is no one, but…” Mrs Jolyon was frowning when Isabella looked up at her.
“I know what you’re going to say.
“What?” Mrs Jolyon looked bemused.
“Prince Ernest.”
Mrs Jolyon looked at Isabella sideways from under her lashes. “Why did you think that?”
Isabella scratched her head. “He has the most to gain. I heard him arguing with the king too. He wanted Alix to stay at Kensington and not move to St James’s Palace.”
Mrs Jolyon nodded.
“Mmm, so she would be under his nose. He served in India, did he not?” Isabella nodded. “So he could have known of the properties of the Calabar Bean?” Isabella nodded again. She hadn’t thought of this before, though it was obvious now. “He has little money,” Mrs Jolyon continued, almost to herself. “And though he has a great reputation he has no army commission at present. Some men are only useful at wartime; I think Prince Ernest is one of them. Back here, he is like a fish out of water.”
“But to cause harm to Alix, his own niece?”
Mrs Jolyon looked out the window into the ill-lit grey morning.
“People have killed for less.”
Isabella shivered. “What should we do now?”
Mrs Jolyon sat up, businesslike. “We need to tell King William, so the princess will be safe.”
“What about John Conroy and the duchess? Shouldn’t we tell them? They might believe some of this if it comes from you.”
Mrs Jolyon took Isabella’s hands. “Sadly, I have little influence with them. Don’t forget, I am only a servant. But don’t worry. You and I can keep Alix safe until tonight and then, as soon as the king arrives, we can ask for an audience.”
“Do you think we can? I mean; can we keep her safe? Don’t we need some guards or something?”
Mrs Jolyon shook her head. “I think there is wisdom in stealth at present. Ernest does not know we suspect him. We are forewarned and isn’t being forewarned, forearmed?”
Isabella narrowed her eyes. “So we know what’s going on, but he doesn’t?”
“Exactly. It will be him who believes he must sneak around, not realizing we are watching his every move. It gives us an advantage and then we will catch him. And if we catch him, Alix will be safe.”
“Where is he now?” Isabella felt a sudden surge of fear. Where was Alix if she and Mrs Jolyon were in here?
It was as if Mrs Jolyon read her mind.
“It’s alright dearest, Bea is showing her some feathers for her hairstyle tonight. Still, we had best get back. After this, we mustn’t leave her at all for the rest of the day. We must make sure he has no opportunity to drag her into some dark corner!”
Isabella looked shocked. “He wouldn’t surely…?”
Mrs Jolyon looked sad as she stood with a rustle of her skirts. It was with both a lighter and heavier heart that Isabella followed her from the room.
Alix stood in the middle of her dressing room, surrounded by dresses in jewelled colours.
“Isabella, thank heavens you’re back. Where have you been?”
Isabella walked over to the window so Alix couldn’t see her face. The strain of the last twenty-four hours was starting to tell and, though relieved, Isabella still felt close to tears. She longed for the ball now, because as soon as it started responsibility would no longer be hers. Ernest wouldn’t dare do anything with all those people around. It was the time between then and now, which was going to be the problem. The time when Alix might walk a lonely corridor without giving it a second thought or pick up a poisoned apple and there would be nothing Isabella could do about it. Like Abhaya, Alix would die and it would be Isabella’s fault. Isabella knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
“I was just at the stables.” A large bang made Isabella jump out of her skin.
“What was that?”
She couldn’t believe it when Alix laughed.
“Prince Ernest. Shooting practice in the grounds, every Tuesday, including New Year’s Eve. No wonder he’s deaf as a post.”
“Is he?” Isabella was regaining her composure by looking out the window, but she could see nothing but freezing fog and trees like black spread fingers. Was there any other colour in this country other than grey?
“Why do you think he shouts all the time? Now, what do you think?” Alix had on a pale, pink, satin bell of a dress with an ostrich feather, dyed to match, in her hair.”
“It’s beautiful, but I think I need to see you in all of them before I can tell you which is best.”
Alix looked crestfallen.
“But I’ve just tried them all on.”
Isabella was firm. “Well, you’ll just have to try them all on again.”
Alix called for Bea and Isabella let out a sigh of relief. That would take up an hour or so, which only left six more to go. Six hours between Alix and safety, and six hours between her and freedom. As soon as she’d spoken with Mrs Jolyon and the King William, she would enjoy the ball. Then at ten o’clock, she would slip away unnoticed, take the Caravaggio and meet Zach. The boat would leave at midnight. Just enough time to give the painting to the fence, and get to the docks.
She would have fulfilled all her obligations. Alex would be safe and Zachariah and the children would have their money.
“Isabella, if you’re not going to look at these dresses I’m damned if I’m going to try them all on again, when I know I like the pink one best.”
Isabella sat up. “Sorry Alix, I’m watching now.”
So the morning passed. The fire crackled merrily, and Isabella’s heart eased as she saw how happy Alix was to be leaving this place. Surely nothing bad would befall any of them? Hadn’t they both had enough bad luck for the time being?
Chapter 11:
Freedom
Night came. Isabella was exhausted with the vigilance she and Mrs Jolyon had kept throughout the day. Every time Alix had wanted to go and look at the decorations downstairs, they’d managed to divert her attention. Whenever Alix claimed she could smell roasting chestnuts or melting chocolate and shouldn’t they go and have just a little taste, Isabella and Mrs Jolyon talked her out of it.
“She’s going to guess we’re up to something soon. She’s not stupid,” hissed Isabella whilst Alix was packing underclothes with Bea in readiness for tomorrow.
“I know, but what else can we do? Anyway, she probably does realise something’s up. She just doesn’t want to know.”
“I don’t blame her,” replied Isabella.
Mrs Jolyon looked sad. “Poor child. What a hard life she has led. I’d like to pack her up and take her back to India with me, where she could run around with Christopher and catch fish in the creek. She’d be good company for him and he for her.”
Isabella smiled. “That’s exactly how I feel. As if she’s too nice to have to live life in this mausoleum.”
“She’s had no choice. It’s amazing she’s turned out as well as she has. If Christopher turns out half so well, I shall be very pleased.” M
rs Jolyon’s face was filled with love.
“You must miss him so much, but I am so glad Alix has had you here to support her. She’s very lucky.”
Mrs Jolyon hugged her. “Come now, you dress and then I will dress when you are ready. That way she will always have one of us with her.”
“I can’t wait to see Ernest’s face when he sees us,” said Isabella.
Mrs Jolyon nodded. “I know, but don’t forget, he’s had the whole day to wrap his mind around the fact his plan was foiled. He would have been expecting an outcry since early this morning, and there hasn’t been one. Run along now and get dressed. I’ll be here.”
Though loathe to put on the dress from last night, she did, marvelling it didn’t show up more of the trauma it had been through last night, unlike her, whose reflection was hollow-eyed with stress and exhaustion. Even having her hair professionally dressed hadn’t helped much. Not that it mattered. No one was going to be looking at her.
Finally, as the grandfather clock outside struck six, they were ready. Princess Alixandrina beautiful in pink, Mrs Jolyon, pale but composed in midnight blue and Isabella, trying to look jolly, in the golden taffeta. Their wide skirts snapped back and forth as they descended the staircase, Isabella’s eyes straining for the first glance of Prince Ernest’s face. She could feel Mrs Jolyon doing the same.
“Ladies!” John Conroy came to the bottom of the stairs. “You look magnificent.” Isabella could barely bring herself to look at him.
“Now,” he continued. “There’s been a change of plan. Your majesty, your mother would like to speak to you for a moment.” Mrs Jolyon and Isabella hung back to allow Alix past to the salon, but Mr Conroy said, “No, no, ladies. It is a conversation the duchess and I wish you to hear also. Please go through and be seated.”
The duchess was resplendent in black satin with her hair piled high and diamonds at her throat and wrists. The Blue Salon looked very different from last night with a leaping fire and the sparkle of champagne in crystal goblets. A string quartet played in the hallway and strains of a merry gavotte came through the air.
