Realms of Stone

by Sharon K Gilbert

  “It isn’t that, Your Majesty. It’s just that someone told me recently that I’d be made a duke. In a dream, or rather something like a dream.”

  “Dreams can be prophetic, my dear. The world of the spiritual is far more complex and diverse than our imperfect eyes can see, or our hearts imagine. The ceremony will be held at Buckingham Palace, and you may invite as many family members as you like. Of course, Salisbury will attend along with a few of my most trusted advisors. Once done, the news will be leaked to O’Connor or possibly William Stead, of course, which guarantees its release to the public. Also, I should like you on the privy council. We meet monthly, for the most part, which shouldn’t interfere with your other duties.”

  “Other duties?”

  She smiled. “Husband, investigator, and soon to be father from what I’m told. The Stuart and Plantagenet lines continue on, and with the addition of your Sinclair blood, that triangle of royalty is fixed and perfected.”

  “How so?”

  “I shall leave that for others to explain, Charles. Will you accept?”

  He kissed her hand, bowing deeply. “I have no aspirations to anything other than that of husband to Elizabeth Sinclair, but if it pleases Your Majesty, then I shall be happy to serve you and England in whatever way you deem best.”

  “Good,” she said, smiling widely. “You make me very happy, Charles. This is but the first step in our new direction. We mustn’t let Germany know our plans, nor Russia. In fact, it is vital that we keep our agreement quiet for as long as possible. Redwing will think it all their doing, which allows us to use their momentum as our own.” The queen’s smile turned into laughter, and her eyes danced merrily. “Honestly, I’ve not felt so free in years! My European relations will most likely balk, but once they see the wisdom of it, they’ll come ‘round. Except for Wilhelm, of course. Ah, but there’s nothing to be done about the fellow—not yet. Now, ring for Parsons. I’d like to have him arrange the ceremony for raising your title. Prince Charles, 1st Duke of Haimsbury, has a very nice ring to it.”

  “Prince?” he repeated, nearly choking.

  “Of course! Your true title has always been Prince, my dear, just as Elizabeth’s is Princess. It is in the Drummond-Branham Agreement, remember? You have read it, I hope.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, but is the title officially recognised?”

  “It’s inherent within the agreement! Of course, it’s recognised, though seldom discussed openly. You may ask Elizabeth, if you doubt me. I’ve called her our little princess from the moment I first met her. You’ll see, when you read your letters of patent. They’ll list you as His Highness, Prince Charles Robert Arthur Sinclair III, 1st Duke of Haimsbury.”

  “It’s all quite a lot to take in,” he admitted. “May I tell my wife about our conversation?”

  “Of course. Oh, and Parsons will give you a bouquet of flowers to take to Elizabeth. To make up for keeping her waiting. Does she come home soon?”

  “Tomorrow,” he answered. “I’ll speak with the duke as well.”

  “Do that. Now, ring for Sir Reginald. My gout worsens, and I must soak the wretched foot. Will you be Christmasing at Branham?”

  “Uh, probably. I’m not sure.”

  “Usually, I spend the season in Scotland, but if there is a corner where you might put me, I’d very much enjoy a weekend there this year. It’s been ages, since I enjoyed the festivities at the hall!”

  “I’m sure Elizabeth would offer you any apartment you desire, Your Majesty.”

  “Drina, remember?”

  He laughed and kissed her hand once more. “Forgive me. Yes, it is safely Drina.”

  He rang for the clerk, and she offered him a bright wink. “One day, Charles, you may be the one called Majesty.”

  “That is far more than my overtaxed brain can possibly fathom at the moment, Drina. My fervent prayer is that the Lord in his mercy allows you to remain on our throne for many more years.”

  “Well said, my dear,” she said. “Kiss my cheek, Charles. I should like you to think of me as family.”

  He did so, and she touched his face, her eyes glistening. “How like your father! Salisbury and Parsons will contact you soon regarding the ceremony for your new title. The press will have a field day once they hear!”

  “Yes, I imagine they will.”

  “And then we’ll celebrate Christmas together. Won’t that be fun?”

  “I look forward to it, Drina,” he told her, bowing one last time before ringing for the clerk.

  He was leaving the chamber as Parsons entered. The clerk grinned, and it occurred to Charles that the ubiquitous spy had probably overheard every word.

  “Congratulations,” Parsons whispered. “We’ll talk soon.”

  The usher arrived to escort him to the coach, and Sinclair wondered again if all this were but a dream. The chilly air hit him with fury as he left the building, reminding him that he walked in the real world. His name was Prince Charles.

  That’s madness!

  Now, to find a way to let Elizabeth know that she’d be giving birth to children who might one day be heirs to the throne of England.

  Chapter Thirty

  5:56 pm

  Elizabeth Stuart Sinclair had spent the past hour writing letters. Now that her lungs had nearly healed, the duchess was given permission to sit in a chair for an hour at a time. Parson’s messenger, Frederick Treves, had indicated Sinclair might be away for several hours. To fill the time, the duchess threw her energies into productive activities. She’d just finished short notes to her solicitor, Branham’s steward, and an estate agent on Finsbury Circus; as well as a long letter to Lady Margaret Morehouse, thanking her for the flowers she’d sent to Charles and expressing gratitude for the widow’s offer of support towards the proposed charity hospital. She was sealing the letter in an envelope, when someone knocked on the partially closed door.

  “Good day to you,” spoke a somewhat hesitant but pleasant male voice as the opening slowly widened. “I hope I do not interrupt.”

  Beth recognised the halting speech pattern at once, and she began to smile just picturing the remarkable individual who owned it. “My dear Mr. Merrick! Oh, I’d rather hoped you would visit me today. Please, come in!”

  Joseph Merrick, who was once exhibited by penny gaff showmen Sam Torr and Tom Norman under the derisive epithet ‘the Elephant Man’, had lived at the London since the summer of ’86. Since then, he’d become a reluctant celebrity. His unusual speech, constricted and muffled due to facial deformities, sometimes made it difficult for visitors to understand him, but Merrick’s high intellect and boyish charm never ceased to win him new friends, and in the few days since their first meeting, the young man had come to care deeply for the sweet duchess.

  “I bring you a small gift,” Merrick said, wheezing as he spoke from just inside the doorway. He held a music box in his left hand, the one with the greatest amount of normality and function. “It is but a trifle.”

  Elizabeth motioned for him to enter as she set aside the letters. “Mr. Merrick, nothing you might bring me could ever be considered a trifle.”

  He entered and used his cane to push a small chair towards her position and carefully sat into it, holding the box tightly within his hand as he lowered his oddly balanced body onto the cushioned seat. Once safely down, he set the box upon a nearby table and then unhooked the cane from his forearm, using the stick to steady himself.

  “Is this box for me?” she asked. He nodded. “Does it play?”

  “It does indeed. Beethoven’s Moonlight. It isn’t new, but does mean a great deal to me. The box was given to me by Mr. Treves when I first arrived at the London. He gave me permission to pass it to you, who are far more beautiful than any moonlight, more lovely than any song.”

  “That is so very sweet of you, Joseph,” she said, leaning over to take the box.
“Does it require a key?”

  “The key is contained within the design,” he said proudly. “I have already wound it for you. You need only open the lid.”

  The silver box was set with half a dozen garnets, and the lid was carved ivory. Elizabeth lifted the delicate lid, and the tines began to play the sonata, causing her to weep happy tears. Merrick saw her reaction and grew worried.

  “Oh, have I mistaken the music?” he asked. “It was thoughtless of me to offer a secondhand gift. Perhaps, another song would be better, if this is not to your liking.”

  “No, Mr. Merrick, you will do no such thing,” she said, wiping her eyes. “The song is perfect. I would not change it for anything.”

  “But you weep. Does the music make you sad? I had hoped to make you happy.”

  Beth wiped her dark eyes with her fingertips, and he offered his own linen handkerchief. “Thank you,” she said, dabbing the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes, tears stem from both emotions, Joseph. I’m sure you’ve found yourself experiencing both joy and sadness all at once.”

  “Yes,” he said, glancing out the window into the garden beyond. “That is true. I have. But, may I ask why you feel sad?”

  “You’re such a gentle soul, Joseph. Much like my father was. This sonata. Moonlight. It was his favourite, you see. He used to ask me to play it, when I was a little girl. It was—it was the last song I ever played for him. Only hours before he died.”

  She began to weep, for memories of her handsome father and how he’d not been there for her wedding, nor would see his grandchildren, tore open an old wound, but the hot tears brought relief, not pain.

  “Oh, my dear Elizabeth. Forgive me. Had I known, I should never have…” he began, attempting to rise, but she touched his deformed hand gently to stop him.

  “Please, Joseph, you mustn’t think your gift has made me sad. It is difficult to explain, but I’m glad to remember him, you see? I only wish he could have lived to meet my husband. And you. And there are so many other things he’s missed in my life. But like this music, his memory plays in my mind and heart, and one day, I shall see him again. In heaven.”

  Merrick nodded. “Yes. That is when we shall all be equal in face and form. Yet, I imagine you will still outshine us all.”

  Beth shook her head. “No, Mr. Merrick. Outward appearances matter little to God. Your spirit shines brightly and ever shall. Thank you so much for the gift. I shall cherish it always. Tell me, what plans have you for Christmas? Will Mr. Treves permit you to travel?”

  “I am glad you like the gift,” he said, sitting back and relaxing somewhat. “Christmas? Mr. Treves permits me to travel short distances from time to time, and I even went to the countryside once on a train. It was marvellous! I imagine Christmas will be spent here. We had a beautiful tree last year, and we sang carols and had a delicious pudding and punch. I won a most amusing hat in my cracker. Perhaps, you could join us this year.”

  “I might, but I’d rather hoped you would join us for Christmas. I’m not sure where we’ll be. Either here or at Branham. Oh, Mr. Merrick, the hall comes alive at Christmastide! The entire house is decorated from top to bottom, and we play music and games, and the villagers enjoy an entire week of festivities, and on Christmas Eve night, there’s a dance with all the servants and farmers. If the weather is cold enough to freeze the reflecting pool, then we ice skate. It’s a very merry time! Would you consider joining us?”

  “Will your husband permit it?” he asked simply.

  “Her husband will insist upon it, Mr. Merrick,” Charles Sinclair’s resonant baritone answered from the doorway. “I wish I’d thought of it myself, but my wife’s ideas are always the best ones. Will you join us?” Merrick started to rise, but Charles sat instead, touching the smaller man’s left forearm. “Please, do not stand on my account, old friend. You and I have known each other far longer than I’ve been a marquess.”

  Merrick laughed. “It’s true. Elizabeth, did you know that your husband once aided me at this very hospital? In the garden, I mean.”

  Beth took her husband’s hand and kissed it. “No, Mr. Merrick, I did not. Charles, perhaps I should ring for a matron to place these flowers in water. They look as if they’ve been thirsty for an hour or more.”

  Sinclair laughed. “Forgive me, darling, I received them from a gracious lady who insisted you deserved a bouquet in recompense for delaying me, which you do, but then I stopped to speak with Reid before coming here. I fear the roses have grown rather thirsty. I’ll get the water. Is there a vase?”

  She pointed to several that Victoria had brought with her the previous day. “Use the blue one. There is a little water in that pitcher. Yes, that’s the one,” she added, pointing towards her bedside table. “This gracious lady you mentioned knows my taste. China pinks. They’re very pretty, Charles, but I think Mr. Merrick’s gift is nicer.”

  “Then I shall have to do better next time,” Charles said, picking up the box. “The box is lovely, Joseph. Haven’t I seen this before?”

  “You have and recently. I kept a message there, given me by a good friend, but I thought it was time to pass it to someone else. Someone who appreciates the music, just as I do.”

  “Then it plays? Oh, I see it does,” Sinclair said as he lifted the ivory lid. “Beethoven’s Moonlight. Did you know it’s one of my favourites?”

  Beth reached over and closed the lid. “Then, I have three reasons to love it now.”

  Merrick’s eyes blinked within the misshapen head. “Three reasons? Your husband and your father are but two, Duchess.”

  “You are the third, Mr. Merrick. Now, tell me about my husband’s adventure in the garden. When was this?”

  Merrick took a deep breath to compose himself, for her words had touched his heart. “It was my first summer here. August of ‘86. I was still living in the hospital’s attic, and it was unbearably hot. I would often climb down the stairs and stroll through the gardens after nightfall. I did not yet know the layout of the park, and I took a wrong turning. That is when two young scallywags decided to make sport of my appearance.”

  “Oh, no, that is terrible! You must have been awfully frightened, Mr. Merrick. I know I would have been.”

  “It was indeed frightening, but this tale has a bright ending, Your Grace. Your husband, you see, was walking past, and without so much as a thought, he took the youths by the scruffs of their necks and sent both of them packing! Charles and I spent the remainder of the evening talking. In fact, it was outside this very window.”

  Sinclair rose and walked to the window on the left. Beneath it, lay a dormant rose bed and two limestone benches, flanking a brass marker for the benefactor who’d endowed the garden. “You’re right, Joseph. I’d no idea this was the window. You have a remarkable memory.”

  Merrick smiled as much as his deformity allowed, but his eyes were merry. “What is it they say about elephants?”

  Charles sat down again. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d probably fall all over myself apologising, but I do know you. Beth, Joseph has a knack for taking aim at himself, but it’s more from a wry sense of humour than lack of confidence. Shall I tell my wife the trick you played on me last spring?”

  Merrick began to laugh, and the effort made him wheeze even harder, but he slowly regained his composure and breath. “Yes, well, perhaps not. The duchess will think me infantile.”

  “Puerile?” Sinclair suggested.

  “Quite. But that first night helped to forge a long and lovely friendship, did it not, Charles?”

  “It did indeed,” Sinclair said. “Beth, the reason I’d gone walking that night was you.”

  Elizabeth had begun to tire, and she reached for a pillow and placed it behind her back. “Because of me? In ’86? Please, I must know how I precipitated a walk around Whitechapel, Charles, when I’d not seen or heard from you in over two years.”

&n
bsp; “That’s just it. I told you on our wedding day that I never received your letter from four years past, but I didn’t tell you that I’d considered sending one of my own in ‘86. That very night, in fact. Amelia had died two months before, and ordinarily I’d have entered a long period of mourning, but in truth I’d mourned the loss of my marriage and her love long before.”

  She touched his hand, for his face had shadowed with a flitter of sadness.

  “Elizabeth, when you were… When you were missing,” he continued, his voice lowering to a whisper, as even the memory of those dark days tore at him. “During those long nights, I read through your diaries from Paris. Victoria had brought them with her, thinking I might find them useful, and they became my lifeline. Your words kept me company—kept me sane during those lonely hours. In them, you talked about singing at Lord Salisbury’s charity event and how you wished you’d said yes to singing at the Royal Opera, thinking it might make the papers and that I would see it.”

  “Yes, I did write that,” she said, her eyes rounding. “However, I declined. Would you have known about it, if I had sung there?”

  “I found out about it anyway,” he explained. “You see, Salisbury’s charity event made all the papers, and Bob Morehouse showed me your name in the Gazette. I rushed out and bought up every paper in London and read every review. I had them memorised. Beth, I had no right to love you back then. I was still legally married, but when Amelia passed a few weeks later, when I was truly free, it set me to thinking of you once more. That night in August, I’d been struggling with whether to write to you or just go to Paris and knock on every door until I found your aunt’s home. The dilemma nearly drove me to madness, and I decided to walk and pray about it. That walk took me past the London and the discovery of a new friend.”

  Merrick smiled. “Your husband came past here night after night in the following months, and we formed a friendship that has continued to this day. That is why, when I learnt that his wife had been admitted as a patient, I simply had to come down and meet you. I feel as though I know you, Elizabeth. Charles talked about you for hours at times. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you found one another at last! God’s timing may not always conjoin with our own, but it is the best and wisest timing.”