The Chronicles of the Tempus

by K. A. S. Quinn

  James got down on his hands and knees. ‘Here goes,’ he said and, closing his eyes, hurled himself underneath the sofa. Instead of being catapulted into another time, his head hit the wall with a loud thud. Katie giggled.

  ‘Shhhh,’ Alice warned, but she was smiling too.

  They tapped, they prodded, they even looked under the cushions, but the sofa was revealing no secrets. James was so determined to prove his theory that Katie was afraid he might take the sofa apart, piece by piece. ‘I knew this wouldn’t work,’ she grumbled to herself and looked out of the window down into the Palace’s inner quadrangle. All was quiet, as well it should be. It was past midnight. As her eyes adjusted to the outer darkness, she noted a slight movement – there was someone or something outside in the quadrangle. Katie blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness. A gust of wind rattled the windows and the moon emerged from a bank of clouds. Yes, there it was, a cluster of figures lurking in the shadows. She could just make out their black cloaks, whipped by the wind.

  With a low creak, a door in the north wing opened, and she could see the outline of a man. He stepped across the cobblestones towards the dark figures with a rolling, wheeling walk. Katie could hear nothing and see little, but from what she could see, the group in the courtyard was not getting on very well. After much shaking of heads and gesturing of hands, they seemed to reach an agreement. The man from inside the Palace took a small bulky package from his pocket and handed it to one of the hooded figures. As he hastily retreated within, Katie strained to see his face, but the moon fell back into its bed of clouds. The others melted into the inky night. ‘Are the servants allowed outside at this hour?’ she asked Alice. ‘I just saw a bunch of people in the courtyard.’

  ‘No,’ Alice replied, ‘Papa would be very angry, but we certainly can’t report it.’ They all looked out of the window, but the courtyard was now empty.

  ‘The sofa,’ James prompted, and Katie absently tapped on its wooden frame. There had been something familiar about the man who had come out of the Palace to meet the others – something about his rotund shape, his rolling walk.

  ‘James,’ Katie said, ‘admit defeat. This is a very ordinary sofa.’

  Alice coughed softly. ‘Actually, it is a rather good chinoiserie piece. I believe it came from my uncle’s pavilion in Brighton. Mama and Papa can’t bear the style, but I think it’s pretty.’

  ‘You’d definitely be head girl at my school,’ Katie replied, ‘but whatever style it is, it’s not going to get me home, unless we can physically push it into another time.’

  James gave Katie a dirty look, but had to agree. ‘I don’t think it’s the sofa on its own. It might be another object in the room – some kind of vacuum or channel – a physical manifestation that creates the time movement. We must use logic. Something will have either expelled you from your own time, or pulled you into our time. We need to know what. And we also need to know why. Is this some accidental freak of the universe – or are you here for a reason?’

  ‘Well, you’re finally talking sense,’ Katie said. ‘At least you believe me now. I mean, why would I fake it? What’s in it for me, pretending to be a time traveller? How lame.’

  James stopped in his tracks and whirled around, outsmarted by a girl, and not happy about it. ‘I did not say I believe you,’ he retorted. ‘But I have agreed, as requested by the Princess Alice, to play along with this charade and at least try to find some reasonable answer to a frankly absurd …’

  Alice interrupted before Katie could flare up. ‘I do weary of this bickering. And we’ve been away from Riordan a very long time. I think we should return to the nursery.’

  Coming through the small door back into the schoolroom, they could hear a noise from Alice’s bedroom. Somebody was opening the door.

  ‘It’s Baroness Lehzen,’ Alice whispered. ‘She’ll find little Riordan in my bed – and me – up, at midnight, with a boy!’

  ‘You might miss supper for three nights,’ retorted James, ‘but think if I’m found with you, a Royal Princess. My father will be dismissed for this.’

  ‘And then there’s me,’ Katie muttered. ‘How can you explain me?’

  But it wasn’t Baroness Lehzen. Two hooded figures moved quickly across Alice’s room, their cloaks gliding along the floor. Reaching the bed, they peered down at the indistinct body sleeping below them. ‘All alone,’ Katie heard one say to the other. His accent showed he was not English. Nor was he German, like so many at Court. It was a strange slippery way of speaking. ‘And where are the monarchs, the ministers, the guards and the nurses?’ he asked his comrade. ‘All asleep in their comfortable beds. Leaving the child to us. How easy? It is a crime, yes?’

  He laughed, showing fierce white teeth beneath a dark moustache, and taking the four corners of the blankets, he flipped them easily into a bundle to encase the child and heaved it over his shoulder. As the two men ran from the room, the small figure in the blankets kicked and screamed.

  ‘What a racket for a little girl,’ he hissed, ‘who would think she would put up such a fight?’ But it wasn’t a little girl, it wasn’t Alice. It was Riordan O’Reilly struggling in the blankets. A small frightened toddler, kidnapped by two unknown men.

  ‘The guard room,’ Alice cried. ‘They’ll catch them in the guard room,’ The two men dashed through the schoolroom, in such a hurry they didn’t even see the three, standing frozen behind the door. In a moment they were past the Japanese screen and through the secret passage. ‘How can they know?’ Alice gasped. ‘And father has the other key.’

  ‘Somebody other than Bertie must be busy making copies,’ James replied. ‘Don’t panic, let me think, for just a minute, we must be logical,’ but his voice was shaking. ‘We’ll alert the guards – no – that would put Riordan in even more danger – they would kill him on the spot – I must focus, plan.’ He rushed up the corridor to the nursemaid’s room, and returned with a large pitcher of porter, bread and cheese.

  ‘What are you doing – are you crazy?’ Katie shrieked. ‘They’ve just made off with your brother and you’re going to eat? At this time?’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid,’ James snapped. ‘Some people can think ahead, you know. They’ve got to have a coach nearby. So we’ll need a horse to follow them. I’ll have to placate the stable boy. Alice, we’ll chance the corridors, it will be quicker. Unlock that door.’ James dragged them down the corridor, past the guard room, and through the courtyard to a cluster of outbuildings. ‘Wait here,’ James commanded.

  James ran as fast as he could into the Royal Mews, darting past the stalls where over one hundred horses were kept behind iron gates. He found the stable provided for the senior household. His father’s horses would be there. As he entered the stable lad rose unsteadily. It was a cold windy night and the lad had been hoping to sleep, bedding down in the hay. But here was the doctor’s son and he seemed to be in a blazing hurry. James tried to calm himself. He mustn’t attract undue attention. They couldn’t call the household guard. If the kidnappers knew they were being followed, they’d go into hiding immediately. They’d never be found, and neither would Riordan. The stable lad mustn’t suspect anything.

  ‘My father sends his apologies,’ James said to the half-awake boy. ‘He has an emergency case on the other side of London and must set off immediately. The horse needs to be saddled.’

  ‘I am happy to be of service, Master O’Reilly,’ the stable lad replied. ‘I will send Gallant around in five minutes.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ James interjected. ‘It is cold and you have settled in for the night.’ He handed the stable boy the ale, bread and cheese. ‘Take this, with my father’s compliments.’ James threw the saddle over his father’s horse, and led him out of the stable. The stable lad sat back in the hay with more to eat and drink than he’d had in a fortnight put together. For once, a full stomach would not be a dream.

  James swung Alice into the saddle, and practically threw Katie on behind her. Springing up
himself, he kicked the horse hard.

  ‘Can the horse carry all three of us?’ Alice asked.

  ‘We’re not exactly enormous,’ said James as they galloped out of the Palace gates and on to the road. In the distance they could see a lone carriage, heading through Pimlico and towards the river. ‘That has to be them,’ James shouted. ‘The carriage will be much slower. We’ll be able to catch them.’

  Katie looked back, and didn’t like what she saw. A second rider had galloped out of the Palace gates and was following them. ‘James,’ she yelled, ‘we’ve got company. There’s someone tailing us.’ James gritted his teeth and spurred Gallant on. ‘Friend or foe, there’s nothing we can do about what’s behind us – we’ll have to concentrate on what’s ahead. We can’t let the carriage out of our sight. Once they open those blankets and find Riordan instead of the Princess Alice, they will want to dispose of him as soon as possible.’

  Katie shuddered and felt sick– dispose of Riordan. ‘Dispose’ probably meant, well, ‘kill’. Would they really kill a baby? James seemed to think so. If they were desperate enough to kidnap the young princess, they’d think nothing of stopping the life of the rosy-cheeked toddler in the bundle of blankets. Who could do a thing like that? She remembered the whispered conversation between Prince Albert and Bernardo DuQuelle, what had DuQuelle said? ‘… a rabid strain of anti-monarchist … targeting the Royal Family…’ A new and dreadful thought occurred to Katie. What if they ‘disposed’ of Riordan in the carriage? Before they could reach him? She shook her head and held on to Alice more tightly. ‘Get a grip,’ she told herself.

  The carriage rolled rapidly on and Gallant followed apace, past a changing London. Though it was well after midnight, the grand white-columned residences of the aristocracy were only now going to bed. Through their windows Katie could see imposing footmen in satin breeches and powdered wigs, extinguishing the candles in twinkling chandeliers. The stuccoed mini palaces gave way to row upon row of newly built red-brick houses. These householders had been long in bed. They needed to be up at dawn to earn the money for houses such as these. The brick houses were in turn replaced by the squalid dwellings of factory hands and agricultural workers. Katie pulled her jumper up to cover her nose and mouth. The smell from these hovels was terrible. She could hear drunken shouts, and the occasional cry of a bawling baby soothed with snatches of lullaby by its weary mother. Passing through the market gardens that provided London with its fruit and vegetables, they finally reached the open countryside – the lone rider still behind them, the carriage still in front. At a fierce rolling river, the carriage slowed, and stopped atop a humped bridge.

  ‘That’s it,’ whispered James, ‘they know.’ The door to the carriage opened and a man climbed out to speak to the driver. It did not look like a pleasant conversation. This was confirmed when the driver hit the cloaked man, hard, across the face. James sprang from Gallant and pulled Katie after him. ‘Alice,’ he ordered, ‘lead the horse into that stand of trees.’ Taking Katie by the hand, he ran dodging through the shadows to the foot of the bridge. Above them the carriage swayed, the horses agitated by the men’s argument. The carriage door opened again, James and Katie could hear Riordan crying.

  ‘Thank you,’ Katie said to no one in particular, ‘he’s still alive.’

  One of the men suddenly descended from the carriage with Riordan still struggling in the bundle of blankets. He leaned over the stone bridge and swinging the bundle over his head, threw it into the rushing waters below.

  James shouted, and Katie found herself running, faster than she ever had before, far outpacing James, heading downstream. The bundle stayed afloat for a few moments, and then caught by an undercurrent, began to sink. Scrambling on to a rock, Katie dived into the icy water, landing within inches of Riordan. She gasped with shock at the cold, and kicking her legs hard against the current, grasped the bundle in her arms and wrenched it above her head. With a splash James was in the river too, but its torrential speed kept pushing him back to the shore.

  The water was ice-cold and deep and she hadn’t counted on the weight of the wet woollen blankets or the strength of the currents. She began to go under. ‘It’s not just you who needs to survive this,’ Katie said to herself. ‘Think of the little boy in your arms.’ Her legs were going numb in the freezing water, but with supreme effort she fought to stay afloat.

  ‘James!’ she yelled, and with one last burst of energy she heaved the weighty bundle on to the river bank, and sank down under the rushing water, the mud and ice and swirling currents. ‘This is it,’ she thought, still and leaden, too exhausted to care about death.

  But then through the freezing waters Katie could just make out a long dark figure swimming towards her. Katie couldn’t move, but the figure flitted effortlessly forward, his hair streaming behind. She felt a sharp jerk, as he caught her under her arms. Was it James? How could he have got there with such ease? James hadn’t looked that strong a swimmer. Holding her against his side, he swam strongly against the current and rolled her on to the river bank. James had arrived just in time. She was alive.

  As Katie coughed and choked, muddy water came out of her nose and mouth. She sat up, and saw James, just lifting Riordan out of the sodden blankets. Riordan was not crying. This was a bad sign. James bent Riordan over his knee and slapped him on the back. Riordan gasped slightly, coughed up some water, and then lay still again. Why wasn’t he breathing? He just couldn’t be dead. Katie thought back to her swimming lessons – years and years of swimming lessons. Why hadn’t she paid more attention during life-saving demonstrations?

  ‘Remember, you idiot,’ she said to herself, ‘just get it right.’ Katie crawled over to James and took Riordan in her arms. Laying him on the ground, she pinched his nose with her fingers and breathed into his mouth. ‘Little lungs,’ she remembered, ‘little lungs need little breaths.’ She counted to three and gently puffed into Riordan’s mouth again. Riordan’s chest rose and fell. ‘One, two, three,’ she counted, and breathed into his baby mouth yet again. Riordan coughed up more water, and this time his chest rose and fell on its own, followed by a very loud, very angry cry.

  Alice had just struggled up the river bank.

  ‘Thank God,’ she cried, running to the wet and shivering group before her.

  James turned to Katie. ‘You saved his life,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you saved mine,’ Katie replied.

  James looked confused: ‘I would have, tried to, but the current was too fast. I couldn’t get to you. I was able to catch hold of Riordan, but I thought you were lost.’

  Katie remembered the dark figure in the water, the effort-less swimmer with the waving hair. Someone had been there, someone had saved her, but it wasn’t James O’Reilly. Whoever it was had no wish to be thanked. They had melted away into the night. Katie scanned the river. The carriage, having disposed of its unwanted cargo, had sped off. In the distance they could hear the gallop of a single horse, its hoofs sharp against the frozen roads.

  ‘The lone rider,’ Katie said. ‘The one behind us. We’d forgotten.’

  ‘We’ll probably never know,’ James replied, ‘but at least we’re still alive, all of us.’ As if to underline this point, Riordan renewed his crying.

  Alice looked at the three wet and shivering figures before her. ‘Having saved Riordan from goodness knows what, we’re about to lose him to pneumonia.’ Picking Riordan up, she balanced him on her shoulder and taking Katie by the hand, marched them behind a large mulberry bush, where she began to undress quickly. ‘Please get Riordan out of those freezing things,’ she commanded.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Katie asked.

  ‘Sometimes I do think you are slow, Katie.’ Anxiety had made Alice a bit snippy. ‘You are all in sopping wet clothes in the middle of the night. I am wearing dozens of warm comfortable things. Do you really think I wouldn’t share at a time like this?’ Katie stared at Alice as she stripped away item after item of silk, linen, merino and flannel.
She couldn’t believe this amount of clothing would fit on to such a small person.

  ‘How many petticoats are you wearing?’

  ‘Only five – the Queen does not believe young girls should follow the height of fashion. Though I love the way the new flounced skirts look – some of them have a dozen petticoats underneath. They say the fashionable women in London can barely get through doorways now, their skirts are so wide.’ Alice had the comforting gift of discussing the mundane in moments of crisis.

  ‘I’m surprised a fashionable woman can even stand up,’ Katie said, as layer after layer of heavily padded petticoat came off. She thought of Mimi in her signature concert outfit: a Lycra catsuit with a cut-out in the middle to show off her pierced belly button. Alice pulled her gloves over Riordan’s feet to keep them warm and her chemise was long enough on the baby to act as a robe. Katie was given an under-bodice and three petticoats.

  ‘Do what you think best with them,’ Alice said, ‘only do cover up, both for the cold and for modesty’s sake.’ She then threw her flannel drawers and her short fur-trimmed jacket out to James. An explosion of boyish protest came from the other side of the mulberry bush. Alice wrapped Riordan in her thick cashmere shawl. ‘Jamie will come round,’ she said. ‘It’s too cold to protest for long.’

  The trip back to Buckingham Palace seemed to take for ever. Katie rode astride Gallant with Riordan in her arms. James led the horse by the reins and Alice walked beside them.