The Chronicles of the Tempus

by K. A. S. Quinn

  James’s angry face became quite still. He knew what the glove meant. James stared at the glove for a long moment, then bent to pick it up. ‘If it is a duel you wish, so be it,’ was all he said.

  ‘You will be hearing from my second,’ replied Lord Twisted. He did not bow. Turning heel, he marched down the gravel path. Felix followed him, practically dancing a jig.

  It had been such a lovely summer’s day. The roses splashed with red and pink, the flower beds heady with colour and scent. And even now, the bees went along their lively way, while the birds sang in the blue sky. But the little group beside the rose garden seemed wintry and dull.

  DuQuelle picked a crimson rose. ‘Well, I didn’t see that coming’ he said. ‘You will have to fight him, you know.’ James nodded, while Grace and Alice shook their heads in dissent.

  DuQuelle looked at Grace, ‘It is a pity, that beauty of yours,’ he mused. ‘It will bring you no joy. But now is not the time to foretell the future. You are still far from well. I suggest you return to your room. And do not fret. We will all try to think of some way to help your brother.’

  ‘Help him with what?’ Katie asked.

  DuQuelle sighed. ‘What a waste of a gift,’ he said. ‘You’d best go lie down too. I hadn’t realized that things had gone this far. Try to remember, forgetful Katie, how much Felix hates being called a baby. It might just help you at some future date. Now to bed. We will talk later.’

  Alice rallied at this. ‘Yes, we’d best go inside. Grace is exhausted, Katie is absolutely green, and James, I don’t know what to say . . .’ Her voice cracked slightly and trailed off at the thought of James fighting a duel with Lord Twisted. They had often teased Alice about her blind faith in bed rest, but today they were grateful.

  Taking Grace by one arm, and Katie by the other, Alice supported them down the garden path. James followed, absorbed in what he had done, and what was to come. Only DuQuelle stayed behind. Turning the rose in his hands, he pricked his finger. Katie, looking back, noticed that he did not bleed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Duel

  They’d tried all week to dissuade James. Katie and Alice had argued with him and Grace’s newly gained health was fading. But even this would not change James’s mind. Lord Twisted had insulted his sister and then challenged him to a duel. He had accepted, and that was final. James had his reasons: anger at his father for his fawning behaviour at court and frustration that he lived in a world where a title was more important than true ability. But these reasons were too personal to share with the girls, so he gave them a more mundane explanation.

  ‘If I refused to fight Lord Twisted, he would spread the word throughout the court. It would destroy my father’s reputation. Grace would be ostracized by society and my own medical career would be over before it’s even begun.’

  ‘And if you accept the challenge, Lord Twisted will probably kill you,’ Katie countered, ‘so not just your career, but your life will be over.’

  James glared at Katie. ‘If you knew anything –’

  ‘I know about staying alive.’

  Alice sighed; they were going to have a fight, and then James wouldn’t be able to back down. ‘James, listen to me,’ she said quietly. ‘The Palace disapproves strongly of duelling. The Queen would be most disappointed if she heard of this. Even if you survived the duel, it would be a black mark against you forever. I know you well, James O’Reilly. You could not maim or kill another man on such a point of honour. It would be against your personal code of ethics. Can’t you put your pride aside? Won’t you reconsider?’ She looked up at him, her steady grey eyes filled with affection and worry.

  He had to look away. ‘I’ll think about it,’ was all he would say.

  Alice might have persuaded James, but events were against them. The Royal Court was on the move. It was high summer, and they were all leaving for the Isle of Wight, Alice included. The Queen liked a seaside holiday along with the rest of her nation. Her opinion of cold water was identical to her views on fresh air: one couldn’t get enough of them. Each day on the Isle of Wight the Queen would descend to her private beach by Osborne House and climb the wooden steps into her personal bathing machine, a kind of beach hut on wheels. The whole contraption was then pushed into the water by her servants. Exiting a back door, the Queen would splash in the shallows, hidden from view. ‘Most refreshing,’ was her annual summer observation. Princess Alice, descending from another bathing machine, would cling to a rope attached to the back and shiver, her long, heavy serge bathing costume sagging in the icy waters.

  After that the Royal Family would continue on to Balmoral, their Highland home. The Queen loved Scotland even more than she loved sea-bathing. There would be deer-stalking, and reels, torchlight processions and picnics amongst the heather. Scotland in October was hardly a tropical climate and Alice knew she’d spend much of the time sitting outside on a tartan blanket, eating cold venison and half-cooked potato. There would, of course, be more shivering – and she was never offered a nip of Scottish whisky. But go she must.

  On her final day at Buckingham Palace, Alice visited Grace, who had taken to the sofa in her sitting room, wan with worry. ‘It seems so wrong to leave you,’ Alice said. ‘You are ill, and James is in grave danger. No one really cares if I am at the Isle of Wight. I simply take up room at Osborne House. As for Balmoral – my mother is much more interested in her sweet little lapdogs and her quaint Scottish servants than she is in me.’

  Katie had never heard Alice complain like this. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked. ‘I’ve just brewed a cup for Grace. Doesn’t that fix everything? A nice cup of tea?’

  ‘I can’t laugh,’ Alice said. ‘It is beyond me at the moment.’

  ‘You don’t have to laugh,’ Katie responded. ‘No one really feels like laughing. But do try to leave us with a smile. I’m here and I really will try to blunder through somehow. I won’t let James die, no matter how cranky and disagreeable he is about it. I can be a stubborn brat when I want to. And Grace is one tough cookie, despite lying down all the time.’

  Alice did laugh and Grace tried to smile. ‘What is a tough cookie?’ Alice asked. ‘It sounds like a term from the theatre.’ Katie poured Alice her nice cup of tea. ‘Couldn’t we somehow postpone the duel?’ Alice said, sipping her tea. ‘Make some excuse, about location, or weapons, or his second – the person who assists him . . . or perhaps there could be a problem setting the date or time?’

  DuQuelle stood in the doorway of Grace’s sitting room. ‘The location will be Hampstead Heath. The date is next Thursday, and the time is pre-dawn, by the light of the full moon. The gentlemen have chosen pistols as their weapons, with rapiers in reserve; and the seconds . . . well, I am Lord Twisted’s second.’

  Alice sprang to her feet. ‘You! You are Lord Twisted’s second! How could you? To betray us in such a way?’

  Katie looked at DuQuelle. ‘The gentlemen have chosen pistols,’ she mimicked. ‘James is not a gentleman; he’s a boy – a really nice, smart boy who’s way out of his depth. He could no more shoot and kill Lord Twisted than he could eat his own head. Why are you doing this, DuQuelle? I know you’re a strange guy, but I’d started to believe you really weren’t that bad.’

  Bernardo DuQuelle surveyed the trio. Grace was so still, her tea sat untouched on the small wooden table. Princess Alice was tight with anger. Katie, he could tell, understood him better than the others.

  ‘You are very quick to doubt my motives,’ he said. ‘Better the devil you know . . . and Katie, James had some trouble choosing a second for the duel. He didn’t wish to implicate others in this possible scandal. So I have nominated you. Good day.’ And with a bow he was gone.

  ‘DuQuelle acting for Lord Twisted, and a girl as a second? It simply cannot happen.’ Princess Alice was now shocked as well as worried.

  Grace leaned back and closed her eyes. Things seemed to be getting worse.

  ‘It’s happened before,’ Grace told them. ‘But the women
were not seconds. They were the duellists themselves. About ten years ago, two ladies, at dawn, in Hyde Park fought with both pistols and rapiers. The challenger managed to draw blood. My father tended the wound. It was a great scandal at court. Neither was ever received again. Oh how I wish . . .’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to go,’ Katie interrupted. ‘I’ll dress up like a man, and try and dissuade James until the end. As DuQuelle said, better the devil you know. DuQuelle has no morals, no passions, no sentiment – but I really do think he’s acting for some secret, kind of good reason.’

  They practically had to push Alice out of the door to leave for the Isle of Wight. Grace was put to bed, and Katie continued to tackle James. But every time she opened her mouth, he became more determined to fight. He was impossible: furious with Lord Twisted, and embarrassed at being lumbered with Katie as a second. He barked at her, insulted her, sulked and ignored her. She took it all with surprisingly good grace. She knew that underneath the bravado, he was very, very frightened.

  When she failed with James, she turned to Bernardo DuQuelle. ‘It is beyond me,’ she said, ‘but if you’re going to hang around with Lord Twisted, please do something. Make him take back the challenge. James is so young. He doesn’t know anything about pistols or rapiers. It was a cowardly challenge from Lord Twisted. He knows James can’t win.’

  ‘No, James cannot win,’ DuQuelle agreed. ‘Lord Twisted might be a knave, but when it comes to duels, he is not a coward. He is an excellent mark, and a first-rate swordsman. It is rumoured he has killed several times in duels, and wounded dozens more – though it is also rumoured that he cheats.’ None of this was of any comfort to Katie.

  The days ticked by and each one moved them closer to the duel. James would not listen to reason. He simply turned aside, ignoring all arguments. She noticed he spent much of his time at target practice and cleaning his pistols. She suspected he was sneaking off to church. Grace fretted and her appetite disappeared. Her weight plummeted when she realized the duel would, after all, take place. DuQuelle was strangely cheery and, on the whole, unsympathetic. Katie was getting nowhere – and if she failed to persuade him, well, James might just die.

  Wednesday arrived, a hot, blustery day. As night came on, the wind picked up: the Palace windows rattled in their frames, making the curtains billow. Katie prepared for the assignation in the dead of night. Passing Grace’s room, she found her standing beside her wardrobe, trying to get dressed. ‘Do you want to die as well?’ Katie exclaimed. ‘You can’t possibly come.’

  ‘I cannot let James kill himself over my precious reputation,’ Grace gasped, flinging a dress over her head. ‘You have been a tremendous help to me, and I am grateful. But I am several years your senior. I know what I am doing.’

  Katie looked at Grace. Her hair was tangled in the collar of her dress and she was struggling to get it on. ‘What would Alice do?’ Katie wondered. ‘She has such tact. She’d know how to talk to Grace.’ Katie gently detached Grace’s hair from the dress, and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘It must be hard for you,’ Katie said. ‘Both Jack and James are in danger. But if you come tonight, will you really make it any better? Little Riordan needs you here. And you know James. He’s going to fight this duel. You can’t change his mind. If you are there, he will be even more worried, and distracted. Really, do you think it’s a good idea to see Lord Twisted again? If I had a choice, I’d skip that one.’

  Reluctantly Grace went back to bed. After weeks of decreasing her laudanum, Katie gave her a double dose. She didn’t want Grace rising in the middle of the night to follow them.

  At least dressing was less of a fuss than normal. Katie had got used to most of her new clothes – the chemise, the long drawers, the endless petticoats; everything except the corset. The corset was unbearable; she couldn’t eat properly, couldn’t run, or bend; she could barely walk without getting a horrible stitch in her side. And despite the agony of the corset, her waist, by Victorian standards, was still huge.

  So it was with relief that she put on a flannel vest and shorts, a white shirt, cravat and long trousers. She did struggle with the wing collar of her stiff white shirt and made a mess of knotting her cravat, but she actually quite liked the trousers with the braid down the side. The men’s black kid boots were comfortable, and a perfect fit on her big feet. Katie bundled her bushy black hair on top of her head, and shoved a black silk top hat over it. She could imagine Mimi wearing the long black coat she put over everything; but with a sequined body stocking and fishnets of course. Looking in the mirror, she found herself quite dashing. ‘Next time I come back, it’s going to be as a boy,’ she said. She always talked to herself when she was nervous, and the impending duel had her on edge.

  It was easier to get out of the Palace than she had imagined. As the Royal Family was away, the Palace was functioning with a skeleton staff. There were no soldiers in the guard rooms; the nurseries were not under lock and key. At one time she had hidden all over the Palace – there’d been a lacquered Chinese chest and a large picnic basket and she’d tucked herself into corners and thrown herself under beds. But now Katie simply made her way downstairs, through the upper servants’ passage, and out of a back door into the bright moonlight. James was waiting outside for her. His face had been quite pale, but flushed with anger and embarrassment when he saw her.

  He held tight to his case of pistols, but thrust a bulky leather bag into her hands.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘You look ridiculous,’ he replied.

  ‘I didn’t ask how I look. I asked what’s in the bag.’

  ‘It’s my medical kit,’ James said. ‘If anything happens, please try to use it wisely.’

  Katie remembered the pamphlet under her bed at home in New York. Tourniquets and Their Uses. Was she really going to use a tourniquet now, tonight? Silently they trudged out of the Palace courtyard, through the wide, cobbled entrance and the broad stone gates, their long black overcoats flapping in the wind.

  ‘Aren’t you going to get your horse?’ Katie asked, clutching her top hat against the weather.

  James snorted. ‘I’m not going to ride all the way to Hampstead with you gasping and jabbering behind me. We’ll take a hansom cab.’

  Katie thought it seemed strange, even prosaic, to take a taxi to a duel. But it also seemed very James. He was scared, and he was trying to make it all as normal as possible.

  ‘I love cabs,’ she told James. ‘We have yellow ones in New York; millions of them in the streets, motorized ones.’ Usually James would have jumped at the chance to discuss twenty-first-century engineering but now he was silent. Katie continued. ‘The taxi drivers are from all over the world. They never know where anything is, ever, but if you . . . ’

  ‘You are babbling.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, please try to stop. I need to find a cab.’

  They found one halfway down the Mall. Not a hansom cab, but a big, lumbering, four-wheeled growler. The driver balked at the destination, so far from the centre of London, but James agreed to pay double, with a 10s deposit. They bumped along, due north, towards Hampstead Heath. The silence inside the cab was thick and deadening; the weather outside angry and insistent. James stared out of the window, trying to memorize the gaslights in the streets, the straggling pedestrians bent double by the wind, the stars in the sky and the moon.

  Finally Katie couldn’t take it any longer. ‘You can’t win,’ she cried. ‘You’re going to get shot, maybe even killed. This must be some really stupid boy thing. Do you want to die?’

  James didn’t shout or sulk. He was silent for a moment and then turned to her.

  ‘I never really know if you are real,’ he said. ‘You come through time, or so you say, and then you’re gone. I can only question the phenomenon that brings you to us. But I do know you are a friend, a true friend.’

  Katie looked at James. He’d never spoken so openly or honestly to her. He seemed much
older tonight, but still far too young to take part in a duel against a notorious rake. He meant a great deal to her and, she knew, even more to Princess Alice. And then there was Grace, unable to protect the brother she loved so much . . . and little Riordan, already without a mother. Katie had to make sure James did not die.

  ‘You are my friend, James,’ she said, ‘If I had a brother, I’d want him to be just like you. And I’d want him to live a long, healthy, happy kind of life. You’re, like, the least romantic person I know, James, and you don’t believe in this overwrought kind of thing. I mean, a duel! Jesus. Please, can’t we just stop this now?’ James shook his head.

  ‘I’ve seen the way Lord Twisted looks at my sister. It’s not healthy and it’s not right. I have spoken to my father about it, and he will not act. Indeed, for some vain and worldly reason, he seems to desire the connection. Someone must protect Grace. Jack has gone off to war and Riordan is still so little. It has to be me.’

  She leaned forward and took James’s hand. For once he didn’t recoil. ‘I’ve been reading up on duels,’ she said. ‘A second can take the place of a participant if the participant is incapacitated. Couldn’t I take your place? I mean, who knows if I can even be killed, because I’m not in my own time, and . . .’ The intimacy between them was shattered.

  James flung himself to the opposite side of the cab. ‘Do you think for one moment I would let a girl stand in for me? That I would place you at risk, gamble on your immortality? Do you think that I am a coward? That I would hide behind a girl’s skirts?’

  Katie held her nerve. ‘I don’t see us as boy and girl,’ she told him. ‘At least I try not to. I see us as friends, really good friends. And I see us, as, like, equal. I mean, I’m not even wearing a skirt. I’m offering to do what one best friend would do for another. You’ve risked your life for me. You have done that before. And just because of the way you view girls, you won’t let me do the same for you.’