The Chronicles of the Tempus

by K. A. S. Quinn

  ‘Yes,’ breathed Alice, ‘what did your family do?’

  Florence Nightingale’s soft face suddenly looked very grim. ‘They tried everything to stop me,’ she said. ‘My mother refused to speak to me; my sister had fainting fits. They would not let me study medicine, they would not let me train for nursing, they would not even let me visit hospitals. For ten years I struggled and I sacrificed much.’

  James had come back, with the arrowroot and beef tea. Katie, moving as quietly as she could, stopped him from speaking. This was a story she wanted to hear.

  ‘I have not married,’ Miss Nightingale continued, ‘and I will not do so. I shall never have the children that most women yearn for. My relationship with my own mother is strained. My sister is but a burden.’ These were harsh words, but uttered with no emotion. ‘Within days I leave for Scutari. It is the hospital for the soldiers in the Crimea,’ Miss Nightingale went on. ‘It is a desperate situation for our wounded. No decent provision has been made. There are not sufficient surgeons, no dressers, not even linen to make bandages for the wounded. I travel with the few good nurses that exist on these shores. I can see even greater physical and emotional sacrifice ahead. But this is my destiny, the path I must take – though it is a journey I may not survive.’

  After a long silence, she turned to Alice, got down on her knees, looked into her face. It was an unusual gesture for a woman of her dignity. ‘What do you think of my story?’ she asked. ‘What do you think of my life?’ Katie suddenly noticed that both Florence Nightingale and Princess Alice had almost identical eyes – deep grey eyes, at first glance mild, but resolute in the depths.

  ‘I think,’ Alice said, ‘that I envy you above all women. You have fought for your vocation, and you have won.’

  Florence Nightingale stood up, jubilant, and turned to Bernardo DuQuelle. ‘I knew it!’ she told him. ‘It is exactly as I thought. You must let me make the request.’

  ‘But she is too young, and too important.’ DuQuelle protested. ‘It will put us all in the path of trouble, even danger. I cannot allow it.’

  Katie had no idea what they were talking about. Alice stood up, very straight. It was almost as if she knew what was coming. Florence Nightingale took Alice by the hands. ‘Will you come with me?’ she asked. ‘Will you sacrifice your life of comfort? Will you nurse with me at Scutari?’

  Before Alice could answer, James had flung himself between them. ‘No,’ he stated brusquely, ‘she cannot go. How can you expect a Princess of the royal blood to travel to a country at war? The Queen would never grant permission – and Princess Alice is too young; the idea that she would travel, alone, amid sickness and danger? Her reputation would be destroyed, her health would be broken; she might even die. It is a preposterous idea, far beyond even her sense of duty. You must be insane to suggest it.’

  Katie nodded her head. ‘It kind of is insane,’ she said. ‘I mean, James was freaking out because Alice walked through the park without a chaperone. And you expect her to travel to a war zone? I don’t see how she can go.’

  Bernardo DuQuelle agreed vigorously from the sofa. ‘I thought we’d had the final discussion on this,’ he said to Miss Nightingale. ‘Princess Alice is a girl, still in the schoolroom. It is too dangerous a journey. The Queen would never allow it. And even if the Princess could slip away, it would be too difficult to keep her identity a secret. It would become an international cause célèbre, and destroy all your own good work.’

  Princess Alice looked at her friends, the inspired glow in her face fading as she stood, quiet and pensive.

  Florence Nightingale understood. ‘Everyone has something to say,’ she said to Alice, ‘everyone except you. I am afraid, Princess Alice, if you do not find your own voice, you will never live fully.’

  The painful silence continued. Then Princess Alice suddenly found her voice – a knowledgeable, forceful and frankly angry one. ‘Do you think I know nothing,’ she said in a voice thrilling in its clarity. ‘James talks of my sense of duty. I know my duty. My life will be one of service. I am the daughter of a great Queen, and my position embraces petty burdens as well as privileges. I study the hereditary lines of my family, I can tell you the second cousins twice removed of William the Conqueror. I do needlework – goodness, but I am exhausted by needlework. I am expected to make polite conversation with cardinals and cabinet ministers – with people who have no interest in me, who are only interested in the Queen and in power. I attend the openings of factories and institutions; I accept bouquets of flowers. And though my gifts and talents are limited, they are not that limited. I am more than a dressed-up doll. I am more than the Queen’s unnoticed third child. I am a person who wants to be something more, to help in a very different way. I want to nurse. This opportunity will never come again. I would risk everything rather than lose this one chance. Would you, my dearest friends, really take this from me?’

  Again, the room was silent. Katie had always known that Alice’s looks deceived; that she was made of sterner stuff. But still, Katie was worried. To want something was not the same as doing it. James stood frozen in doubt. He had known Alice since they were young children. She was the only person outside his family who called him Jamie. He’d always liked her and admired her. In fact, he thought she was about as perfect as a girl could be. But to let her take this risk – how could it be done?

  Florence Nightingale looked at them all. She crossed her arms and leaned her chin on one hand. Her foot tapped in frustration at their slowness. ‘Of course it can be done,’ she answered James’s unasked question. ‘It will all depend upon her friends. And Princess Alice has very good friends, does she not?’ Miss Nightingale gave James a long glance, not without feminine charm, and this seemed to thaw James.

  ‘If Princess Alice is to nurse in Scutari, I must go with her,’ he announced. ‘I have medical training and that can only be of benefit to this expedition.’

  A great gloom descended on Katie. Princess Alice was the best friend she had ever had. She’d stuck by Katie, through thick and thin. But she couldn’t possibly go with her to Scutari. Katie had been called to this time to look after Grace and she could not abandon her now. With a pang, Katie realized she was going to be left behind, in a foreign country, in a long ago time, without the people she depended on most.

  The unconquerable Florence Nightingale ploughed on. ‘By coincidence I was in the Palace this morning,’ she said. ‘Did you know my Aunt Mai is a lady-in-waiting? I can tell you are thinking about Grace O’Reilly, Katie. I examined her myself, this very day. She will never be in perfect health, but she is out of danger at present. Katie has other duties besides those of Grace’s companion. She should accompany us. She has talents, many still untapped, which can be of use – and her, well, let’s just say her inside out knowledge of history might be extremely helpful.’

  Bernardo DuQuelle shifted impatiently and sat up. ‘None of this is what we agreed!’ he exclaimed. ‘The pressure you have put on me . . . the Princess, travelling incognito, in danger; and then Katie, you are sending her right into . . .’ A fit of coughing disrupted his tirade.

  Florence Nightingale pounded his back, nodding in satisfaction. ‘It’s settled,’ she concluded. ‘You will all go.’ James began to look excited. He had envied his dashing brother at war, and now he was going to get a first-hand look. Alice glowed with purpose. Only Bernardo DuQuelle groaned from the sofa. Katie’s mouth was open. Miss Nightingale was certainly a tour de force. Just as Katie formed a hundred questions, Florence Nightingale curtsied to Alice and took Katie by the arm. ‘It has been the most enjoyable of visits,’ she said. ‘But a taxing one, I believe, and now Bernardo DuQuelle does need his rest. I thank you so much for calling. I will correspond soon.’

  They were out of the door and on the landing before Katie could blink. In their imaginations, Alice and James were already in the East, sailing towards the Crimea, amongst the soldiers and wounded at the hospital in Scutari, but Katie had other things on her mind.
‘You go on ahead,’ she said to them, ‘I think I’ve left my reticule behind.’ As they walked down the dark stairs, Katie stayed behind, leaning against the door, listening closely.

  She could hear DuQuelle’s coughing, spluttering protests, and Florence Nightingale’s soft brisk replies. ‘To drag a Princess off to war!’ he exclaimed. ‘Her governess Baroness Lehzen might be old and slack, but she’ll certainly notice when Princess Alice is gone for months. And what of the Royal Family when they return from Balmoral?’

  ‘You will think of something, DuQuelle, you always do,’ Miss Nightingale answered.

  DuQuelle gave an exasperated wheeze. ‘This problem is simplicity itself,’ he continued, ‘child’s play in comparison to the other complication.’

  DuQuelle’s voice grew low and grim. Katie had to strain to make it out. ‘It is insane to take Katie with you,’ he said. ‘For her the Crimea only spells danger. You know Lucia’s plans, I’ve discussed them with you often enough. She thinks this war is the Great War, and the three children, the Tempus: Lucia plots for them to meet on the field of battle. The child who brings peace, the child who brings war and peace, and the child who brings the war to end the world – Lucia believes they must battle to the death. Only then will peace be victorious. One of the three, young Felix, is already on the Crimean Peninsula; for all I know, the other might be there as well. Why take the chance?’

  Katie sat down on the landing in shock. She was prepared for the strangeness of Bernardo DuQuelle, but Florence Nightingale? This wasn’t the woman who appeared in her history books. Was Miss Nightingale really taking her to the Crimea, only to sacrifice her to Lucia and her vision of a perfect world? Was she really to fight Felix? He wasn’t just a brat, he was a supernatural brat. She felt quite sick.

  From the other side of the door she could hear Florence Nightingale’s special voice – calm, firm, mild and inspiring – seeping through the aged wood. ‘Do you think Katie is safe in London, DuQuelle? You know what happened on Hampstead Heath. Belzen didn’t come looking for duels, or danger or violence. He was looking for Katie. If it hadn’t been for that falling tree, he would have her now. It is only a matter of time and you are still too weak to protect her. She will be safer with me, in the Crimea.’

  DuQuelle still objected. ‘I should never have summoned her. She is not fit for battle.’

  Katie could hear Florence Nightingale moving through the room, making it homely and tidy. But her words were far from comforting. ‘Things must come to a head,’ she said. ‘Everywhere we turn, the weight of power is tipping dangerously. We need harmony in this society. It is the only way to safely harvest those words you love. And you cannot survive unless you take their communication. This meeting of the Tempus, that Lucia so desires, I am more sanguine of its outcome. Bernardo DuQuelle, I know you see far, but perhaps I see that tiny bit further. I am uniquely placed, a foot in both camps. Have faith. You must trust me,’ she told him, and then raising her voice, repeated, ‘you all must trust me.’

  Katie could barely breathe as she waited for Bernardo DuQuelle’s reply. ‘Trust! It is a word I mistrust – and faith is beyond me. But Florence, you are of me, from me. It is my hope that you are the best of me. I will try to trust you. I have little choice; I can barely rise from this sofa. I am too weak to protect Katie now. I am near to useless. I must place her in your capable hands.’

  ‘There is much you can do,’ Miss Nightingale consoled him. ‘I will leave it to you to explain the absence of Princess Alice.’

  DuQuelle groaned again. ‘Really, Florence, having saved what life I have, you now saddle me with the most monumental of headaches.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Scutari

  It really was happening. They were going. Katie sat on her bunk in the ship’s cabin, and stared down at her dress. ‘I hate these clothes,’ she said. They were horrible: a grey tweed gown, a grey worsted jacket and a grey wool cloak. Her bushy black hair was tucked into a plain white cap. Over her shoulders she wore a holland scarf embroidered in red with the words ‘SCUTARI HOSPITAL’. Florence Nightingale had ordered these uniforms for all the nurses, and they had not been designed to make the wearer attractive. They’d left England so quickly – there had been no time for fittings. Katie’s dress was hitched up in the back, dragged in the front and pinched her waist. It was as uncomfortable as it was unattractive.

  Princess Alice sat down next to her. ‘It is an unhappy result,’ she said to her friend, settling Katie’s cloak around her shoulders. ‘But then perhaps it is for the best. From all I hear Scutari is disorderly, with many drink-shops. The troops are quite dissolute. It is right that we are made as unattractive as possible.’ For further protection, Alice was swathed in a coarse white gown. An agreement had been reached between Florence Nightingale and her dear friend, the Reverend Mother of the Sisters of Mercy in Bermondsey. Alice would travel as one of the nursing Bermondsey nuns, no longer Princess Alice, but Sister Agnes. Katie stared at Alice’s sweet face, encased in a white wimple, her habit flowing behind her.

  ‘It’s funny,’ she said. ‘Your outfit isn’t much better than mine, but it suits you. Sure you look really young to be a nun, but it seems, well, right on you.’ Alice smiled and pressed her friend’s hand. ‘I am so grateful to you and James. This is my dream, my calling, and yet you sacrifice so much to go with me.’

  Katie looked and looked at her friend. Yeah, she was young and vulnerable, but she glowed with purpose. ‘It’s not a sacrifice,’ Katie reassured her. ‘I want to go with you. And everything has turned out OK.’

  James burst through the door and heaved a large leather bag onto Katie’s bunk. ‘I need to leave this in your cabin,’ he said. ‘The Director of the Army Medical Service insisted that supplies are plentiful at the Scutari Hospital, but Miss Nightingale knows this to be untrue.’ While Alice looked even younger in her nun’s habit, James appeared almost grown up in his high leather boots and military cap. ‘Miss Nightingale is on board,’ he added. ‘She has been purchasing supplies throughout the night. The Vectis weighs anchor within the hour.’ They gave each other nervous smiles. Each, in their own way, was out of their depth.

  With a mother like Mimi, Katie was used to independence. How could it be otherwise, when your only parent was either on tour with her pop band, or off with a new boyfriend? But this was a new kind of independence. She’d never been to Europe, or Turkey, or any of these places. To be honest, she didn’t even know what or where the Crimea was. And now she was travelling across unknown seas, in a big creaky, smelly boat. Not only was it a foreign country . . . it was a foreign time.

  James too had much freedom. Katie might be, for all practical purposes, without a father; but he had lived a life without a mother. Each day the image of his mother’s merry eyes and freckles faded from his memory. Each day he was more alone, as boy turned to man. All his life he had taken responsibility for himself and provided for little Riordan as best he could. Now, though, there was a much heavier responsibility: the care of two young ladies – and one of them was a Princess of royal blood. The other, through her actions, could change the future of the world. His shoulders sagged just to think of it.

  Yet it was Princess Alice who faced the most uncertain new world. She had lived such a cosseted life. The schoolroom was just down the hall from the guards’ quarters and the nursery was locked from the outside each night – her father held the key. She had rarely been left alone without a nursemaid, a governess, a music teacher, a dancing instructor, a chaperone, or a lady-in-waiting. In such a large family, there was usually a brother or sister on hand as well. She had shared a room with the Princess Royal until the previous year, and Prince Leopold still slept in the next room. By a wrinkle in time, a quirk, the domino effect of a series of events, she had been able to escape her family. Her dream to become a nurse was at hand. Here she was, on board a ship, heading to the Crimea, dressed as a nun. Would she be able to live up to Miss Nightingale’s expectations?

 
‘The ship is full,’ James continued. ‘The other nurses are on board, along with new recruits to the army. There are even some military tourists, come along to see the battle sites.’ James looked disgusted by these last passengers.

  ‘I’ve heard there’s a theatrical troupe on board,’ Alice added. ‘Can you imagine, sailing out to entertain the regiments? I’d like to see them myself – do you think nuns are allowed to watch actors? There is so much I do not know of the Roman Catholics.’

  Katie watched a large black cockroach scuttle across the cabin’s floor. She’d lived all her life in New York City, and New York was famous for its cockroaches – but this one was enormous. ‘Well, we certainly don’t travel alone,’ she said, ‘though I could do without some of our travelling companions. Cockroaches are just so yuk! How long until we get there?’

  ‘Two days to Malta, and then a third takes us up the River Bosporus to Constantinople. Scutari is on the opposite bank,’ James told them. ‘So just three days; that is, if the weather holds.’

  But the weather did not hold. On the second day the Vectis ran into a storm. The ship had to be lightened and balanced. The crew jettisoned her guns; the steward’s cabin and the galley were washed overboard. Katie and Alice were moved into the bowels of the ship. Katie rolled from side to side on a straw mat as wave after wave washed over the ship, and wave after wave of sea-sickness overtook her. She was prostrate, weak as a baby, moving only to heave herself onto her side and be sick into a bucket. ‘I’m not much of a sailor,’ she mumbled to her friends. James didn’t ridicule her, but set to work making her as comfortable as possible.

  ‘Many people suffer from sea-sickness,’ Alice reassured her friend. ‘I hear Miss Nightingale too is confined to her bed.’ It turned out Alice was a very good sailor. She and James tended Katie daily, and did the rounds of the ship together, caring for others on board. Even through her nausea, Katie noticed what a good team they made.