Miss Nightingale hit her with another reproachful glance. ‘This is afternoon tea, not high tea.’ Alice looked at her with great sympathy, but Katie only shrugged. She’d obviously made some blunder, but the food looked great. Mary Seacole also eyed the trays with pleasure.
‘Call it what you wish,’ she said, ‘but it’s a jolly lot of good things to eat. Makes you think back, Florence. We used to bargain for hours in the Crimea, spend half the day haggling with a young Turk to obtain a goat to cook.’
As Miss Nightingale began to pour the tea, Katie whispered to Dolores. ‘She really did, you know. She’s a very tough negotiator.’
Dolores accepted her cup of tea with the air of a warrior, defeated by a worthy combatant. ‘So you nursed in a war?’ she asked Mary Seacole. ‘Well, my daughter Sonia is a nurse, one of the best.’
‘Our people come to it naturally,’ Mary Seacole replied. ‘We’ve seen so much suffering, it’s opened our hearts.’ She smiled at Dolores and Dolores smiled back.
Florence Nightingale sniffed. ‘Our people,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t see that the two of you have much in common.’
Mary Seacole patted Florence Nightingale’s hand, a move that would terrify most people, and said, ‘Florence, you might perhaps be colour blind, but that’s not the way of the world. Dolores and I have a tie that binds, and that’s the colour of our skin.’
Hearing Mary Seacole talk gave Katie an idea. She thought about Sonny and his story. Maybe she could help after all. ‘Dolores, did you know the American Civil War is going on?’ Katie asked. Dolores dropped her scone. She still couldn’t take it all in. ‘It’s just beginning,’ Katie continued. ‘And Britain is thinking they might side with the Southern States.’
Princess Alice started to protest, but Bernardo DuQuelle passed her a tray of sandwiches, with a warning look.
‘Side with the South,’ Dolores’s tea cup came down with a bang. Florence Nightingale winced. ‘This seems to be a pretty powerful country. If this England here fights with the South, the South just might win. Then we might, I mean, I’d be . . .’
‘That is correct,’ DuQuelle said, calmly stirring his tea. ‘If we ever do manage to get you back to your own time, it is possible you will return a slave.’
‘I’ve seen the Southerners,’ Mary Seacole said, ‘and the way they treat their coloured. It’s not right. It’s not even human.’
Here was reason enough to help Sonny and the abolitionists. Katie turned to her friends, sitting around a tea table, in an elegant house in Mayfair. ‘There are a lot of brains in this room. And a bunch of people who count, who can change things. There has to be something we do.’
Bernardo DuQuelle continued calmly to drink his tea. ‘We are already doing quite a bit. Miss Nightingale sits on an anti-slavery committee. In my position at Court, it is important that I am neutral.’ Again Princess Alice tried to intervene, but he raised a hand. ‘One can be impartial, but still have influence. I make certain that the more horrific facts of slavery are presented correctly to the government and throughout Whitehall. I encourage Prince Albert.’
Katie turned a piece of toast over in her hand. ‘That’s all fine,’ she said. ‘But it’s the people on the street who really count; if they can be convinced of the horrors of slavery – if they make it clear that they don’t want to support the Southern states in America and if they attend meetings and protests and make a lot of noise – then really the government will think more carefully.’
Bernardo DuQuelle looked at her with just a spark of admiration. ‘At last, you begin to develop some kind of a mind,’ he said. ‘Politics are of importance and propaganda is a valid weapon.’
Katie was on a roll. ‘I mean, who would people listen to? They’d listen to Miss Nightingale, she’s a national hero.’
Florence Nightingale almost seemed gratified by the compliment. ‘The public will listen to me on matters of health, on the topics of medicine, nursing and hygiene,’ she replied. ‘Though probably not on the American War. I have no connection to the United States. I’m a voice too far removed.’ Everyone looked down, pondering, and then one by one, turned their eyes to Dolores.
‘Of course,’ James said. ‘It’s so plain to see. There is only one person in this room who would really know and understand the conflict and what the outcome can mean for her future.’
Princess Alice clapped her hands. ‘Dolores, you are the perfect candidate for this,’ she cried. ‘Intelligent and warm-hearted – most able to explain the situation in America and the difference it would make to your people.’
‘I don’t know what you’re all driving at,’ Dolores said. ‘Things here just keep getting weirder. Like Florence says, I wasn’t born until almost a hundred years after that war.’
Katie took her hand. ‘But think, Dolores, of the outcome, should the South win. You’re always telling me to stand up, to believe in something – well, this is the time for you to take a stand.’
Dolores stroked Katie’s hair. ‘That crazy Bernie DuQuelle there is right. You’ve got quite a mind now, baby. This could be even better than Martin Luther King and the March on Washington. Can you believe it? Just think of me, changing the world. I’m gonna stop sitting around here wondering and being frightened. I’m gonna get to work!’
‘Not changing the world, Dolores, just keeping it on course,’ Katie replied. Everyone relaxed, just a little bit, and Katie cut herself a large slice of cake.
‘You can take to the streets,’ Mary Seacole said. ‘Lecture to the public. Moncure Conway does it to great effect, and Clementia Taylor speaks out in her salon. I’ll work with you. I can raise support.’
Florence Nightingale frowned slightly. She might be an innovator, but she was a lady-like one. ‘Do you truly believe that would be appropriate?’ she asked. ‘I have doubts about women speaking in public, much less on the corner of the street.’
It was Princess Alice who answered. ‘Nothing could be more appropriate,’ she said. ‘To speak out for the rights of our fellow human beings is what every man – and woman – should see as a commandment from God.’ This was a truly radical line of thought, particularly coming from a woman, and one of Princess Alice’s rank. James looked at her with admiration and Alice, eyes downcast, became busy with her tea.
‘Well, that’s settled,’ Katie said, breaking an awkward silence. ‘Dolores, do you think you could speak in public?’
Dolores snorted. ‘Honey, I’ve watched that mother of yours prancing around on a stage for years now. I should think I’d have picked up some of her showmanship.’ Everyone laughed, except Katie, who looked extremely uncomfortable. She tried to avoid discussing Mimi; she was far too wild for Victorian sensibilities.
Bernardo DuQuelle seemed amused by Dolores’s new plans. ‘So our rebellious patient has turned abolitionist, well, well, well. You must be pleased, Katie, one imagines you would feel a real closeness, a personal tie, to the abolitionist movement.’
Katie almost fell off her chair. Did DuQuelle know about Sonny? And was he about to expose her? She’d best try to get away from him. ‘Good works certainly improve the appetite. I’ll just check to see if there are more pastries,’ Katie said, ignoring Florence Nightingale’s remonstrations and walking right past the little maid.
Unfortunately, DuQuelle followed her into the hall. ‘We’ve barely had time for a chat since you arrived,’ he said.
‘Well, Dolores was kicking up such a stink, there wasn’t really time,’ she replied vaguely.
‘I meant since you arrived in this time, unbeknownst to me.’ DuQuelle lifted his nose and sniffed the air. ‘Dolores might be making a stink, as you so delicately put it, but there’s a decided odour to you, something you picked up during your journey. It makes me most uneasy.’
It worried Katie too. Why was she there? Who had called her? She tried to shrug it off, questioning DuQuelle in return. ‘Talk about uneasy. You’ve got a way of zinging me one. What’s this about me and the abolitionist movement?
’
Bernardo DuQuelle adjusted his cravat, a brilliant white against his strange chalky skin. ‘To lose your friends in a crowd may be regarded as carelessness,’ he said. ‘To be kidnapped is a decided misfortune. But to tell no one of these adventures – that looks suspicious to me, Katie.’ DuQuelle’s green eyes rested on her, not in anger, but sharply, waiting.
Katie started to reply, to tell him everything, but that new unnerving feeling, dark and strong, flowed through her veins and stopped her. This new feeling wasn’t a gift from the Tempus and had nothing to do with the power of words. She felt both rebellious and afraid.
DuQuelle knew, almost before Katie did, that she would give no answer. ‘I too am familiar with the Unionists, the abolitionists,’ he said. ‘More talk and less violence would do their cause good. Already their impatient behaviour has created problems. They are being blamed for ships on fire and ransacked embassies, though I believe others are responsible. Their aggressive behaviour might push Britain into the arms of the Confederacy. I am trying to guide them, to keep them moving forward along diplomatic lines, but they are impetuous and unreasonable.’
‘All but one,’ Katie thought, remembering Sonny’s calm persuasive voice and the way he’d protected her from the others.
‘All but one,’ DuQuelle continued. ‘One in particular that I can think of. Did any of them catch your eye, Katie?’ She started at this, and he laughed slightly. ‘Just when I thought you were coming along, developing some mental acumen. Really, Katie, sometimes it is like playing cat and dead mouse.’ His eyes glinted greenly. But Katie could tell, it had been a strain for him to read her mind.
Florence Nightingale stood in the doorway. How long had she been there? ‘Our guests are leaving, I expect that means you as well, Katie Berger-Jones-Burg. Such an inappropriate name for a young woman; it is almost with relief that I turn to your alias, Miss Katherine Tappan.’
Katie for one was very glad of the interruption. ‘We’d all better stick with Katherine Tappan from now on,’ she replied. ‘You can still call me Katie, just change the rest. No one wants to trip up.’
‘No,’ DuQuelle echoed, ‘best to stay on our toes. When there’s this much to hide, no one wants to get their story wrong.’
Katie moved away from DuQuelle as fast as she could. Princess Alice looked askance as she stood with James, but Katie avoided them too. Why did she not trust her friends? She hated this new feeling growing inside her.
‘We do need to hurry,’ Katie said. ‘There’s that big party at Windsor Castle tonight. I’m going, that is, Miss Katherine Tappan is going. Dolores, are you coming or staying?’
Dolores came down the stairs with Mary Seacole. One look and Katie could see – Dolores had made a friend.
‘I’m staying,’ Dolores said. ‘Miss Mary Seacole and I have plans to make. We’ll team up, use my knowledge and her celebrity. We’re gonna take this town by storm and, God help me, we’ll free the slaves!’
For Dolores, work was the core of life – and now she had something to do. This was better than any medicine Florence Nightingale could provide. She turned to Mary Seacole and gleefully they began to plot. ‘We can begin with flyers,’ she was saying to Mary Seacole. ‘Pamphlets that explain our cause; we’ll hand them out.’
Florence Nightingale was speaking in a low and quiet voice to Bernardo DuQuelle. James O’Reilly and Princess Alice, heads together, were sorting out the ills of the world. Everyone seemed to have a friend, an ally, a confidante. Everyone had a purpose, a reason for being. Only Katie stood alone – unable to share. That dark pinprick of doubt and bitterness, the low voice that urged her to selfishness. She had tried to suppress it. But now it came sweeping through her, wave after wave of black fury, taking her by surprise.
Chapter Eight
The Ball at Windsor Castle
On 30 November Queen Victoria always held a ball to mark the start of the Christmas festivities. That night, as Katie dressed for the party, she felt weak and jittery. This temporal visitation wasn’t like the other times. Something was very, very wrong. Even DuQuelle didn’t know why she was there. Katie could swear that when she’d looked into the snow globe, Alice and James had called to her. Yet they denied this. Alice and James: there was another problem. She loved Alice and she admired James, yet here she was, jealous and bitter, keeping secrets from her friends.
Katie jumped at a soft rustling sound and swung round to find Princess Alice standing in the doorway.
‘I didn’t mean to spy on you, Katie,’ Alice said. ‘It’s just you seem so sad. I am too. Tomorrow might be 1 December, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. Father is not well and this war . . .’
Guilt quickly replaced Katie’s anger. Here was Alice, the best friend she’d ever had. No one was kinder. Alice was still willing to confide in her. Why was she holding back? After all, it wasn’t Alice’s fault that she was growing up and leaving the simpler friendships of childhood behind.
This new maturity was heightened by the finery Alice wore. Katie couldn’t stop staring at her. ‘Your dress is amazing,’ she said. The sheerest white gauze draped across Alice’s shoulders, intertwined with green vines of ivy. A white lace bodice came to a point at her tiny waist. The gauze skirt fell into three great flounces, looped with clusters of red roses. Alice had gathered the thick, shining waves of her hair into a Grecian knot at the nape of her neck, while a wreath of ivy and roses encircled her head.
Alice fiddled with a rose in her hair. ‘Are you certain?’ she asked. ‘Don’t I look just a tiny bit silly?’
‘You look totally gorgeous,’ Katie replied, ‘kind of like a human snowflake, but a really pretty one.’
This did make Alice laugh, and she came to stand next to her friend. ‘I don’t care for such fussy, flounced clothing, but the Queen was adamant that I dress tonight. The party is a very large one, quite an assortment of guests. The Ambassadors will be here, the Court, of course, but also town mayors, people from the arts and sciences, even some men from the City. Can you imagine – bankers! James will be pleased, a true meeting of the classes. It won’t be a total throng though. There will be some guests I know. I’m told Prince Louis of Hesse has just arrived. I haven’t seen him since I was a tiny child.’
Alice turned in front of the mirror. She wasn’t her usual calm, serious self as she twisted a strand of hair nervously and adjusted her flowers. She’d gone quite pink.
‘You look wonderful in your dress, too,’ Alice commented.
Katie was far from vain, but she had to agree. The rose tint of her Indian silk suited her complexion, and the endless corsetry did wonders for her figure. ‘I do look pretty good,’ she admitted, ‘but I don’t know how I’m going to get through the door in these skirts.’ The crinoline for her evening dress was even wider than her street attire. As they stood together, the two girls’ skirts seemed to fill the room.
‘The crinoline cages, they are ridiculous,’ Alice agreed, ‘but so womanly, so becoming . . . we’ll enjoy them, just this once.’
Katie wondered where the fiery feminist of this afternoon had gone. Princess Alice the reformer seemed now to be lost in a cloud of tulle and lace.
‘This is a rather relaxed occasion,’ Princess Alice added, ‘the gentlemen are not in court uniform or dress. Only formal wear, a simple cut-away dress coat.’ With one final ‘prink’, Alice took Katie by the arm. ‘Your gloves fit nicely,’ she said running her eyes over Katie’s costume. ‘It was difficult to find that size. I’ve provided a second pair in case you spoil these. Please do not take them off during the evening. Now, do you have your fan? Your bouquet?’
‘This is worse than my presentation,’ Katie grumbled, but she had a final peek in the mirror too. She did look rather splendid. For a moment, the two of them were able to shrug off their worries. They were young after all, and they were girls, about to attend a very fancy party. With lighter hearts they made their way down the stairs.
James was waiting for them, shifting unco
mfortably in his evening clothes. His brilliant white, starched shirtfront was in marked contrast to his dark scowling face. James’s father was the Queen’s doctor. Sir Brendan O’Reilly was a vain, handsome man, who owed his position to flattery rather than ability. Ever upwardly mobile, he had recently been ennobled from Doctor O’Reilly to Sir Brendan O’Reilly. He viewed this evening an excellent opportunity to promote his attractive family. He was particularly keen that James’s sister, Grace, should catch the eye of an aristocrat.
The formal clothes, the tight dancing pumps and the pinching kid gloves had wrought havoc with James’s temper. ‘It’s about time,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’ Katie was used to James’s curt way of speaking, but he usually spared Princess Alice. His admiration of Alice seemed to dissolve in the face of the flounced and feathered creature she’d become that night.
‘You don’t care for our dresses?’ Alice asked before she could stop herself.
‘I’d be more interested if you were a dessert. You look like a meringue. And Katie resembles nothing more than a large pink ice lolly. No, I do not care for your dresses.’
Princess Alice seemed to shrink, and then two red circles appeared on her cheeks. Underneath her serious demeanour, Alice hid a quick temper and a sharp tongue.
‘Well, you look like a mannequin in a shop window!’ she snapped back. ‘I’ve never seen anyone less at ease in fine clothes.’ The usually gentle Alice grasped Katie’s arm with a pinch. ‘We must arrive before the Queen does,’ Alice said, ‘some of us do appreciate court protocol. If you’d been born into this type of society, you’d know how to behave.’
‘Ouch, Alice,’ Katie muttered. ‘You’re making a big bruise, right above my long gloves. You must be really cross. I mean, you never pull rank and you’ve just hit James with eight hundred years of class superiority. That’s not like you. James just doesn’t like fuss and parties. But most of all, he doesn’t want to share you. He really wants to sit you down in a corner and talk about sewage.’
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 52
