Bernardo DuQuelle smiled. There might have been love in his life, but his smile was still a rather creepy, acquired expression. ‘We know, Florence and I. We were very worried at one point. If, as we suspected, Lord Belzen had called you, then he had access to your thoughts and your heart. But on the top of the Round Tower I saw you choose. No matter how many times you are called, I believe you will make the same choice.’
Once again DuQuelle could see right into Katie’s mind, and now she too could see, that tiny bit, into his. She liked what she saw: love for the daughter he longed to call his own, affection for Princess Alice, respect for James. And for her? She saw friendship, true and sincere.
There was change everywhere – for Alice, for James, and even for Katie. She realized with a start, they were all time travellers. Their journeys were just beginning, as they left childhood for ports unknown.
Katie knew it was time for her to go. She just didn’t know how.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Travellers
The three travelled to Gravesend. The Victoria and Albert had weighed anchor in the Thames Estuary, awaiting her royal passenger. The yacht’s black and gold hull bobbed gently in the river. It was surrounded by tiny pleasure boats, waiting for the colourful standards to go up the masts: the Admiralty flag, the National flag and the Royal standard. The Queen did not accompany Alice. She didn’t wish to be ‘viewed’ by the public. Nor did she want the inconvenience of travelling with a reluctant potential bride.
As a tiny recompense, she let Alice’s American friend travel with her as far as the pier. Bernardo DuQuelle attended them, the senior Palace representative. He had recommended that James O’Reilly come as well, in case the Princess’s nerves needed tending before the departure.
Katie could have told the Queen that Alice was too dignified to be sullen, and she would not succumb to nerves. She was calm, though very quiet, as they made their way down the Royal Terrace Pier. Behind them came the rustle of skirts, and a slight high cry, as the wind across the pier caught the ladies’ crinolines and whipped them above their knees. These were Alice’s new ladies-in-waiting – a rather chilling reminder of her life to come.
One of the ladies hurried forward to Princess Alice. ‘Ma’am, may I suggest you wait in the carriage. You might find the wind too taxing.’
Princess Alice turned; her kind grave eyes had become distant and formal. ‘I thank you, but I do not find the wind taxing. I find it invigorating. I would prefer to stay here, in the freedom of the fresh air. However, I suggest you retire to the carriage. I would not wish any of my ladies to catch a cold.’
The ladies could do little other than follow Alice’s orders. Bernardo DuQuelle bowed his head to her. Princess Alice might not be happy, but she was in charge. She would rise to the occasion. She would be a Princess worthy of Great Britain.
‘You should take note,’ DuQuelle said to Katie. ‘This is an excellent study of how to handle adversity with dignity.’
‘I don’t want to take notes,’ Katie muttered. ‘I want to sit down on the pier and blub. I don’t think I can bear this parting.’
DuQuelle shook his head at her. ‘There are partings and there are partings,’ he said, ‘and I predict a rather splendid reunion for you.’
Katie smiled weakly at Alice and handed her a knobby bundle. ‘You’d left this behind,’ she said. ‘I know you’re too old for it. You’d really already outgrown it when we first met. But, I thought, just as a memento . . .’
Princess Alice turned over the package and it emitted a plaintive ‘Baa’. ‘Woolie Baa Lamb!’ Alice exclaimed. She gave Katie a long, affectionate look. ‘He was my favorite childhood toy. I loved him dearly, and one never really outgrows those childhood loves.’
James was searching for something in his pockets. ‘Katie, you and DuQuelle have always spoken of the force of words. That is all we shall have now. I hope they are as powerful as you say.’ James found what he was looking for, and handed folded letters to both Katie and Alice. ‘I for one believe in them. And I have already begun to write. Here is the first of my correspondence. It is not a letter of goodbye, but I hope a letter of welcome.’
Princess Alice turned pink, but with happiness. ‘I have done the same,’ she admitted. ‘One for Katie, and one for you. Though if Katie leaves us, I don’t know how the rest of my correspondence will reach her. Can the post fly through time?’
Katie watched Alice very carefully. She didn’t know when they would see each other again, and each time she left, she forgot this rich life. She would have given anything not to forget. Katie took her two letters and opened them. Princess Alice’s perfect penmanship and James O’Reilly’s medical scrawl bounced up from the pages. The wind ruffled the letters as she read, and the words began to blend together. Katie could actually hear the voices of Alice and James, alternating back and forth, but never ceasing – not just their words to her, but all their words, particularly to each other.
In those few minutes, she heard the story of a lifetime. Within the letters lay James’s medical research, Alice’s reading on welfare, his theories on disease and her intelligent observations. James became a modern man of medicine and Alice a politically aware woman, with advanced beliefs on society and the poor. Interspersed with these were the mundane trivialities of life: a visit from a relative, a particularly boring lecture, toothache, a new pair of spectacles . . . Through their writing, Katie could actually see the two of them: Princess Alice as a mother, with her own growing family, and James increasingly important in the medical world.
Alice’s voice did not grow old, at least when she wrote to James O’Reilly.
I could clap my hands, indeed I could! Your latest news is so heartening. I always knew you could do it. And the vaccinations you have developed are the final, irrefutable proof. All of Europe talks of your discoveries. The genius of James O’Reilly. I am so proud to be your friend . . .
In James’s voice, Katie could hear warmth and devotion.
Grand Duchess of Hesse, Princess of Great Britain and Ireland. Yet for me you are always Alice, still a girl, the serious and intelligent companion of my childhood. I received your praise with such joy. Sometimes I think I strive so hard and do so much, simply to please you. I cannot recognize or believe in any of my achievements, until I have written of them to my dearest friend. No day of my life has been lived, until I tell you . . .’
Katie understood why James would never marry. Letter after letter, their voices rushed through her ears. And then James’s tone became worried and urgent:
What a troubled time for you, Alice. Diphtheria is a serious illness and you must be very anxious about your children. It is highly contagious. You must not touch them. No matter how they cry for you, show self-restraint. The children need you, not just as a nurse, but as a mother, for many years to come . . .
And then Katie could see Alice as a grown woman, standing at the door of her children’s sickroom, reading James’s letter. But even as Alice read, her son cried out from within. ‘Mama! Mama! I am so frightened . . . Please come to me . . .’ The child held out his arms.
Princess Alice was shaking Katie affectionately by the shoulder. ‘Where have you gone, Katie? You look terrified. It is your amazing link to words. I should have known better than to give you a letter!’ Katie came back, with a jerk, to the Royal Terrace Pier. She watched as Princess Alice turned to James to say goodbye.
Bernardo DuQuelle took Katie’s arm, and led her away. ‘It would be kind to give them some privacy,’ he said. Katie stared up at him.
‘I don’t like what I just read,’ she said, ‘what I saw and what it might lead to.’
DuQuelle sighed. ‘It is your gift. I cannot remove it. Perhaps you see too much. Such a gift can be a curse.’
Katie wondered: had he known this all along – that this is how it might end? Was this the seed of his special affection, his softness towards Princess Alice?
DuQuelle answered, as he so often did, her unspok
en questions. ‘The Princess is worthy of great respect, no matter what lies in her future. I do not pity her, for she does find love, through her children. And she never abandons her early affections. She is true to the end.’ He shook his head, as if clearing sorrowful thoughts. ‘And the future can change, as well as the past. You can change it. And that is quite a gift,’ he added more brightly.
Princess Alice called to them. ‘The longboat has arrived, it will ferry me out to the Royal Yacht.’
The ladies-in-waiting tumbled from the carriage, the longboat bobbed below them as a ramp was steadied against the pier. There was a flurry of cried goodbyes and promises, of anguished parting looks. And then Princess Alice was gone, down the ramp and into the longboat. They watched her progress, and then strained their eyes to find her on board. The wind was high and the sails were raised. As the sun set, the Victoria and Albert was silhouetted against the light, every mast and spar highlighted.
And then they saw her: Princess Alice was learning against the rail, her face caught in the glow of the fading sun. She kissed her hands to them and Katie waved back enthusiastically. James held out his arms, his fingers taut, as if he could clasp Alice’s hands in his, despite the tumbling water between them. The cannon fired a salute and the Victoria and Albert lifted anchor. People cheered from the quay as the sails rose and the yacht moved on. Alice had begun the most significant journey of her life, into her own future.
DuQuelle had been waving his black top hat. As the yacht moved to open sea, he bowed his head in respect. ‘Goodbye, dear Princess,’ he murmured. ‘It is the greatness in you that brings adversity. Be true to yourself. You will find your own voice.’
For Katie, there were no words, just tears. She was unaware of anything, except the loss of her friend. James was as stone. Wisely, DuQuelle left them to their grief.
After some time, the chill wind reminded Katie where she was. The ship was long gone and the sun was setting. Turning from the sea, Katie realized they were not alone on the pier. Other ships were leaving that day, though none as grand as the Royal Yacht. Trying to pull herself together, Katie watched a colourful cluster of people on the pier. From their loud dramatic voices, and bright if tattered clothes, she guessed it was a theatrical troupe. She had never seen such a disorganized lot. Trunks popped open, spilling out sequinned capes and slashed velvet doublets; musical instruments lay in piles. No one seemed to be able to find their travel documents, or their money. Normally they would have been of great interest to Katie, but today she viewed their antics with listless incomprehension.
‘I am really not much of an actor. But I can certainly help them in the role of manager,’ a voice behind Katie said. ‘Have you truly come to say goodbye?’ She spun around. She recognized that voice. And so did Bernardo DuQuelle, who bowed low.
‘I had heard that you left the American delegation,’ DuQuelle said.
John Reillson took Katie’s hand and kissed it.
‘That’s a very un-American move there,’ she said, whisking her hand away.
John Reillson laughed, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement. ‘But I’m a Bohemian now. I’m allowed a certain licence. Truly, I had to leave the Unionists. They had achieved their goal and kept Britain out of the war, yet they continued their own form of rough diplomacy. You saw them. They were bullies. I must say, Katie, I am amazed to see you here.’
Katie started to tell him, but it was too difficult. How could she explain the whole strange story, filled with danger, adventure, grief and friendship? She choked up and DuQuelle had to step in, with a few well-chosen phrases.
John Reillson gave her shoulder an understanding pat. ‘It must be hard, to lose your best friend. But perhaps you will meet again. And there might even be new friends on the horizon. You never know which way the winds will take us.’ The pat on her shoulder turned into a squeeze. She was grateful for the sympathy.
‘But I still don’t get it,’ Katie said, trying to brush her own sadness aside. ‘How did you end up with a theatrical troupe?’
John Reillson laughed again; despite his sad childhood, she’d never met anyone who enjoyed life more. ‘I didn’t have the money to get back to America. So I joined this troupe. I told you all about them at the Christmas Ball. And we saw them together in Hyde Park. It’s spectacular entertainment: Alex Kinch, Harry Cheng, the Countess Fidelia, the Little Angel.’
‘The Little Angel!’ Katie cried. And down the pier she could see her. A lovely girl, the child who brings peace – and, like Katie, the Tempus, one of the chosen.
The rowing boats were bobbing now at the pier’s edge, the sailors within them calling urgently. The tide was high, and all must board or miss their passage. But John Reillson hesitated. As he looked at Katie, he thought he might just stay.
DuQuelle could guess what was happening. ‘Why do you travel from Gravesend? You will not reach America from here,’ he asked.
‘What?’ said John Reillson. ‘Oh yes. So sorry. We travel through Europe, and then to America – or as the Countess Fidelia likes to call it, the New World.’ Still laughing, he struck a pose and recited.
‘O brave new world, that has such people in’t.’
A cry came from the theatre troupe. Harry Cheng’s trunk of magic tricks was missing. John Reillson dashed off, to make himself useful.
Then the Little Angel glided up the pier and put her arm around Katie. They rarely met, yet there was a mysterious bond between them. Together they looked at John Reillson, issuing orders to the company of performers. Perhaps it was the touch of the Little Angel that helped Katie to understand: Jack O’Reilly, Reilly O Jackson, John Reillson – all different people, but also, somehow, the same. Here was another triumvirate, another three who travelled through time. It quite took Katie’s breath away. ‘Will we be travelling together?’ she asked the Little Angel. ‘Am I to go with you?’
The Angel tidied Katie’s flying hair and straightened her bonnet. ‘Not this time,’ she answered. ‘John Reillson and I will sail, but you will stay on land.’
This was to be another loss. Katie peered at the Angel, perplexed. Long ago, when Katie had first encountered her, the Little Angel had been a small child; when they next met, she was a beautiful girl. But something had changed. Katie had grown but the Little Angel had not. ‘It’s my age, isn’t it?’ Katie asked.
The Little Angel nodded. ‘It’s so much easier for a child to understand that words can come to life, to believe what is fantastic and to brave that which is fearful.’
‘So I am to grow up, and be left on my own,’ Katie said. ‘I am no longer part of the Tempus. I will not change time, or history. I will, again, become nothing.’
The Little Angel kissed Katie on the forehead. ‘That is nonsense, and you know it. Nothing! You have fought on the battlefields of the Crimea and put a stop to the Great Experiment. You have saved the life of Queen Victoria – more than once. Unlike the others of the Tempus, you were not instilled with good or evil. You have to choose. It is not as easy to choose good as one might think. Yet each time you have faced the challenge and chosen well.’
Bernardo DuQuelle came to stand with them. ‘You have already changed history,’ he said to Katie, ‘your own history. And it is more important than you might think.’
Still Katie felt she was being abandoned. She shivered, and DuQuelle took off his own dark cloak and wrapped it around her. It smelled of him, of powder and musk and the particular electric scent of time travel. ‘You will never leave the Tempus,’ he assured her, ‘but with age comes new responsibilities, in your own time.’
‘But what can I do?’ Katie practically wailed. ‘My powers are in this time, I am nothing in my own time.’
DuQuelle raised an eyebrow. ‘Really, Katie. Sometimes you see so clearly, and at others you are blind. Your power lies in the words. The very thing I seek in this world – you have it in abundance. The words, or at least your use of them: this is the true gift. Use them carefully and to some purpose. In your ha
nds they are extremely powerful.’
‘Like the rest of us, your journey is just beginning,’ the Little Angel said. ‘And Katie, don’t be afraid of your future. I like what I see.’
‘My future. You know what happens, of course,’ Katie said. The Little Angel smiled at her. Katie looked up, that little bit angry, at DuQuelle. ‘And you always know. Yet you never tell.’
The Countess Fidelia, celebrated in the great capitals of Europe, was calling frantically. The tide was high, the ship was in the river, the signal for sailing at her masthead. The Little Angel must come, and Mr Reillson too. Alex Kinch had already been fished out of the water, and they feared Harry Cheng would be seasick. It was a hive of activity, as they were bundled over the pier into the rowing boats.
Something in Katie broke free. ‘I want to go with you!’ she cried, looking at the beautiful girl, and the young man, retreating from her now.
The Little Angel waved to her, calling, ‘We will meet again, I promise.’
Katie ran along the pier, keeping pace with the little boat. ‘But I’m trapped,’ she shouted, ‘I don’t know how to get back.’
The Little Angel’s sweet voice floated across the water: ‘The way back lies through your own free will.’ The rowing boat climbed a wave, and then tipped down the other side. They were out of sight.
Katie was left on the pier with Bernardo DuQuelle and James O’Reilly. DuQuelle looked at her with that strangely blank face of his. James hadn’t even noticed. He had not been roused by the meeting with John Reillson or the voice of the Little Angel and was quite oblivious to the antics of the theatre troupe. He was still staring out to sea, and only now lowering the arms he’d held out to Princess Alice. ‘I will write,’ he said, yet again. Katie hoped the promise gave him some comfort.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Learning to Fly
The way back lies through your own free will. It had sounded lovely, as the Little Angel called out across the waves. But just what did it mean? Katie was sprawled on the sofa at South Street. She couldn’t exactly live at Windsor Castle once Princess Alice had left, so DuQuelle had brought her to stay with Florence Nightingale. ‘I am adrift,’ she grumbled. ‘Shipwrecked. Up a creek without a paddle. No better than a castaway.’
The Chronicles of the Tempus Page 66
