Peccadillo at the Palace

by Kari Bovee

  Mr. Post was at her side in seconds to take Buck. Annie strode over to Lillie and Bobby and they took turns shooting metal targets with rifles and pistols. To Annie’s dismay, Lillie outshot her, ten targets to seven—something that rarely ever happened.

  “Wonder what the people of England will think of that, Miss Oakley.” Lillie rested her rifle on her shoulder, a smug smile on her face.

  “It’s only practice, Lillie,” Annie said, trying to sound as if her defeat didn’t sink into her pride with the sharpness of a knife.

  “Nice work, everyone,” said Mr. Salisbury. “Annie, better luck next time.”

  Annie forced a smile and strode away from the arena. She remembered Emma’s words when they had first boarded the ship about Lillie’s skills improving. As much as it rankled her, she knew it would be good for the show to have the performers exhibiting healthy competition. She just wished Lillie didn’t act so self-righteous about it.

  She heard her mother’s voice echo in her head. “We are all equals in God’s eyes.” She repeated the mantra, letting it soothe her wounded pride.

  “It was only practice,” she repeated to herself. “Pride is a sin . . . the truly humble people are not affected by praise or criticism because they know who they are.”

  Annie knew who she was, and she knew when she needed to make things right. And she needed to make things right with Becky Brady.

  Annie stepped out of her tent, intending to make her way toward Emma’s in hopes her friend could accompany her to the asylum. She imagined it would be a horrible place to visit, and she didn’t want to go there alone. Asking Hulda or Lillie was completely out of the question. Emma would give her the strength she needed to face the asylum, and the reporter also knew how to pull strings to get in. Annie hoped together they could convince the doctors that Miss Brady might need special care, but that her mother was entirely capable of providing that care.

  As she set her buttoned boot outside her tent and ducked through the tent flap, she almost ran headlong into Gail Tessen. The woman still wore the same tattered red coat, but her unruly hair was fixed neatly into a bun under a fetching maroon hat. She wore what looked like men’s trousers.

  “I am ready to be put to work at the stables,” she said, smiling at Annie for the first time.

  Annie’s heart plummeted to her still aching stomach. “Oh, Miss Tessen, I am so sorry. I haven’t been able to talk to the colonel or Nate Salisbury about your employment yet.”

  Miss Tessen’s face fell. “Oh. I see.”

  Her expression tugged at Annie’s compassion, but she really didn’t have time to deal with this at the moment. She hadn’t wanted anyone else to care for Buck, but the woman seemed quite harmless—and Annie had a million other things to do before the performance.

  “I’ll tell you what. I need someone to clean and oil my tack. I will also talk to Mr. Post about you assisting him as Buck’s groom. I can pay you for today, and then I’ll speak to the colonel. I promise.”

  Miss Tessen’s face brightened. “Thank you, Miss Oakley. I’ll be able to afford my dinner tonight, and maybe find a room to let.”

  “You still have nowhere to stay?” Annie asked.

  Miss Tessen shook her head. “Found some shelter on the street.”

  Annie made up her mind. “You will eat here at the camp tonight and I will see that you have proper lodgings. You can stay with my sister. I’m sure she won’t mind.” Annie smiled, pleased with herself at helping Miss Tessen, and perhaps thwarting Lillie’s tendency to avail herself of Hulda’s tent after a night of drinking. Lillie often complained about the discomfort of her own bed, and more than once, Annie had walked into Hulda’s tent to see her poor sister in a nest of blankets on the floor, and Lillie in her bed snoring loudly. Lillie clearly took advantage of Hulda’s sweet nature, and it irritated Annie—but then, most things about Lillie irritated Annie.

  “Come.” Annie reached for Miss Tessen’s elbow. “I’ll take you to meet Mr. Post and show you where everything is laid out.”

  Annie led Miss Tessen to the stable and showed her Buck’s stall. While Miss Tessen fed Buck one of the apples from a bucket nearby, Annie called out to Mr. Post. She met him several feet from Buck’s stall.

  “What can I do for you, Annie?” Mr. Post took off his hat and wiped his balding head with a handkerchief.

  “That woman over there was on the ship with us. I think she is in a bad way financially. I told her I’d help her find a job at the show while we’re here. Could she help you with Buck?”

  “We usually don’t let strangers around Buck. You sure?”

  “Only if you supervise her. I don’t want to add to your burden, and if you don’t want her, I’ll send her away.”

  “A girl groom? Well, any hand is always welcome. I hope she doesn’t have a problem with cleanup,” said Mr. Post. “I’ll have to clear it with the colonel, but I’m sure he’ll give it the go-ahead.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Post.” Annie gave him a peck on the cheek which always made him chuckle.

  Annie continued familiarizing Miss Tessen with the stables. She showed her where Mr. Post stowed the rakes and pitchforks, the vast collection of brushes, hoof picks, and rags used for grooming, and the tent where the tack was kept. She also showed Miss Tessen her array of saddles, bridles, and saddle blankets and directed her to the waxy soaps for leather and the polish for the silver accoutrements.

  “Mr. Post feeds Buck at around two o’clock in the afternoon, and Buck loves to be brushed while he’s eating. Perhaps Mr. Post will let you groom Buck. You won’t need the halter or lead line. He basks under the attention. As long as you’re grooming him and he’s eating, it would take an earthquake to move him.” For the first time all morning, Annie’s stomach felt calm. She loved talking about Buck as much as he loved food and a good round of brushing.

  “This is fine tack.” Miss Tessen ran her hands over the leather of the saddles and bridles. “Of the highest quality. I have so missed the smell of good leather. Your saddles and bridles will be gleaming by the time you return, and so will your horse. You have my word. Thank you so much for your kindness, Miss Oakley.”

  Annie felt her spirits lift at being able to help someone after all that had transpired in the last few days. Perhaps she would be able to make up for her horrible mistakes. The image of a pudgy baby popped up in her mind, but she dismissed it, resigning herself to think about that possibility later.

  “Before you do anything, you must always clear it with Mr. Post, understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Completely.”

  “I’m off to run an errand. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Annie left Miss Tessen happily seated at a stool, scrubbing her silver-trimmed leather reins, with Mr. Post standing over her, pointing out the spots she missed.

  Annie headed for one of the coaches that Nate Salisbury had rented for the duration of their stay at Earl’s Court. Before she got there, she saw Mr. Patel, his white suit and turban gleaming in the sun, striding toward her.

  “Miss Oakley.” He waved a piece of paper in front of him.

  “Mr. Patel. What brings you here?”

  “I have a message for you from the Prince of Wales. He would like you to come by the royal box tomorrow, on your horse, after your performance. He is a great admirer of horses, and his wife wishes to see you again. You made quite an impression at the party.” He placed the sealed letter in her hand.

  “So Emma told me. I did not mean to offend, Mr. Patel. Sometimes my opinions get me in trouble.”

  “I believe all is forgiven,” Mr. Patel said with his customary bow. Annie smiled, wondering if Mr. Patel had been questioned by the police yet. And if he had, was he on their list of suspects?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Annie clutched at her stomach as the coach lurched forward. She hoped Emma, sitting across from her, hadn’t noticed. She probably hadn’t, as she was busily admiring herself in a small hand mirror.

  “I’m sor
ry the policeman was so condescending. They have mastered the art of that behavior. Trust me, I know. They also paid a visit of admonishment to me.” Emma straightened her skirt, smoothed down the lace at her bodice, and pulled at the hem of her gloves.

  “He’s right, though, Emma. We have no business getting involved in police work.”

  “Well, a conversation with the police isn’t going to stop me. I hope it won’t stop you.” Emma’s eyes were wide with indignation.

  “Of course not. I won’t be able to rest until we find Mr. Bhakta’s killer. I feel responsible for my mistake, and I must make it right.”

  “Oh, Annie, I do admire your spunk,” Emma said, beaming, her eyes shining bright under the pink brim of her enormous hat, trimmed in red and pink roses. Her lips bore a consistent smile that Annie always found endearing, but today, there was no solace in Emma’s rosy smile.

  Annie stared out the coach window as they passed the perfectly straight row of trees lining the drive of Earl’s Court. She found it hard to breathe with the weight of the burden on her chest, and she tried in vain to press down the nausea that made her whole body ache. She hadn’t told Emma about her possible pregnancy, and she wouldn’t. Not until she knew for sure. The less said about it, the better.

  Emma must have sensed Annie’s moodiness and busied herself with notebook and pencil. The sound of the lead scratching across the paper soothed Annie, and she was grateful for the silence. Annie closed her eyes, shutting out the thoughts in her head, and focused on breathing through the nausea.

  The sound of shouting startled her. She opened her eyes.

  “What is going on out there?” Emma said. She had removed her hat and leaned her head out the window.

  Annie looked out her window and saw a hoard of people camped around a large statue, tents, pallets, and blankets spread upon the bricks. Men, women, and children sat in groups around crudely build fires and cook stoves, sweaters and coats wrapped around their bodies. A group of men surrounded two others who were engaged in a fist fight, egging them on.

  “Where are we?” Annie asked.

  “Trafalgar Square.” Emma said. “Driver! Stop!”

  The coach came to a stop and bounced as the driver jumped down from his seat. He came around to the window, his lanky arms and legs swinging as he walked. He perched his long fingers along the edge of the open window. His whiskered cheeks were sunken below protruding cheekbones. Bushy eyebrows framed his large, round eyes.

  “Miss?”

  “What’s going on here?” Emma asked.

  The driver rubbed a finger across his nose. “Bit of civil unrest. Irish, and the poor of London.”

  “What are they doing here?”

  “The English are protesting that they have no work and no money, and the Irish are protesting for the release of one of their blokes who’s in jail.”

  “Who is the man in jail?” Emma jotted something on her pad.

  “A representative in the Irish House of Commons, ma’am. Name of Charles Parnell.”

  Annie and Emma exchanged a glance.

  “Guess he caused a ruckus over a coercion act. Was also accused of being involved in a murder. These folks are demanding his release. Been camped here for weeks. The English don’t like it none, sharing the space and all, so things get a bit fractious at times. There is at least one riot a week. Keeping the police in business, I’d say.”

  “Let me out, please, sir. I need to cover this story.” Emma stashed her pad of paper and pencil in her reticule.

  The driver held up a hand. “I wouldn’t advise it, Miss. They’re a pretty rambunctious bunch.”

  “Emma, you can’t go out there. It’s chaos.” Annie grabbed hold of Emma’s wrist.

  “Annie, these people are protesting Gladstone and the queen. By talking to them, it may shed some light on this proposed attack against Her Majesty.” All traces of Emma’s persistent smile had faded.

  “But this protest could be entirely unrelated.”

  “True. But we won’t know until I find out. Give my best to Miss Brady and Miss Parnell.” Emma pushed through Annie’s hold on her wrist and nearly knocked the driver down as she forced open the door.

  Annie beseeched the driver with wide and indignant eyes to stop Emma, but he simply shrugged his shoulders and walked back toward his perch on the driver’s seat of the coach.

  Annie slammed her back against the velvet seat of the coach in frustration and immediately regretted it as her stomach lurched again. She should know better than to try to convince Emma of anything. The woman was as headstrong and stubborn as—well—as she was!

  Still, Annie worried Emma could get hurt if she asked the wrong person the wrong question. The people in Trafalgar Square obviously weren’t there for a Sunday picnic. They wanted justice, and many of them were hungry and angry. Not a good combination.

  The coach surged forward with a jerk. Looking out the window, Annie winced at the screaming faces, the fistfights, the women clutching their children to their skirts, and the children crying.

  She scanned the crowd and stopped when her gaze rested on a woman dressed in black, wearing a large, black hat, and standing with her hands resting on her cane, watching the mayhem go on around her. There was something vaguely familiar about her. The coach sped past, and the woman vanished behind the crowd of anguished people.

  Annie steadied herself against the rocking of the carriage, her stomach uneasy with the motion. She’d have to visit Miss Brady in the asylum alone. The thought did nothing to ease the ache in her stomach or the oppressive weight of regret that settled deep in her heart.

  By the time they finally reached the massive gates of the Hanwell Pauper and Lunatic Asylum, Annie had convinced herself she could handle whatever might come up in conversation with Miss Brady and Miss Parnell. Still, it hadn’t escaped her thoughts they might refuse to see her. Or that Miss Brady’s condition might be so advanced or so serious there was nothing to be done. Either way, Annie needed to face the situation and make her apologies. She would do whatever she could to help the two women.

  They coach pulled up to the imposing, massive gates below a tall arch, flanked on either side with security buildings as large as a country manse. A stately wall, lined with silver maples, surrounded the immense property, much like a fortress stronghold. The grounds were comprised of several acres of land, complete with several outbuildings surrounding an enormous elegant spired building that Annie took for the main hospital.

  The driver pulled the carriage up to the guard at the entrance under the arch.

  “State your business.” A stout man with a demeanor like an overly protective father approached the window. His bushy mustache covered his mouth and bounced with each word he spoke.

  Annie had been rehearsing what she would say to enter the asylum ever since Emma had jumped out of the coach.

  “I am Annie Oakley—performer for the Wild West Show.”

  “Ah, yes. So you are! You look just like the drawings on the posters.” The guard’s eyes softened and his mustache broadened into a smile. “My wife has been pestering me to buy tickets to your show.”

  “Well, you tell the ticket master you are my personal guest.” Annie pulled a calling card from her reticule. “Just give him this.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am. The missus will be pleased as punch.” He placed the card in his pocket.

  “I am here to bring some cheer to the patients,” Annie said, giving him her brightest show smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. I will alert the office you are on your way.” He pointed to another guard sitting atop a well-muscled chestnut horse, and the latter nodded and rode toward the hospital building at a brisk trot.

  Annie waved at him and leaned back into the cushion of the seat, pleased to have gained entrance. The driver of the coach guided the horses through the gates and down the long, tree-lined drive to the stairs of the main building. He hopped down from the bench seat and helped Annie out.

  A woman clad in a laven
der cotton dress with puffy sleeves and a full-sized white pinafore cinched tightly at her waist waited for Annie at the top of the stairs. A large lace doily-like cap sat atop the woman’s fire-red, neatly upswept hair, and a strip of lace-edged fabric, denoting her status, trailed down her back past her waist.

  Annie straightened her skirt and climbed the dozen steps to the door of the main building.

  “Miss Oakley. Welcome. So kind of you to visit. I am Matron Dixon.” The woman had a pleasing face with soft wrinkles at the corners of her bright, Kelly-green eyes, and around the lines of her smile.

  “I am happy to do it. I have a friend here. Miss Becky Brady.”

  “Ah yes. I believe she is in the garden.”

  “Is her mother here as well?”

  “Yes,” the matron said. “She has hardly left the girl’s side. I worry Miss Parnell hasn’t gotten enough rest. Miss Brady’s illness has been a trial for both of them.”

  “Has her condition improved?”

  Matron Dixon opened the door to the building and gestured for Annie to enter. Annie obeyed and ducked through the doorway into an expansive hallway with gleaming tile floors and windows that soared up to the high arched ceiling, filling the hallway with light.

  “I’m afraid not,” said the matron. “Her condition has worsened.”

  Annie faltered, her stomach again reminding her of its distress.

  “Miss Oakley, are you all right?” Matron Dixon took Annie’s elbow.

  “I’m fine, Matron Dixon. Really.” Annie straightened her spine and again put on her best show smile.

  The matron led her down the spartan, gleaming hallway and out the back doors to a beautiful garden sanctuary filled with trees and dozens of defined allotments separated by neat dirt pathways.

  “It’s like a fairy land here,” Annie said in wonder. Based on some of the stories Emma had told her about asylums, this was not what she had expected. She had steeled herself for people wailing in the hallways or pounding on locked doors. Instead, the patients here were engaged in trimming bushes and picking fruit from the trees or tomatoes from the vines. Several were digging tidy rows for planting.