The Lost Empress (10 page)

Chapter Ten

Ancient Rochester was located on the River Medway near Chatham, approximately thirty miles southeast of London. It boasted a twelfth-century cathedral and a medieval castle, which, during the period of the Angevin kings, was one of Southeast England’s most strategic fortresses, guarding the junction of the River Medway with the Roman road that ran between London and the port of Dover.

Alice gazed up at the castle’s imposing Norman keep as she and the children walked through the castle grounds towards it. Upon their arrival in Rochester, the children’s hunger for the promised ice cream had been satisfied with a penny lick apiece, which had kept them amused while Alice bought the simple items of clothing she had wanted, along with the straw boater hat she was now wearing to keep the sun out of her eyes. Before leaving the High Street, the children had spent the money their grandfather had given them on two more ice creams, which they were now busily licking from their glass dishes as they walked.

‘Eat them slowly, or you’ll be sick,’ Alice warned, getting no answer.

Slatted benches lined either side of the wide walkway, where tidy lawns gave way to trees that were heavy with pink blossoms. Alice stopped beside a vacant bench and sat opposite an elderly man who was feeding crumbs to the pigeons from a brown paper bag.

‘I’ve finished mine,’ Chester said, offering out an empty dish that was so clean it looked as if it had never been used.

Charlotte held hers out. It was still half full.

‘Don’t you want any more?’

Charlotte shook her head, rocking her shoulders as she did so, and Chester took it from her. He finished it off with a grin that was exaggerated by the lines of melted ice cream the dish had left on
his cheeks.

Alice wiped the ice cream off with her thumb and set the dishes down on the bench beside her. ‘We mustn’t forget to return them on our way back through the High Street,’ she said, and then she sat back and watched Chester and Charlotte play with the pigeons. She laughed to herself when she saw Charlotte repeatedly trying to touch one, only for it to hop out of reach every time.

The castle grounds were busy with people enjoying their afternoon recreation. Two ladies in long white gowns and wide-rimmed hats nodded to her as they passed, and there were several other small children here and there with their families or their nannies. The couples she could see made her think of Henry and how much she longed to walk hand in hand with him again. She hoped that time would be soon. On the bench to her left sat a man reading a newspaper. It was a copy of the
Daily Mail
, which her father had often cited as being overtly warmongering. The headline certainly offered nothing to contradict his opinion. It immediately caught Alice’s attention.

‘KAISER PLANS TO CRUSH BRITISH EMPIRE!’

It was certainly sensational, and Alice supposed it had achieved its goal in helping to sell more newspapers. But warmongering? Given what the Dutchman had wanted her to do at the dockyard recently, she thought there might be more truth to it than she cared to admit. She read the words again and wondered what else Raskin would ask of her before this ordeal was over. Surely he hadn’t gone to such lengths merely to have her gather information about submarines. She imagined just about anyone could be recruited to do that, and someone with a much greater degree of skill and courage than she possessed. No, she had already decided that Raskin must have other plans for her—something perhaps only she could achieve as an admiral’s daughter, or more specifically as the daughter of Admiral Lord Charles Metcalfe. But what?

‘Would you care to read it? I’m almost finished.’

The voice startled Alice. She had become lost in her thoughts, all the while staring at that headline as if it were her own newspaper.

‘I’m sorry. You must think me terribly rude.’

The man offered a smile. ‘Not at all. Here.’ He folded the newspaper flat and handed it to her.

‘No, it’s quite all right, really. I was just daydreaming.’

The man got up. ‘Well, a very good afternoon to you.’

Alice watched him go, and she laughed to herself, thinking he must have thought her quite the fool. She turned back to the children and saw Chester on his hands and knees. He was scrutinising something at the edge of the grass that she supposed, from Chester’s predilection for such things, was an insect of some sort. When she turned to her daughter, expecting to see her among the pigeons as before, her face dropped. Charlotte was no longer there.

Alice shot to her feet, noting that the man who had been feeding the pigeons when they arrived was also nowhere to be seen.

‘Charlotte!’

Chester looked over and Alice ran to him.

‘Where’s your sister?’

Chester just stared blankly back at her.

‘Stay here,’ Alice said, and she ran to the middle of the walkway and called for her daughter again. She looked one way along the path and then the other. Then a bright red ribbon caught her eye as it danced in spirals above the heads of the people who were otherwise blocking her view. Someone moved aside and Alice ran towards the ribbon. A moment later she saw Charlotte staring up at it, transfixed and mesmerised. Alice dropped to her knees and pulled her daughter into her arms.

‘Wherever were you going?’ she asked. She stared into Charlotte’s eyes. ‘Promise you’ll always stay close to me,’ she added, silently berating herself for her stupidity and lack of concentration.

‘I’m sorry, miss,’ the man with the ribbon offered.

Alice looked up and saw that the man carried several such ribbons, and she realised then that he was a street vendor.

‘I only just saw the little mite was following me,’ the vendor added. ‘I’d have stopped sooner if I’d known.’ He twirled the ribbon again and Charlotte’s head followed its dance. He laughed as if to make light of the situation. ‘Here,’ he said, still smiling broadly as he offered the ribbon to Charlotte by the stick it was attached to.

‘How much is it?’ Alice asked.

‘That’s quite all right, miss. Least I can do for causing you such a scare.’

Alice returned his smile and nodded to Charlotte, who then took the stick from the vendor and began to make the ribbon dance for herself.

‘Thank you,’ Alice said.

‘Not at all, miss. My pleasure. You have a good day now.’

Alice led Charlotte with her new dancing ribbon back to Chester, whom she was pleased to see was waiting close to where she had left him. He was sitting on one of the benches beside a well-dressed man in a grey top hat, who was holding a paper bag in his hand, much like the elderly man who had been feeding the pigeons when they first arrived, although the pigeons now seemed disinterested and had moved away. The man rose as Alice arrived, and without acknowledging her, he walked off in the opposite direction.

Alice held her free hand out for Chester to hold, thinking that she never wanted to let go of either of her children again.

‘We must get back now,’ she said, noting that the light had started to fade, thinking that she had had quite enough excitement for one day.

She collected the ice-cream dishes, and they left the castle grounds, taking the tram back through the High Street and further on past the museum, where they picked up the horse omnibus for their return to Hamberley. It was a quiet and uneventful journey until they had almost reached their destination, at which point Chester said he felt sick.

‘You’ve eaten too much ice cream this afternoon,’ Alice said, ruffling his hair. ‘That’s all it is. I’m sure you’ll be fine once the omnibus stops.’

The carriage fell quiet again. They were the only people aboard now, all other passengers having disembarked by the time they reached the outskirts of Rochester. Outside the window, Alice continued to watch the countryside: the abundance of trees—some full of blossom and others just coming into leaf; a white weatherboard windmill on the horizon; and the oast houses that were so common to the area, with their conical red-tiled roofs beneath which the hop harvests would later be set to dry.

‘My tummy really hurts,’ Chester said.

When Alice turned to him again, she thought his complexion was a shade or two paler than before. It made the skin around his eyes appear red, his lips darker than usual. She placed a palm on his forehead. It was hot and clammy to the touch.

‘Perhaps you’re not very well,’ Alice said, worrying now whether it really was the ice cream and the journey that was upsetting him. She went to the window and opened it more fully. She leaned out and had to hold on to her hat as the breeze hit her.

‘Driver!’ she called. ‘My son is unwell.’

‘Do you want me to stop?’ the driver called back.

‘No, I think perhaps if you could go a little faster and take us all the way to Hamberley. We’re almost there. I’ll pay extra.’

‘Hamberley. Right you are.’

A whip cracked as Alice came back into the carriage, and the omnibus picked up speed.

‘Not long to go now, darling,’ Alice said, stroking Chester’s forehead, and at the same time wondering why his lips looked so dark. They were almost black in places. ‘You’ll soon feel yourself again, you’ll see,’ she added, as much to reassure herself as her son.

Alice hoped that what she had told Chester was true, but by the time the omnibus slowed down again, Chester had become very quiet and still, and he was soon visibly sweating. By the time Hamberley came into view, he had deteriorated to the point of having lost consciousness, and he could not be woken.

Chapter Eleven

Later that evening, Alice waited with her mother and Mrs Chetwood in one of the sitting rooms at Hamberley, clutching her picture locket and praying for good news from Dr Shackleton, who for the past two hours had been in attendance with Chester in his room. She finished the second of the herbal tonics Mrs Chetwood had prepared to help calm her nerves and began to pace the room again, wondering what could possibly be wrong with her son. She had long since dismissed the idea that Chester had eaten too much ice cream, or that there had been anything wrong with it, because Charlotte had suffered no such ill effect.

Her father’s return from London could not have come soon enough.

‘Terrible news!’ he proclaimed as Alice and her mother ran out to meet him.

Alice did not wait to hear it, considering nothing more terrible than her son’s condition. She launched straight into a rambling account of everything that had happened that afternoon and was joined with equal passion by her mother halfway through.

‘Now calm down, both of you,’ Lord Metcalfe said. ‘If
Dr Shackleton
is here, then Chester is in good hands. And my news from London can wait until morning.’

They came into the main hallway: a well-lit space served by two large chandeliers, and another above the grand mahogany staircase that swept away to the floor above, with its plush crimson carpet and brass handrails.

‘I noticed his lips looked quite black,’ Alice continued. ‘I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it.’

‘Neither have I,’ her father said. ‘But then we are not physicians, are we?’

‘Will you go up, Charles?’ Alice’s mother asked as she helped her husband out of his coat. ‘The good doctor has asked us not to disturb him, but it’s been too long. We’re beside ourselves with worry.’

‘I’m sure that’s precisely why the good doctor considered it best to be left alone with the boy.’

‘Please go up, Father,’ Alice said.

Her father reached inside his jacket and glanced at the fob watch he carried in his waistcoat pocket. ‘Two hours, you say?’

Alice nodded. ‘More or less.’

‘Then of course I shall go up. Two hours is an hour too long to expect any mother to worry about the well-being of her child.’

Lord Metcalfe had only placed one foot on the staircase when other footsteps on the floorboards above stopped him. Everyone looked up as Dr Shackleton appeared with his little medical bag, and Alice ran to him, meeting him halfway.

‘How is he, doctor?’ she asked, his anticipated response bringing her close to panic. ‘Is he all right? Please tell me he’s going to be all right.’

The stolid expression on Dr Shackleton’s face gave nothing away. ‘He would appear to be over the worst of it,’ he said. ‘I gave him something to help lower his temperature, and his fever has broken at last. He’s sleeping now.’

‘What must we do?’ Alice’s mother asked as the doctor reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘We must wait. Rest is the best medicine I can prescribe for him now.’

‘Do you know what’s wrong with him?’ Alice’s father asked.

The doctor shook his head. ‘A fever such as this can be brought on by many things.’

‘What about the blackening of his lips?’ Alice said. ‘Surely that must provide some clue as to the cause.’

‘Liquorice. Nothing more. On closer inspection I noted that the boy’s teeth and gums showed the same discolouration. I’m partial to it myself. The smell is unmistakable.’

Liquorice?
Alice thought, confused. She was about to say that she had been with Chester all afternoon and that she would have known if her son had eaten any liquorice, but she stopped herself when she recalled that she had not been with Chester all afternoon—not quite. She had left him alone when she went to find Charlotte. She remembered the man sitting beside Chester in the castle grounds then, and a shiver ran through her when she pictured the paper bag he was holding. She recalled how quick he was to leave when she returned, and she thought it no wonder that the pigeons had been so disinterested. Why would they show any interest if the bag the man was holding contained not breadcrumbs, but liquorice?

Poisoned liquorice . . .

It was too abhorrent to think that anyone would give such a thing to a child. She wanted to tell the doctor that he was wrong to suppose it was liquorice and nothing more, but she had no proof, and to voice her suspicions would force her to explain why she thought anyone would want to harm Chester in the first place. She wondered now whether the street vender with his dancing ribbons had also been party to the setup, wilfully luring Charlotte away so as to separate them and leave Chester vulnerable.

Alice bit her lip until she tasted blood. How could she have been so foolish? She could only think that her plan to provide false information to the Dutchman on the experimental submarine at Chatham had been discovered for the misinformation it was. It was clear to Alice now that Raskin and the people he was working for were resourceful enough to get to her children wherever they were, and clearly they were prepared to go to any lengths for their cause, however unthinkable. Or was she simply being paranoid? Perhaps there was another, more innocent explanation. Alice wished that were true, but she could not believe it was.

Dr Shackleton made for the door, and she drifted after him, thinking now of her husband and hoping that no harm had come to him as a result of her misjudgement.

‘Keep a watch over young Chester tonight,’ the doctor said. ‘While he’s sleeping, leave him to it. If he becomes delirious again, apply cold towels and call me at once. I’ll return in the morning.’

Lord Metcalfe opened the door. ‘Thank you, James. We are once again in your debt.’

‘Not at all, sir. Not at all.’

The doctor turned back from the door then and smiled at Alice. ‘I know it’s an impossible thing to ask a mother, but try not to worry too much,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Chester will be as bright as a new penny again in a day or two.’

Alice could not bring herself to return the doctor’s kindly smile. She simply gave a small nod and silently prayed that he was right.

It was almost four in the morning, and because Alice had watched over Chester tirelessly since Dr Shackleton left the house, her mother had insisted she now try to sleep. But Alice could not sleep. She lay awake on her bed, wrapped in her housecoat and her thoughts, staring at the shifting shadows that her bedside candle cast on the ceiling. On top of everything else, she was as worried now about what evil deed the Dutchman might sanction against her children next, and when she thought about her little Charlotte, it brought tears to her eyes. Raskin was the last man in the world Alice wanted to see, but she knew she had to find him, to assure him that she would cooperate fully from now on. And she had to know she was right about the man on the bench with his paper bag, and that what he had given to her son to teach her a lesson would not cause Chester any irreparable harm.

Alice swung her legs off the bed and put on a pair of flat shoes, supposing that the Dutchman could not come to her in her own bedroom, although she would not put it past him to try. She tied her housecoat more securely at her waist and then took up her candle and went to the door. The house was still. All she could hear was the sound of the grandfather clock keeping time in the main hallway below. She stepped out, guarding the light from her candle with her free hand as she went towards the stairs. When she came to Chester’s room, she paused and trod extra carefully past so as not to alert her mother. When she passed Charlotte’s room, she looked in momentarily, just to know that she was still sleeping peacefully.

As she made her way down the stairs, all the while peering into the near darkness beyond the candle’s glow, in case anyone else was about, she supposed that Raskin would not be far from Hamberley on this night of all nights—if indeed any night. She knew that he or one of his spies must have followed her into Rochester. How else could he know her every move? She reached the bottom step and went to the dining room, thinking to go out on the terrace as she had that night with Archie. Raskin had come to her there, and she hoped he would do so again tonight.

It was colder than Alice imagined it would be after so fine a spring day. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed up into the night, where stars pricked the black sky and the moon was nowhere to be seen. She went to the balustrade and gazed out across the lawns, and then a breeze arrived unannounced and extinguished her candle.

‘Raskin,’ she called under her breath.

She looked down into the shrubbery below, but it was too dark to see anything, so she went to the steps and began to descend them as she had before. Somewhere far off an owl screeched, breaking the silence. She called out again, a little louder this time.

‘Raskin!’

At the bottom of the steps, Alice ventured further around the house, and gradually her eyes became better accustomed to the dark, but it served her no purpose. Raskin was nowhere to be found, or perhaps he did not wish to be found, meaning to let her suffer all the longer for her deceit.

Alice did not call out again. She could feel the cold biting at her ankles now, and she had begun to shiver. She thought it would not do to catch a chill and fall ill herself with Chester in such need of her, so she returned to the terrace and went back into the house. She closed the door behind her and wished she had a match with which to relight her candle, but she knew the way well enough. She was about to move off when a familiar voice startled her.

‘Here, let me light that for you.’

Alice spun around as a match struck up, and there in the flame’s glow was Raskin. He was dressed in a long sheepskin coat, sitting back in her father’s chair with his boots up on the table. Just being near him again made her skin crawl, but Alice went to him just the same and offered out her candle. His pale blue eyes commanded her attention as he lit it, and Alice could no longer avoid them.

‘If you had called my name any louder, you might have woken the whole household.’

Alice thought that might not have been such a bad thing. Perhaps then this monster would be caught and made to free her husband and end the terror he had brought upon her family. But she knew his capture would make no difference. He would simply be replaced by another who would torture her emotions all the more for it.

‘You’ve got a nerve coming in here,’ Alice said.

The Dutchman smiled wryly. ‘Strong nerves are very handy in my line of work.’

‘Don’t you sleep?’

‘Of course. By day, when it suits me. A few hours here, a few hours there.’

‘What have you done to my son?’

‘What have
I
done?’ Raskin gave a condescending laugh. ‘You know very well it is because of what you have done that your son is now fighting for his life.’

At hearing that, Alice felt a rage inside her that she had never felt before. The candle she was still holding began to shake in her hand.

‘You gave him poisoned liquorice,’ she said. It was no longer a question in her mind.

‘Not I, personally,’ Raskin said. ‘But yes, he was given a substance. The taste can be quite bitter. The liquorice helps to disguise it.’

The Dutchman’s matter-of-fact coldness made Alice fear what he was capable of all the more. She set the candle down on the table and made a fist with her hand as she withdrew it to hide the fact that it was shaking.

‘Will he die? I have to know.’

‘The amount was not sufficient to kill him,’ Raskin said. He leaned closer and added, ‘Not this time.’

Were Alice a man, she thought, she would have used her fists to lash out at the Dutchman there and then, despite his size and obvious strength. Instead, her rage turned to tears as she pictured Chester lying in his room trying to fight off the poison.

‘He’s only four years old,’ she said, pleading without hope to a sense of compassion she knew did not exist. She choked back her tears. ‘How could you?’

Raskin offered her no sympathy. ‘You were tested and you failed.’

‘Tested?’

He gave a slow nod. ‘We already know about your experimental F-class submarine. It has a double hull, which will accommodate the ballast tanks, making the vessel more streamlined. Length—151 feet. Expected range—three thousand nautical miles. She will have three 18-inch torpedo tubes—two bow, one stern. I could go on, but you already know how completely absurd your report was. The
F1
will be nothing more than a coastal patrol submarine of little importance to us. What is important to us is that we trust you. Can we trust you, Alice Stilwell?’

Alice swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. She nodded.

‘Are you quite sure? Because from now on there will be no more chances.’

‘Yes, I’m very sure,’ Alice said. She was never more sure of anything in her life. ‘I’ll do everything you ask of me. Just promise you won’t harm my children again.’

‘That is not a promise I am at liberty to make,’ Raskin said. ‘As I hope you now fully understand. The fate of your children depends entirely on you.’