The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë (39 page)

I was surprised to find Kuan, Hitchman, and T’ing-nan in the dining room: This was the first time I would have their company at a meal. Kuan and Hitchman bade me a polite good morning, to which I replied with as much composure as I could. T’ing-nan only glared at me: He was still angry that I had given him up to his father last night. I perceived the echo of a conversation that my arrival had interrupted.

“Please join us, Miss Brontë,” said Kuan.

I sat at the end of the table, opposite him. Ruth served me tea, bread, and eggs. Hitchman was eating the same meal as I, but Kuan and T’ing-nan had bowls of what appeared to be gruel with fish and strange herbs. T’ing-nan held his bowl up to his mouth and shoveled in the food with chopsticks, never once taking his hostile gaze off me.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Kuan asked me in a tone that hinted at the drama we had enacted together.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, although my face burned.

Hitchman regarded us with suspicious curiosity. I lowered my gaze to my plate, but the food turned my stomach. I sipped the strong, bitter coffee, which somewhat restored my health and courage.

“I beg permission to go into town,” I said. I must tell Mr. Slade what Kuan revealed to me last night, and here I presented my excuse: “I wish to go to church. I’ve not been since I left home.”

“You can wait awhile longer,” Hitchman said.

“No,” Kuan overruled him. “Miss Brontë must be allowed to observe her religious rites.”

“Very well,” Hitchman said, though clearly disgruntled.

I wondered whether Kuan thought the spell he’d worked upon me last night had secured me in his power and he’d come to trust me enough to let me go, or whether he wished to assert his superiority over Hitchman. Whatever the reason, I was glad to climb into the carriage. To escape Kuan’s frightening presence, if only temporarily, was a boon. As Nick drove me towards town, a storm commenced. Rain battered the carriage; lightning seared the deluged coastline and sea. Between cracks of thunder I heard hoofbeats following us. I looked out the window and saw what appeared to be a farmer riding a horse. He tipped his hat at me, and I recognized Mr. Slade, who must have been secretly watching Kuan’s house in case I should come out. Relief swam over me.

In Penzance, Nick drove up wet cobblestone streets where townspeople walked sheltered under umbrellas and brick town-houses abounded. He stopped the carriage outside St. Mary’s Church. Its stone walls promised age-old sanctuary to souls in need. I climbed out of the carriage, trying not to look about for Mr. Slade. The rain drenched Nick and me as we hurried past a churchyard filled with tombs and lush with tropical vegetation. Inside the church, Nick stationed himself by the door while I walked up the aisle between the pews. Among these were scattered some dozen worshippers. Lightning illuminated them in flashes. Their soft spoken prayers and the rumbling thunder echoed in the chill, dank space. I anxiously scanned the church from beneath my bonnet. Would Mr. Slade come? How might we talk without Nick’s noticing us?

I heard a soft hiss, glanced to my right, and saw Mr. Slade crouching on the floor inside a pew. He must have watched me stop at the church, where he hurried to enter by some other door and lie hidden in wait for me. My steps faltered, and he gestured for me to sit by him. Conscious of Nick’s gaze on me, I did.

“Act as if I’m not here,” Mr. Slade whispered. “Pretend you’re praying.”

I bowed my head over my clasped hands. My mind teemed with memories of the previous night, while my heart beat fast with emotions I had no time to sort out. “Kuan has told me some part of his plan for revenge,” I whispered. “He means to take hostages and force the British out of China.” I regretted that my news was so vague. “But I don’t know who the hostages are or how Kuan means to take them.”

There was a brief silence from Mr. Slade, during which I sensed his shock. He said, “I do know. Yesterday I received a letter from the prime minister. He says he was accosted by one of Kuan’s henchmen in London. The man ordered him to use his authority to persuade the Queen that her children need a new governess, and to recommend Charlotte Brontë for the post.”

Amazement and horror overwhelmed me as Mr. Slade’s news and mine combined like pieces of a puzzle fitting together to complete a terrifying picture. “The royal children are the hostages Kuan intends to take! I am to help him kidnap them!” I fought to lower my voice and maintain the pretext of prayer.

“So this is how he means to strike at the British Empire.” Revelation inflected Mr. Slade’s voice. “Not by military force, but by ransoming its most precious treasure—the royal bloodline. If he succeeds, he will usher in a new, horrific era of warfare. No longer will enemies need huge armies to cripple us—just the wherewithal to kidnap, extort, and terrify. It could begin the downfall of not just Britain, but the civilized world.”

We sat speechless in awe and dread of such a future, until I voiced the question that Kuan had evaded answering: “Why has Kuan chosen me, of all people?”

“I can only speculate that you have the traits he needs in an accomplice. He surely knows other people who are capable of kidnapping the children but none responsible enough—as you are—to ensure their well-being until he’s done with them.” Slade added, “Yours must be the role for which he intended Isabel White. No wonder she balked and ran away from him. The kidnapping must have been the last straw for her.”

“It’s the last for me as well!” I exclaimed, distraught and frantic. “I cannot do it any more than Isabel could!”

Now I understood why Kuan had questioned me about my feelings towards children: He had wanted to ascertain that I was capable of harming them if need be—and he had misinterpreted my lack of enthusiam to mean that indeed I was. Though I bore them not much affection, I could never conspire to make the six royal children “the innocents who shall suffer as recompense for the suffering of innocents.”

“I know you don’t want to,” Mr. Slade said, “but forestalling it won’t be that simple.”

My terror increased a hundredfold. “Kuan will kill me if I resist. What am I going to do?”

Mr. Slade pondered while our time together swiftly fled. I saw, with a sinking heart, that there was no safe way to end my ordeal. Now I heard Nick’s footsteps coming towards me. Fearful and desperate, I beseeched Mr. Slade again, “What shall I do?”

“Prepare to resume your old occupation as a governess.”

Nick drove me back to the house. There I spent the day alone, for T’ing-nan refused to come out of his room for lessons, and I didn’t see Kuan or Hitchman. The house seemed deserted, except for Ruth, who served my meals. That night after dinner I became so drowsy that I must have been drugged again. I slept so soundly that I was aware of nothing until morning, when I again awakened feeling groggy and ill. I rose and dressed, then heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find Hitchman outside. He was wearing his coat, carrying his hat.

“Pack your bags, Miss Brontë,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

I was alarmed by the realization that Kuan’s plans were being set so abruptly in motion. “Where are we going?”

“To London,” Hitchman said.

“Why?” I said. But I already knew. Fear and anxiety rushed upon me.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Hitchman said.

“What about Mr. Kuan?” I said, trying to stall the inevitable. “Are he and T’ing-nan coming with us?”

“They’ve already gone.” Hitchman’s cruel smile mocked my dismay. “They left last night.”

I comprehended that I had indeed been drugged last night, so that I wouldn’t hear their departure. I felt an awful despair. Kuan had vanished again, probably through the house’s cellars and the smugglers’ caves, then by boat out to sea. While I was still under the power of his henchman, I faced the threat of death unless I cooperated with his scheme.

“Make haste, Miss Brontë,” said Hitchman. “The train leaves in an hour.”

H
ITCHMAN ACCOMPANIED ME TO LONDON ON THE TRAIN. HE told me nothing of our plans, other than that I would receive further instructions when we arrived. While riding in the carriage, he sat beside me; at stations along the way, he rarely let me out of his sight.

“If you have any thoughts of absconding, you had best forget them,” he warned me. “Kuan has men besides myself watching over you.”

I didn’t see Mr. Slade during the trip, and I feared that we had become separated. The mundane business of eating box lunches and changing trains took on a nightmarish quality. The combination of terror and monotony was almost unbearable.

We arrived at Euston Station on 4 September. Hitchman helped me out of the train onto the platform. Exhausted and disoriented, I wondered what misadventure lay in store for me. Then I saw, loitering amidst the crowds, a familiar figure. It was Lord John Russell, the prime minister. His hat shielded his face, as though he wished to obscure his identity. Hitchman called his name; Lord Russell turned. His startled, wary look of recognition encompassed Hitchman as well as me.

“I’ve been ordered to meet you,” he said to Hitchman in a low voice; he didn’t want to be overheard. He pretended not to know me. “Here I am.” His scowl expressed bitter resentment.

“And here is Miss Brontë,” Hitchman replied. “Do as you’ve been told, and all will go well for you.” The threat showed through his genial manner. “That applies to you, too, Miss Brontë.
Au revoir
,” he said, then slipped away and was lost in the crowds.

Lord Russell led me to a carriage without looking at me. His face was grim; he didn’t speak a word until we were riding slowly through the London traffic. “Forgive me if I don’t seem happy to see you again. Do you know that I have been forced to obtain for you a position as governess to Her Majesty’s children?”

“Yes,” I said. “Mr. Slade told me about your letter.”

Lord Russell clenched his fists and glared about as if looking for somebody to pummel. “The villain’s audacity defies belief! Have you met him? Who is he? What does he intend?”

I described Kuan and his motives as best I could. I explained that Mr. Slade and I had deduced that Kuan meant me to help him kidnap the children, so that they could be used as hostages to force Britain out of China. Lord Russell’s sickly countenance turned even sicker. Cursing under his breath, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat off his forehead.

“I cannot possibly abet such a scheme,” he said. “What he plans is the blackest treachery against the crown! Yet he holds my life in his hands. God help me!”

As the carriage inched along, a man jumped inside. He wore the shabby clothes of a beggar and a cap pulled low over his eyes. He sat next to the prime minister.

“Sir, this a private carriage,” Lord Russell said in a startled, offended tone.

The intruder removed his cap. It was Mr. Slade. “Thank Heaven!” I exclaimed. “I thought never to see you again!” Tears welled in my eyes as the emotions I’d suppressed during my journey with Hitchman found release.

“I followed you all the way from Cornwall,” Mr. Slade said. “You weren’t alone.”

His manner was businesslike and impersonal, but I could discern that he was glad to see me, too. I felt happy and safe in his presence, even though still under mortal threat from Kuan. How could I have ever divided my loyalty between them?

Lord Russell greeted Mr. Slade without enthusiasm. He obviously had not forgotten the humiliating confession he had made at the ball.

“Kuan is gone,” I told Mr. Slade.

“I know. My men searched his house as soon as you and Hitchman left.” Mr. Slade turned to Lord Russell. “Have you arranged Miss Brontë’s new post?”

“Yes, I have,” Lord Russell replied in a hateful tone. “I’m taking her to Buckingham Palace now. We have an audience with the Queen at one o’clock.”

I cowered at the very idea. How unworthy of the honor I felt! To think that I must meet Her Majesty under such ignoble circumstances! “What will we do?”