The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë (43 page)

“Is all well with you, Miss Brontë?” he said.

“For the time being,” I said.

My senses quickened with the delight that his presence always caused me. I lifted my eyes to the distant heights, where the bonfire’s flames danced in the wind. Smoke and gunpowder scented the air.

“I’ve been inspecting the estate,” said Mr. Slade. “So have the twelve constables sent from London. We found no signs of trespassers or anything else suspicious.”

“I am relieved to hear that,” I said.

All through the journey, despite its many diversions, I had been tense with waiting to see him again. Yet so much time had passed since we’d been alone together, so many things had happened, and we seemed reverted to strangers.

“Would I be correct to assume that no one has yet approached you on behalf of Kuan?” Mr. Slade’s tone was cautious.

“You would,” I said, uneasy because I thought Mr. Slade must be remembering that night in Penzance, when I’d spoken in defense of Kuan’s motives. Did he still wonder if the Chinaman had compromised my loyalty to him and my country? “Had anyone approached me, I would have sought you out and informed you immediately.”

“Of course,” Mr. Slade said, although doubt tinged his voice.

I compelled myself to look directly at him, lest my avoidance of his gaze provoke further suspicion. The fireworks illuminated his face. On it I saw shadows cast by weariness; the burden of his responsibilities, and his vigilant attention to duty, had taken their toll on him. His expression combined concern for me with uncertainty as to where we stood with each other. I thought I perceived in him a wish to regain the comradeship we’d shared. Here, in the lofty altitude and fresh, clear air of Scotland, my time in Cornwall seemed but a fading nightmare. Distance had weakened Kuan’s spell over me; I could scarcely credit that I had ever sympathized with him. Mr. Slade was once more the primary object of my regard.

As our eyes met, the doubt in his eyes subsided; he smiled. His hand clasped and held mine; I enjoyed a warm, glad certainty that nothing could defeat us. The sky dazzled in a booming explosion of red, orange, and gold cartwheels. The audience exclaimed, and the children danced with delight. My happiness was such that I knew it could not possibly last.

Events were to prove me sadly correct.

The celebration soon ended. The bonfire burned out; the last sparkle of fireworks faded. The royal party retired to the castle. Slade went off to his cottage, and I tucked the children into their beds. The Queen and Prince Consort came to bid them goodnight. I walked the corridor, allowing the family their privacy, and there I met Captain Innes, the valiant soldier who had averted the crisis at sea.

“Just checking to see that everyone is safe,” he said, lowering his cheerful, hearty voice to a loud whisper and walking beside me.

“Everyone is well, thank you,” I said.

We reached the landing that overlooked the entrance hall. Dim light from a few lamps shone there; laughter drifted up to us from the chambers of the ladies-in-waiting. Captain Innes signaled me to halt, and his voice rumbled softly against my ear: “Mr. Kuan sends his greetings.”

Shock assailed me. This was the moment I had been dreading. The kindly, jovial Captain Innes was Kuan’s accomplice, bearing the summons to enact my part in his evil scheme. “Why . . . how . . . ?” was all I could say.

Captain Innes made a rueful face. “Got myself into debt at one of Mr. Kuan’s gambling clubs. Couldn’t pay. Had to agree to do him a favor instead. He’d have killed me otherwise. But enough of that. You and I will take the children the night after tomorrow.”

I looked around with some notion of rushing to tell Mr. Slade that the accomplice had revealed himself to me, but Captain Innes seized my wrist, preventing my flight. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Changed your mind about your arrangement with Mr. Kuan? Well, hear me out before you think of reneging on him. He has men holding your family prisoners as we speak. He’ll set them free after you bring him the children. Unless you do as I say, they’ll die.”

Horror gained ascendancy over all other emotions as I grasped Kuan’s motive. He had never trusted me as fully as I thought; he was too clever to assume that I was firmly under his sway. He knew I would do anything for my family’s sake—he had elicited that fact during his interrogation of me. And now he had taken my loved ones hostage to guarantee my obedience.

“Do you understand, Miss Brontë?” An edge of steel cut through Captain Innes’s cheerful voice.

“Please don’t let him hurt them,” I said, gasping with terror.

“Their lives are in your hands,” Captain Innes said. I struggled to break free of him, but he held tighter to my wrist. “Here’s the plan. Before you put the children to bed the night after tomorrow, give them each a few drops of this in their cocoa.”

He lifted my hand, placed a vial in my palm, and closed my fingers around it. “It’s laudanum. They’ll sleep so soundly, nothing will waken them. You wait up for me. I’ll come to the nursery after everyone else is asleep. We’ll carry the children out of the castle. Understood?”

Captain Innes’s usual pleasant smile had become a ghastly caricature. Desperation burned in his twinkling eyes. Fright and helplessness compelled me to nod in spite of myself, as I realized that I must either commit a terrible crime or doom those that I loved best.

“Should you be tempted to tell tales and upset Mr. Kuan’s plan,” Captain Innes said, “just think of your family.”

Two maids approached us along the passage. Captain Innes let go my wrist, stepped back from me, and bowed with gallant, false courtesy. “Good night, Miss Brontë.”

A
WAVE OF DREAD CRASHED OVER ME. THE FLOOR UNDER MY FEET seemed to give way, and I clung to the balustrade for fear that I would fall and be shattered on the tiles below the landing. Rapid gasps drained the breath from me as Captain Innes’s commands echoed in my ears. I thought I would die—and well I might have, but the Queen and Prince Consort emerged from the nursery, and I was forced to compose myself.

Her Majesty said, “We shall see you in the morning, Miss Brontë.”

Clutching the laudanum vial hidden in my hand, I slunk past her and the Prince Consort, not daring to look them in the eyes lest they read in mine what had transpired. I felt a powerful impulse to confess, but Kuan’s threat held my tongue. I slipped into the nursery.

Vicky, Bertie, and Alfred lay asleep in their beds. I put out the lamp, then crumpled into a chair. Moonlight silvered their fair heads as I listened to their quiet, steady breathing. Mortal sickness permeated me. Kuan had decreed that I must choose between sacrificing these innocents or my own beloved kin. An involuntary sob rose in my throat. What was I to do?

Sometimes, in the midst of trouble, the mind conceives ideas that it never would on saner occasions. I began to think that perhaps Kuan could be appeased, and his goals attained, without harm to anyone. Sometime during the long, wakeful night, I conceived an audacious plan.

The next morning, accompanied by the children and myself, and other members of their entourage, the Queen and Prince Consort strolled down the riverside terraces. The flowerbeds and shrubbery of the formal gardens had run together in a weedy, unkempt tangle. It was a fine day, the sky blue, the bright sun dappling the overgrown paths we trod beneath the mountain ash and weeping birch trees. Around us rose the lofty peaks; below, the river sparkled through the foliage that rustled in the fresh Highland wind. The Prince walked with the children, pointing out birds and squirrels to them. The entourage scattered. I glimpsed Mr. Slade among the guards, but I avoided him. I took my courage in hand and approached the Queen.

“Your Majesty?” I said timidly.

She fixed a cold, reproving eye upon me. “What is it?”

I fell into step beside her, aware that I was taking advantage of an intimacy with Her Majesty that most subjects could never claim. She clearly objected to my presence, but I couldn’t afford to care. “Might I please have a word with you?”

The Queen hesitated, then yielded to the curiosity I saw on her face. “Very well.”

I trembled with dread because the favor I wanted of her was far beyond my right to ask. Were I to have any chance of getting it, I must be circumspect. “Your Majesty has much influence over the affairs of the world,” I began.

“The sovereign of a great nation exercises power abroad as well as at home,” she agreed, with suspicion as well as pride.

“And Your Majesty has unsurpassed ability to use this influence for the good of mankind.” My voice quavered and my heart pounded.

“Naturally,” the Queen said in a tone that forbade me to attribute anything but the noblest motives to her. “Now please get to the point of this conversation.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I steeled my waning courage. “I wish to discuss the opium trade.”

“The opium trade!” Surprise inflected her voice: She would never have expected me to raise this subject. Apparently no one had explained to her the story behind Kuan’s crimes.

“Yes,” I said, as meekly and agreeably as possible. “I wish to broach the subject of its problems with your majesty.”

“Its problems?” She narrowed her eyes in offense. “Opium is produced by colonial plantations in India. It is prized for its unparalleled medicinal properties, which have hitherto been unmatched by those of any other plant and have allowed for enormous advances in medical science. It is the principal commodity sold abroad by British merchants. It produces some three million pounds in annual revenue for the Crown. The money earned recoups the fortune spent by Britain on tea, silks, and spices in the Far East.”

This was news to me. Kuan had spoken only of the evils of the opium trade. The Queen knew only the good. I ventured cautiously, “But there are terrible ills associated with opium.” I saw her bristle. However little I wished to affront her, I must continue, for the sake of her children and my family. “Opium enslaves the people who use it. It saps their bodily strength and their moral character. It weakens their will to do anything but obtain more opium and sink themselves deeper in vice.” My need to enlighten the Queen impassioned my speech. “People have stolen, murdered, suffered, and died for opium. It does far more evil than good.”

Distrust darkened the Queen’s expression. I realized that even if she knew these facts, she was bound to protect the trade that financed such a large portion of her Empire’s activities. She said, “Perhaps you would tell me how you derived these notions of its evils?”

I couldn’t admit that I had learned them from Kuan; I didn’t want her to think that I was in league with him in any way. “My brother is a slave to opium. I have personally witnessed his destruction.”

The Queen made a disdainful sound. “Some people whose minds are weak overindulge in opium; some overindulge in liquor. It is the overindulgence that causes their troubles. Opium is wholesome when used in moderation; it is perfectly legal and respectable. In fact, it is a good sedative for infants. I’ve used it on my own children.”

My hope of altering her opinion faded; yet I persisted: “One may decide to use opium oneself, for better or worse.” I grew reckless in my desperation. “But should opium be forced upon people who don’t want it, who have enacted laws to prohibit it in their land? Britain is forcing opium on China and waging war there in order to perpetuate the trade which brings suffering to multitudes.” Halting on the path, I faced the Queen; I clasped my hands in ardent entreaty. “I beg Your Majesty to put an end to the trade!”

I thought that if it ceased, Kuan would be satisfied enough to give up his desire for revenge against Britain. I hoped that if I helped him thus, he would release me. I would not have spoken so boldly to the Queen had I not considered it my only chance to save both my family and hers.

She drew back from me, repulsed by my vehemence. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Miss Brontë, you have gone too far,” she said with great indignation. “Your outburst hardly deserves the courtesy of an answer. But answer I will, if only to correct your deplorable misconceptions and rebuke your flagrant disrespect. In the first place, no one is forcing opium on anyone. Should there be people who do not want it, they may refuse to buy it. In the second place, the Crown would never have waged war against China had China not mistreated British merchants, destroyed valuable opium stores that belonged to them, and insulted British honor. Britain has rightfully exacted compensation for these offenses and protected British commerce in the Far East. The issues of warfare and international trade are far more complex than a humble governess untutored in the arts of statesmanship could ever grasp.”