Traitor and the Tunnel (4 page)

“Whatever for?”

“This news – it can’t wait much longer.”

“And you propose to – what? Romp through the Palace, cal ing out for Her Majesty? Tel her to hurry, as we’re on police business?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Then be silent. It is Her Majesty’s privilege to take al day, should she so desire.”

But as Mary had witnessed during her service at Buckingham Palace, Queen Victoria seldom presumed upon her privileges. She was a dutiful, serious-minded monarch whose smal frame contained apparently boundless self-discipline as long as she was on state business. This morning proved no exception. Within half an hour, she and the Prince Consort were back in the drawing room.

“We appreciate your patience, Commissioner,”

said His Highness. “Our minds are somewhat relieved to have seen the Prince of Wales, resting under Mr Lawrence’s orders.”

“Was it on your instruction that he was given a sedative?” asked the Queen, a sharp note in her voice.

“Our suggestion, Your Majesty,” said the commissioner in his humblest tones. “The Prince was gravely upset and very emotional, I’m afraid. We were anxious that he should rest.”

There was a charged silence. Then, abruptly, the Queen turned the conversation. “This is not a time for riddles. You had better explain exactly what has happened.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. We are here to inform you of a grave accident that has happened, this night, to the Honourable Ralph Beaulieu-Buckworth. I believe you are acquainted with this young person?”

Prince Albert’s voice was hard. “One could scarcely say ‘acquainted’. He was at Eton at the same time as the Prince of Wales, of course; one might go so far as to cal them contemporaries. But the Prince does not associate with the person you named.”

Commissioner Blake scarcely paused. “Your Majesty; Your Highness. I am sorry to inform you that your son was in the Honourable Ralph Beaulieu-Buckworth’s company at the time of the – tragedy.

The time, in fact, of Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth’s unfortunate death.” His last word seemed to echo in the silence that fol owed; a heavy, absolute silence in which the soft ffffft of the gaslamps became loud and obtrusive. There was no soft oath, no sudden intake of breath, from the royal couple. When Blake spoke again, his tone was even, measured – the voice of a bureaucrat doing his job. “The Prince of Wales has stated to us that he came up to London this afternoon at the invitation of Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth.”

“You questioned the Prince of Wales, in the absence of his parents?” Her Majesty’s anger was clear. “He is but eighteen years old.”

“We did not formal y question him, Your Majesty; I apologize for the false impression my words may have created. The Prince of Wales, in his agitation, gave us to understand a number of facts. We realize, of course, that upon reflection he may be able to correct some of those statements. But we are repeating to you the information he volunteered to us.”

A grim, sceptical silence. Then the Prince Consort again: “Carry on, Commissioner.”

“Thank you, sir. The young men’s intention was to celebrate Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth’s birthday, and a number of young men – al old Etonians – were invited to the festivities. The Prince’s equerries were in attendance, natural y.” A pause.

“It was rather a large gathering. They dined at—”

“Oh, what does it matter where they dined?” cried the Queen in a voice so terrible that even the commissioner’s dry recitation faltered. “Stop toying with us, man, and tel us what has happened!”

Blake swal owed audibly. “Very wel , Your Majesty.

You’l understand, Ma’am, that the young men had drunk wine with dinner, and continued to indulge in various wines and spirits over the course of the long evening. The Prince of Wales informs us that by two o’clock in the morning, he and Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth were gravely impaired. They had become separated from their companions, including the Prince’s equerries, and Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth proposed a tour of what he cal ed ‘the dark side’.

Against the Prince’s better judgement—”

The Queen gave a sharp, sudden sob.

“Judgement, my God! The boy lacks al common sense and good judgement!”

Commissioner Blake paused, uncertain.

“Pray continue, Comissioner,” said Prince Albert.

“The Prince of Wales assented. Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth led him into east London, through a maze of streets the Prince assured us he should never have been able to navigate alone. They eventual y came to an establishment catering to the desire for the consumption of opium—” Commissioner Blake paused.

“Even we, with our sheltered lives, have heard of opium dens,” said the Prince Consort with heavy irony.

Blake cleared his throat. “Quite. At any rate, Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth persuaded the Prince to enter, in order to view what he described as ‘the scum’.

The Prince informed us that he was reluctant to enter. However, he feared losing Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth, who promised to guide him afterwards out of the maze of slums. Thus he fol owed his friend into the opium-smoking establishment.

“The Prince tel s us that a dark-skinned man – the proprietor of the establishment, we believe – asked them if they wished to smoke. They declined, whereupon the dark-skinned man proceeded to fil a hookah for them and urge them to sample his wares.

Mr

Beaulieu-Buckworth

became

agitated

–

remember, he was extremely intoxicated – and either struck or kicked at the smoking device.” The commissioner stopped, as though considering how to phrase his next sentence.

The room became perfectly quiet once more, the Queen and her consort stil awaiting the terrible blow that was surely to come.

Eventual y, Commissioner Blake cleared his throat. “At this point, the Prince’s recol ections become regrettably confused but he describes, in general terms, a contretemps. The proprietor was angered by this destruction of his property, and harsh words were exchanged. There were a number of patrons – Lascars, mainly, on shore leave –

smoking opium at the time. Some were, of course, in a drug-induced stupor that left them unaware of the goings-on. But others were more alert, and one seems to have been enraged by Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth’s language; the Prince described it as strong. This man – the Prince describes him as an elderly sailor, and an Asiatic – rose up and staggered towards the young gentlemen. The Prince of Wales was a little closer to the Asiatic, and thus caught the first blow. The Prince says he attempted to grapple with the man, but soon found himself thrown aside with a force that was quite astonishing, given the Asiatic’s apparent age and build.

“Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth said something – the Prince does not recal precisely what. The Asiatic then turned to Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth. It seemed a fist-fight, at first, but in a very short time – the Prince was unable to say how many minutes, as he was stil downed and attempting to make sense of the struggle – Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth lay sprawled on the floor, face down.”

Mary could wel imagine what Beaulieu-Buckworth’s “strong” language had been like.

England was rarely a comfortable place for Asiatics, or any foreigners for that matter. But since that past summer’s aggression and bloodshed between Britain and China, tempers and temperatures had run especial y high, particularly for the Chinese community in London. England was not at war with China. Not official y, at least. But English troops were kil ing Chinese – both soldiers and civilians; the Chinese retaliated, and there had been rumours of torture.

The horrors in China now echoed through Limehouse, where for generations Asians had lived in quiet – if not, perhaps, peaceful – coexistence with their English neighbours. Now, there were reports of conflict: service refused to a Chinese woman at market; a Chinese man attacked by a gang of boys; a shop sel ing Chinese herbs burned down. English outrage was high, and some took that as licence to “retaliate” – as though the denizens of east London were responsible for the actions of the Chinese emperor. There could be no doubt as to where Beaulieu-Buckworth stood.

Had stood. That was the key: the pig was dead.

And although his name was mud in aristocratic circles – a wel -known gambler, whoremonger, drunkard and coward – he was stil one of them. He was, after al , an “Honourable”, a scion of a noble house. That his short life had been almost entirely without honour or nobility mattered not. There would be no satisfactory ending to this tale.

“The Prince,” continued the commissioner,

“though alarmed by the general violence, decided this was a good opportunity to persuade Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth to depart. But when he tried to help his friend up, he found him dying, a knife buried deep in his chest.”

A strange, high-pitched sound erupted – a cry that seemed more animal than human. “Murder!”

Mary scrambled to make sense of this scream. It hadn’t come from the Queen.

“Murder of a young aristocrat, and an attempt on the Prince of Wales’s life!”

“Indeed, Mrs Dalrymple,” said Blake. “But we are speaking to Her Majesty in confidence; it is of utmost importance that you keep silence about what you’ve just heard.”

“That goes without saying,” said Her Majesty severely. “We do not tolerate tale-bearing and idle gossip at our court.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” But Honoria’s voice continued to vibrate with emotion.

“We are glad of your discretion in coming to us first,” said Prince Albert, “and we stil have much to discuss. But first: you have arrested the vermin, of course?”

“Yes, Your Highness; the miscreant is in Tower gaol even as we speak.”

“He was an opium fiend?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And an Asiatic, you said.”

“A Chinese sailor, Your Highness, and a rather elderly one at that. Unless I’m much mistaken, he sailed his last journey some years ago.”

A pause. Then the Prince Consort murmured,

“That is useful.”

“‘Useful’, sir?”

“Surely you understand me, Commissioner,” said His Highness in a meaningful tone.

“Mrs Dalrymple,” said the Queen suddenly, “you may instruct my maids to draw my bath and prepare my morning dress.”

“Very good, Your Majesty,” said Honoria in a soft, even voice. A few moments later, the door closed behind her with the softest of clicks, and Mary tried to visualize those who remained: Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, Blake and Blake’s silent subordinate, she thought.

“The Prince of Wales must not be named as a party to this shocking event,” said the Queen in a rapid and matter-of-fact fashion. “Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth was alone in his visit to the opium den.

The Prince and his equerries became separated from the larger group at a much earlier hour, and the Prince returned here, to his family, at midnight.”

Blake cleared his throat. “There is the smal matter, Ma’am, of the other witnesses. Patrons of the opium den, for example.”

“A rag-tag band of drug-addled sots,” replied the Queen.

“And the owner, with whom the Prince exchanged words?”

“He must be persuaded of his error. He cannot possibly believe that the Prince of Wales entered his low den and spoke to him.”

“We can certainly try, Ma’am. But the gravest difficulty lies with the Lascar who attacked Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth. He wil insist that the Prince of Wales was present – perhaps, even, that he joined with Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth in attacking him. Pure invention, of course,” Commissioner Blake added hastily, “but these scoundrels seize upon anything to shore up their defence and muddy the truth.”

“He may be certain of a second gentleman,”

al owed the Queen, “but he is clearly mad if he imagines it to have been the Prince of Wales. Did you not say the man was an opium fiend?”

“We believe so.”

“And do opium addicts not suffer from fits and delusions?”

“Y – yes…”

“Then we have no difficulty.” There was a long, meaningful pause. “Have we?”

“And yet we may.” Prince Albert’s voice was deep, reluctant – and utterly surprising. “The first attack,” he said very slowly, “was on the Prince of Wales. And you say the Asiatic sailor recognized him?”

“The Prince of Wales thinks so,” said Blake. His expression was careful y neutral but tense al the same. “He believes he was recognized.”

“Then we have not only a clear identification, but a much more serious crime: an attack – most likely a murderous attack – on the person of the future King of England.”

There was a prolonged silence, during which the unspoken word seemed to reverberate about the chil y room. Treason – not merely against the state, but against the monarchy. That made it high treason.

Blake bowed. “Correct, Your Highness.”

Queen Victoria frowned. “That is true only if Bertie is correct about the identification. Could he not be in error? What would an opium-addled foreigner know about the Prince of Wales’s appearance to enable him to identify him so confidently – especial y in such circumstances?” Her voice grew angry. “It beggars belief that such a vil ain could instantly recognize –

and have the temerity to attack – the future King.

This must surely be a grotesque error.”

“The Prince of Wales is a public figure,” argued Prince Albert. “His portrait appears regularly in society papers. Just as your subjects recognize you, my dear, they recognize your heir.”