50 “fate”

I caught Maisie’s eye and nodded. She gave the signal to Tom as I slipped around to the door and rushed down the end of the corridor. There was a shiny new fire alarm in the hall in a glass box, with a little hammer next to it. I checked the hall—empty—took the hammer and swung, smashing the glass and setting off the alarm. An unholy wail filled the hallway. I rushed back to the room, entering by the door at Bertie and Tom’s end and slipping in behind the band.

“What’s that?” asked George.

“Of all the damned…” The Prince of Wales looked furious.

“It’s the fire alarm.” I said, “We need to evacuate.”

“Sir,” said Tom, “we could follow the dancers, but perhaps you might prefer a more… private exit?”

“Very well, come on.” The Prince of Wales was cross.

“This way,” said Bertie as he touched George’s wrist.

We moved into the corridor, away from the concerned, cranky, slow-moving guests, to the other end of the hallway, to the heavy door and poor lighting of the staff stairwell.

“Hello,” said George. “This is a bit exciting. I can’t see a thing.”

“What is this damned place?” David’s voice rang down the stone stairs. “The staff entrance?”

“Precisely, sir,” I said. “None of the other guests will see you, this way, nor see how friendly you are with the dancers.”

“I don’t give a damn if they see me being friendly to dancers! I won’t be pushed down the staff stairwell!”

“Come on, David, they can hardly pull out the red carpet in an evacuation.”

“It’s unseemly! It isn’t proper!”

“It’s happening regardless,” said Tom under his breath. We could hear voices in the corridor, strident, vaguely German.

“Do you smell smoke?” I asked.

“Yes… I think I do,” said Bertie.

“Let’s go,” said George and started to bolt down the stairs with Bertie. We set off after them, but I turned to see David still at the door.

“Please, sir.” I hoped my voice sounded soft to him and not the whine it sounded to me. “I’m sure…”

“You aren’t sure of a thing. I can’t smell smoke.” He turned back to the door. I rushed up; he couldn’t leave by the main entrance and risk seeing Charlie and Phillip.

“Sir.” I was breathless. “Please…”

I was breathless from nerves and alcohol, and I let this settle into a melodramatic chest-heaving. My desire to get him down the stairs to Fry, my need to complete this mission, I let these things widen my eyes, part my lips, restrict my breath. He paused, just enough to take a step closer, wary but curious. A door banged somewhere above us. As he looked up, I took his wrist gently and started to run down the stairs. He tripped slightly and the momentum of almost falling meant he had no choice but to run down the stairs behind me. We wound down and down, only a few flights but it felt like descending from the roof of St. Pauls. Our footsteps were loud, our breathing was loud, there were clangs and bangs that seemed to come from inside the stone. David looked fierce, angry and frightened, but I couldn’t help that. Eventually I felt some fresh air from outside, I heard Bertie and George, I saw Tom standing at the door, holding it open. I felt David pull back, pull his wrist out of my hold, but the forward momentum of going down the stairs meant he barrelled past me, out the door, and ran into his brother.

“Davy! I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

I saw a car pull up from a side street.

“George, these people—it isn’t right!”

Fry jumped out of the passenger seat and ran toward us.

“Don’t be silly, they’re only…”

Fry put his hand in his jacket pocket—was he really pulling out a gun?—no, it was some kind of paper or certificate. He stopped in front of the princes.

“Who the hell are you?” David’s ears were red.

“Your Royal Highnesses, from the Home Office.”

“Oh no…” George pouted at Bertie. “I feared this might happen. We never get to have any fun.”

David snatched the paper from Fry and read it quickly.

“Who the hell is this ‘Fox’? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Sir, the car is waiting. This way.”

“No! I bloody well won’t come!” Did the Prince of Wales just stamp his foot?

“Oh, come on, Davy. There’s no use arguing.”

“Who is this Fox to order us about, I’d like to know!”

“What does it matter? Fox, Weasel, Salamander—they’re taking us back to the Lion and Unicorn.”

“Mother is not a bloody unicorn.”

“And Father is not a lion, though he will maul us if he finds we’ve been… having fun, with Uncle Charlie.”

“Sir, if I may…” Fry indicated the car. Yes, the Prince of Wales did just stamp his foot. Tom and Bertie had faces so expressionless I knew they were calling on all of their army training to restrain themselves. The car started inching across the square.

“So, it’s Uncle Charlie who is the problem, is it? Our own flesh and blood?” David read through the letter again. The car flashed its lights.

“Davy, we must admit defeat.”

“Yes, Charlie bloody well is the problem.”

“Come on, Davy, Rome’s been here a couple of thousand years, it’ll wait a bit longer for us.” The car was only a few meters away. I could see Tinker behind the wheel.

“Impertinence! Parliament telling us which members of our family we may and may not speak to!”

“He did fight for Cousin Willy, Davy… not really that much of an ask, that the English princes remain patriotic and all that.”

Tinker got out of the car and walked nonchalantly toward us. George saw us watching and turned.

“Hello,” he said. “Are you nanny?”

Tinker nodded. “Your Royal Highness.”

“Very well. I say, you don’t happen to have a drink in the car, do you? Only having begun…” George chatted to Tinker as he climbed in the car. Bertie followed, making sure George got in and stayed in. The Prince of Wales glared, fumed, then turned on his heels and headed to the front of the hotel. Tom raised his eyebrows, then he set off with Fry at a run. The prince had no chance. They caught up to him in moments, both of them so tall, they took the prince by the elbows and marched him to the car, the prince protesting as much as his dignity would allow. Fry bundled him in the backseat like he was a criminal in a police car, locking the door as he did so. Fry nodded to me and they set off, the car squealing and growling.

“I can’t believe he actually made a run for it,” said Tom.

“I think Fry was hoping he wouldn’t have to touch him, you know, royal protocol and all that. But it seems that abductions are abductions, whoever you are.”

“What was that bit of paper Fry had?”

“I didn’t see, but it had an official header. Something official?”

“Some spy you are.” Tom grinned.

I could hear Italian in snatches of song. I could smell garlic and tomato alongside the petrol and cigarette smoke. I heard German spoken with force and saw Charlie rush around the corner with Phillip behind him.

“Where are they?” Charlie was red in the face.

“Who, Your Grace?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” His eyes roamed the square. “The boys! David and George—where are they?”

“There was a fire alarm… I assume they went with the others.”

“The others said they went off with you.”

“Yes, those opera singers…” Phillip was breathless.

“Oh no,” I said. “They must be…”

“Listen,” Charlie grabbed my arm. “You will take me to my young cousins or—”

“I don’t think so, mate.” Tom moved in front of Charlie, half a foot taller and half a foot broader, giving me time to disentangle myself. “If Miss Button says she doesn’t know, then she doesn’t know.”

“Don’t you know who I am!”

“No, and I don’t care.”

“Well, you should.” Charlie reached around his waistband and pulled out a revolver, pointing it at Tom. All the sounds in the square disappeared. I was more shocked than scared that he had actually pulled out a gun in the street like a common thug. Tom stood straight, Bertie froze, Phillip stood panting. I kicked myself that I had left my own little pistol in our hotel room.

“Now.” Charlie turned to me, the gun still on Tom. “You will take me to my young cousins.”

“Do you have a car?” I asked.

“Why would we need a car?”

“To chase them down, of course.”

“Phillip.” Charlie didn’t take his eyes off me. “Hail a taxi.”

Phillip ran to the other side of the square. We all waited, watching Phillip out of the corner of our eyes as he ran to the café and asked the waiter to order a cab. I had no intention of getting in any such vehicle with Charlie and his gun. I didn’t dare look at either Tom or Bertie, but I doubted they would let Charlie get that far either.

“Where do we direct the taxi?” Charlie’s plummy tones were chilling. “The station is only two streets away.”

“And the train doesn’t leave until tomorrow, and trains are notoriously insecure—too many doors to escape from.” I did my best to sound nonchalant. “No, the princes are being driven home.”

“And we’re expected to take a taxi back to London?”

“I expect nothing of the sort. I expected you to have a car.”

“Carl!” Phillip called; the taxi had arrived. Charlie pulled me into a kind of embrace so he could stick the gun into my ribs as we walked toward the cab. I didn’t need to pretend to find it hard to walk, the gun in my side did that for me. I could see Maisie creep around the corner of the hotel as we moved toward the car. Our progress was slow as I limped with the pain of the gun.

“Hurry up.” Charlie spoke through clenched teeth.

“Impossible with that extra rib you’ve given me.”

He would shoot me; I could feel his resolve in his grip around my body, strong enough to drag me into the car if necessary. Phillip looked frightened, awaiting orders by the passenger door. As we got to the cab, Charlie motioned for him to go around the other side. I cursed inwardly; I had been hoping to get away by jumping across the backseat and out the road-side door, but that would now be impossible. I didn’t dare turn my head to see what Tom, Bertie, and Maisie were doing, to alert Charlie to their plans, if they had any, or to stop looking where I was going. The irony of being abducted in revenge for abducting the princes was perhaps the only thing that stopped me from being overwhelmed by panic. The only thing I knew was that I absolutely could not get in that taxi. If I did, I doubted I would ever get out alive.

Three more steps; here was the curb.

“Get in.” Charlie growled in my ear in a parody of a lover’s whisper. I could feel the gun bruising me. I turned to his face, ready to do anything, to bite him if necessary, my body tense as I resisted his push to get me into the cab—

I heard thudded footfalls. I saw Maisie appear beside us and I brought my knee up to Charlie’s groin as hard as I could. Charlie groaned and Maisie whacked him with an empty grappa bottle. Another set of hands—Tom’s—reached in and grabbed the gun as it fired into the cobbles, burning his hands and grazing my calf. I stumbled, it stung like first heartbreak, and Tom dropped the gun. I lunged for it, as did Charlie, but Maisie hit him with the bottle again, bringing the duke to the ground. Bertie had run to the taxi to get Phillip, but at the sound of the gunshot the taxi driver had sped away, with Phillip inside the cab, the door open and swinging as the cab rounded the corner. Bertie ran after them, correctly guessing that Phillip would get out of the cab as soon as possible and run back to help Charlie. But Charlie was on the ground, being sat on by Maisie and Tom, his arms twisted around his back. Phillip held his hands up as Bertie approached him, unarmed and unresisting.

“Let me see how Carl is.” Phillip’s voice was wheedling, especially compared to the coarse curses and grunts coming from Charlie.

“Not if you begged me,” said Bertie, “though you’re welcome to try.”

“Please,” said Phillip. “He’s a duke. This is most undignified…”

“A duke who shot at us!” yelled Tom.

“How dare you! How dare you!” Charlie’s curses had deteriorated to outraged claims about his dignity. I unloaded the gun and tipped the bullets into the gutter.

“Get a cab, Bertie. These men are leaving us.”

“Never! Never! You will pay for this! The Leader will get you for this!” Charlie’s curses went on and on. Phillip stood trembling and bewildered, as Bertie took him firmly by the arm and watched for a cab.

“Get him up or the cab will never stop for us,” I said. Tom nodded to Maisie. They both took Charlie’s arms and hauled him to his feet. Charlie was woozy, still cursing even though his knees frequently gave way. Tom had somehow lost a shoe and acting the strong man in his socks made the scene almost a joke. His bright red palms were not a joke though, nor was the throbbing pain in my calf. I didn’t dare move in case I found I couldn’t walk.

The cab came; I heard Bertie give directions to the station that ran the intercity trains. Phillip got in meekly but Maisie had to give Charlie’s arm a little twist before he got in. His face was red with hate, glaring at us through the window, his head leaning against the seat, rubbing his shoulders as the taxi pulled away. They rounded the corner and we waited, a beat, then another.

The mission was complete.

“Have we done it?” Bertie asked.

“We’ve done it.” The gun was suddenly almost too heavy to hold. In fact, I felt tired in every limb and had to close my eyes to stop my head from swimming.

“Button.” I felt Tom beside me and I leant into him.

“Katie, you’re bleeding.”

I opened my eyes to see a small puddle of blood at my heel. Tom’s hands were glowing.

“How much do they hurt, Tom?”

“A bucket of ice water and a double vodka should let me sleep.”

“I can arrange that.” Maisie went off to get the ice while Bertie took my arm. He stopped and turned. “We’re not going out, are we?”

“I can’t, Tom can’t—”

“I won’t,” called Maisie.

“You can, Bertie, if you can find a sweet corner of this city. How’s your Italian?”

Bertie grinned. “I left him in London.”