Jon couldn’t quite believe his luck when Balmoral – the great hulking castle that it was – appeared out of the snowy mist. Miss Darcy was leaning on him, so it almost felt like he was walking for two through the impossible storm surrounding them. The Winchester had now gone from a formidable weapon and sometime walking tool to an imperative part of this hybrid machine, clearing the holes that Jon used to navigate.
Miss Darcy was not offering help – he did not know if she even really understood what was happening. She was incredibly cold – even more so than himself – as she must have been out here in the elements for most of the day. Even the parka was not offering her enough respite, as it was caked in snow, and also soaking wet, perhaps indicating that she had fallen at some point or another. He tried to ask what had happened to her, but she did not respond. Her nose was blue in the stark white of the dying day, and her mouth could have been frozen shut for all the words she had spoken.
When the castle came into view, Jon had all but given up hope of ever seeing it again. His mind had half-convinced him that it had never existed. He rested Miss Darcy against the castle wall as he collapsed against the servants’ door over and over again, hammering an arm that felt far too heavy and far too strong. He felt no pain as it collided against the cold wood of the door, but knew he would in time – like the rest of him, it was numb. The snow had done to his body what the death of King Eric had done to his soul. On the fourth thrust of his arm, the door finally gave way, and he found himself sailing through the air, onto the comparatively warm white tile of the hallway. He could have whooped with joy then, entirely forgetting himself, and maybe he did – the only other soul who could have confirmed this was staring at him with cold, glassy eyes.
Back in the kitchens, Jon instantly set about making Miss Darcy a cup of cocoa, for the sugar intake, and a cup of tea, for refreshment. The young woman sat there shivering in her soaked work suit. She had shed the parka at the door, rightfully so, but now she was almost worse off for it. The right thing to do would have likely been to change into a whole new set of clothes, or at least shed the wet ones, but there were no new clothes down here in the guts of the castle, and Miss Darcy was not one to suffer the indignity of nakedness, no matter the cost. Luckily, for a reason that escaped Jon at this current moment, he did have a bath towel down in the kitchen, under the fresh tea towels, which he fished out of the linen drawer and draped around Miss Darcy’s shoulders. He was unsure if she even noticed – her stare had not faltered since he’d found her.
The kettle boiled and Jon put aside his differences with the microwave to warm the milk. Almost simultaneously, the tea and cocoa were ready. Jon, aware that he did not want to appear on an upper level to Miss Darcy, brought two more stools over to her, one to sit on and one to act as a table for her drinks. The moment he placed the mugs down, Miss Darcy’s hands shot out for the tea. Her brittle fingers caressed the mug and slowly relaxed, warming into an embrace. She brought it up to her face and took a long drink, although the liquid still had to be scalding.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’ he asked, not that he could offer much more than stale toast and friendly service.
Thankfully, Miss Darcy shook her head – a swift movement of the head twice. ‘There was a Kit Kat in my glovebox.’
‘Oh, good.’ He connected the dots but wouldn’t begrudge anyone who didn’t. There were far more important issues than that, and Miss Darcy finally seemed in a state to answer them. ‘Miss Darcy, what happened to you?’
Miss Darcy sniffed, running a hand under her nose. He had seen her reprimand a servant for performing a very similar gesture, calling it ‘common’ and ‘not befitting of the place.’ Now, the gesture only served to illustrate the depravity of the situation. ‘The snow was already coming down something fierce when I left this morning. However, I thought I would be okay to get back to the village, where I was to spend the day.’ So there was definitely a unit down in the village waiting for any signal that something was wrong. Well, a great help they had been, and would continue to be, if the weather did not let up. ‘I have snow tires, but I had trouble getting out of Balmoral, even.’ Jon could attest to this – having watched her out of the King’s window. ‘Once I reached the front gates, the snow had increased in speed. The road was almost impassable. The gates barely opened. Yet I still persevered. I do that too much – not accept defeat. I think giving up will make me a smaller person, and look where it has gotten me. Right back where I started.’
Jon knew that he must steer Miss Darcy back on track, just as the snow seemed to have steered her past self off of it. ‘Did you crash, Miss Darcy?’
‘No,’ she said simply. ‘I started driving and very quickly I could not see exactly where I was going. I knew I was on a road, and I thought it was the right one, but I did not know for sure. I went as slowly as I could while going as fast as was sensible to get through the snow. At some point though, it was merely too much. The snow surrounded me and the car and was piling up so quickly that I could not go fast enough to get unstuck from it. I did not crash – that would almost have been preferable. No, I merely stopped, and there was nothing to be done to get started again. You’ve never seen anything like it, Jon. The snow. It is as if the world is ending.
‘I sat in the car for maybe an hour, watching the snow bury me. I was safe inside only as long as I could still escape. I had the heat on, yes, and could have happily stayed in there until the battery died. Eventually, it seemed like I would have to make a decision, a move. I didn’t quite know what to do. It was terrifying, sitting in that tin box, knowing that safety was either closer forwards or backwards, but I had no way of being sure.
‘I decided that I must not have come that far, probably even less than I had thought. The snow diluted everything, stretched it, warped it. I decided to try and come back to Balmoral. My phone had already died, even before I got in the car. The plugs in the bed and breakfast, they don’t work. I didn’t have a coat, more than my suit jacket, but I knew I had to go, so I did.
‘It seemed like hours before I reached the front gates. The wind, the snow, the white light coming from the sky – it all just sought to slow me down. I was wet, frozen, and stupid. I did not even think that I would not be able to get back into Balmoral. My set of keys were back in my hotel room, as I knew I would not need them this morning when I came to deliver the box to the King. Also, I could not chance being seen with them, as I was supposed to surrender them for the day, as per the King’s ridiculous request to be alone.
‘God must have sent Tony Speck down to me then – I am not even religious, but that is the only thing I can think of. I must have been there for maybe fifteen minutes, screaming through those gates for help, before Speck came sauntering out of an outcrop as if he were taking a leisurely stroll. He had not heard me, of course, did not even see me at first, but when he did, he rushed over to open the gates. He understood what had happened almost instantly, and he took me to the Watchtower.’ The Watchtower, a name Speck coined, was not a tower at all – it was a small, untidy shack on ground level covered by uniform bushes, which was a base for the guards at the gates, with sleeping facilities and a wall of CCTV. ‘He made me a tea, not unlike you have just done. Soon after that, the power died in the Watchtower – it is on a different grid to the castle, a slightly less important and more temperamental one, so I was not particularly surprised.’
Jon could have cut in and told Miss Darcy of the power troubles the castle had experienced, but it was hardly relevant in the middle of her tale.
Miss Darcy finished her tea in one final great slurp and immediately began on the cocoa.
‘I asked why Speck was even out there on the grounds in the first place and he said something about the King not stopping, going on about how he thought someone would come to try and take the King’s life. Speck had it in his head that he needed to be out there, and to his credit, the man has never been wrong. If he needed to be out there, then he needed to be out there. I said that I was going to try and make my way up to the castle, and he said he would not come, but he did offer me his parka. After some arguing, I accepted.
‘That was hours upon hours ago. How much distance is between the Watchtower and the servants’ door – maybe a quarter of a mile at a stretch? That is the power of the snow though. When I left that shack, I was back into that disorienting landscape, albeit with slightly more protection. I staggered around not knowing which way was right and which way was wrong, sometimes which way was up and which was down, left, or right. Once I lost sight of the railings behind me, that was that. Nothing but white and the occasional shrub to get lost in. I was on the grounds of one of the most secure castles in the world, and I had never been more scared for my life. How does that happen?
‘Anyway, I believe that brings us up to speed. If you were not outside to meet me, I would have likely staggered around out there until New Year’s Day, or died of exposure. You have my sincere gratitude, Jon.’ She set down the cocoa. It was gone too. ‘How are things here anyway? Has the King made his speech yet?’ She checked her watch and despaired. ‘My God, is that the time! Yes, I suppose he has then – hours ago. I’m rather glad I missed that, truth be told. I do hope he won’t mind me being here – I think he can shirk his rules in the circumstances. Jon, what is it?’
Jon could not move. He could not say anything. He could not even think. How could he even begin to explain the events that had occurred?
‘Jon, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost, and I assure you I am very much alive. Not only am I alive, I wish to be informed of today’s events, which tells you I am still capable of doing my job.’ Miss Darcy smiled, indicating that there was a joke in there somewhere. There might well have been, but Jon could not hear it. He hadn’t really registered any of her words.
‘I . . . ’
‘Jon, please, if this is some Christmas hijinks, I’m not in the mood. I’ve been outside for so long, my wick has snapped off and . . . ’ Miss Darcy’s face lit the colour of the sky. ‘Wait, why were you outside anyway? And why were you outside with a rifle?’
Miss Darcy was starting to understand that something was wrong, and that helped to unlock Jon’s lips, his voice a cold, hoarse thing. ‘Something terrible has happened, Miss Darcy, and I’ve been the only one here to deal with it.’
‘What has happened?’ Miss Darcy got up – her life force restored by hot milk and powdered chocolate. The roles were reversed now, and Jon was glad. Finally, someone was here with a higher station than him.
‘I’ve tried to keep it together for the sake of the Crown, but this day is a terrible mess.’
‘Jon, stay calm and tell me exactly what has happened.’
Jon opened his mouth then, the tears falling faster than the words, faster even than the snow. To the day he died, he could not recall exactly what he said to Miss Darcy then, but he would come to imagine it was something about a flooding on a bridlepath causeway.