It was half past six by the time Ricci and I left Disraeli’s house, by the back door again. Tabby was waiting outside for us.
‘Can he do anything?’
‘Not much.’
But then, she’d never expected anything. Mayfair already had an atmosphere to it that suggested something special about the day – more carriages on the streets, more servants out on the pavement. This was the last big event of the season and, in the tall houses alongside the park, the powerful and the wealthy would soon be stirring, sipping coffee and getting ready for a long day in velvet and jewels or decorations and knee breeches. I had to resist the temptation to shout that they should stay in their beds and be safe, but getting arrested as a lunatic wouldn’t make matters any better, though I didn’t see how they could be much worse. At the bottom of Park Lane, I took us through Green Park to Buckingham Palace. Somewhere inside that slabby stone building, little Vicky was probably awake already. We could hear horses stamping and carriage wheels grinding from inside the mews. We turned across the front of the palace and along Pall Mall, following the route the Queen’s procession would take. Already, people were beginning to gather, and more police constables than usual were patrolling. We went across the empty expanse of Trafalgar Square with Nelson marooned high on his new column, desperately far from any sight of the sea, and down Whitehall with flags out on the buildings to Parliament Square. It was past seven o’clock now and more crowds were gathering. Food and drink sellers were circulating with barrows and there were even a few early-rising pickpockets. I saw Tabby signalling discreetly to a couple of them, probably warning them to let us alone. The two unfinished towers on the parliamentary site had flags flying from the scaffolding. I used Disraeli’s pass at the main gates because two police constables were on duty, but I think they might have let us in anyway. They seemed quite relaxed and unworried. Even if Disraeli did manage to stir somebody to action, it was too early to have any effect yet. At this end of the site, we were nearer the incomplete Commons chamber and the clock tower than the Lords, and the working day seemed to be starting more or less normally. We made straight for the stone wharves, getting a few curious glances along the way, but nobody tried to stop us. The wharves stood empty – there were no sloops in and only a rowing boat tied up to one of the vertical timbers. Nobody was on guard. The nearest workmen were several hundred yards away and had their backs to us. The river was busy with sailing barges and steamers, none of them making for the stone wharves. Three boats were anchored out from the bank on our side of the river – one quite large and two that seemed to resemble slightly the one where I was imprisoned, but I hadn’t taken enough note of it to be sure. Nobody was visible on any of them.
‘They’ve probably already landed it,’ I said. It would have made sense to do it by darkness. Tabby and Ricci were looking at me, waiting for directions. I said they should stay at the wharves, watch out for anybody landing and take whatever steps they thought necessary to stop them. I’d go to the woodcarvers’ area and try to find anybody who knew about Mr James. When I got there, the huts were deserted. Either it was too early for the woodcarvers to come on duty or they were all at the Vauxhall Bridge workshops. I tried to remember the name of the man who’d helped Mr James pull me out of the river. Evans. I had no idea where he worked on the site. I went back to a busier area and asked some men sifting sand. It seemed that there were even more Evanses on the site than Jameses, and unless I knew his department they couldn’t help.
‘Welsh and religious,’ I said, almost despairing.
Their faces cleared. ‘You’ll need to ask the Sackbuts. They’re chapel, and if he’s Welsh he’s bound to be.’
The Sackbuts turned out to be scaffolders working on the clock tower. One of them came swinging down a series of ladders and did indeed know a man who sounded like my Mr Evans. He worked in the drawing office and Mr Sackbut escorted me over to it, worried for my safety over uneven ground, clutching at my elbow now and then if he thought I looked like falling. At the drawing office, Mr Evans looked alarmed to see me, but I guessed that was on account of the teasing he knew he’d get from the other men who were bent over their desks, pretending not to look at the rare appearance of a woman. He took me outside to talk to me. When I asked if he’d seen Mr James recently, he shook his head.
‘Not since Wednesday. But then, I don’t think he comes here every day. He could have been at the Vauxhall Bridge workshops.’
His manner was still tense. I had to remind myself that he knew me only as a failed suicide. It might have been in his mind, too, that I had romantic intentions towards Mr James.
‘I’m very much afraid something may have happened to him,’ I said. ‘Do you know if he has a family?’
I could see that the question confirmed his suspicions. ‘If there’d been an accident we’d all have heard. I’m afraid I don’t know him well, only to pass the time of day with now and then.’
‘You were near the wharves with him.’
‘I like looking at the river. Soothing, it is, before a day’s hard work. I get in early sometimes, and I suppose he does too. But he struck me as a quiet man, does his job and keeps himself to himself.’
If I’d told him outright that I feared Mr James were dead, I was sure he would only have taken it for more hysteria. It seemed wrong that a man could disappear and nobody miss him. Mr James had done well, discovering the group at the Compass. Too well. Without knowing it, Evans had killed my faint hope that there might be a police search for him going on.
‘Did he ever happen to mention to you a woodcarver named Jonah Cave? I think he may have been looking for him.’
He frowned, trying to remember. ‘I don’t recall him looking for him. But I do remember seeing them together.’
‘When?’
The urgency of my question rattled him. ‘Three or four weeks ago, it would have been. I happened to be walking past with one of the inspectors. A group of men had come down from the workshops and were talking to him. I heard one of them being called “Whalebait”. It struck me as an unusual name for a man, so I asked one of them and he said it was really Jonah. Walked with a bit of a limp, he did.’
‘That’s the man. And he was with Mr James? Mr James knew him?’
‘Well, he must have, mustn’t he? He was there with the rest of them.’
I thought back to my conversation with Mr James. I hadn’t given him Cave’s name, but the description had been quite good and the limp should have identified him, yet he’d denied knowing him. Or had he quite? I thought back to the conversation. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Not exactly a denial, but if he’d known the man I was talking about, why not say so?
Mr Evans said he must get back to his desk and was turning to go. Unpromising though it was, I had to try on him the appeal I’d hoped to make to Mr James.
‘Mr Evans, I know you’ll find it hard to believe, but something serious is happening. I have good reason to think that some people have brought a very powerful explosive into this site and intend to use it at the House of Lords ceremony.’
His look now was frankly scared, but not in the way I wanted. He was scared of me. He shook his head, turned and went at a fast walk back to the safety of the drawing office.
I was still holding Disraeli’s note and, in spite of what he said, I hoped it might get me into the Lords’ chamber. I picked my way across the site towards a side entrance and found a mass of people – workmen, officials, men in top hats, police officers. Although there were still five hours to go to the ceremony and three before the first of the invited spectators arrived, the building was already a magnet. I wanted to shout a warning to them all, but the reaction of everybody, from Mr Evans to the high official from the Home Office, told me it would be a waste of time. Worse, it would probably lead to me being locked up as a madwoman, even less able to influence events. If only I could get into the chamber. With the memory of the piece of wood carving that Jonah Cave had given to Felicity, I might be able to spot something out of place. It was a faint hope but the only one I had left. I walked up as boldly as I could and presented my pass to the official on the door. He hardly glanced at it before shaking his head.
‘Official invitations only, ma’am.’
It was past nine o’clock. I made my way back to the main gates and found Amos and Ricci waiting, but not Tabby. Amos was dressed formally in breeches, waistcoat, brown jacket and best boots, but with a low-crowned hat instead of his usual top hat with the cockade. Half his mind was still on his two carriages that would be collecting their fairly distinguished clients in a few hours, worrying if he’d done the wrong thing by not warning the drivers.
‘Where’s Tabby?’ I said.
Ricci looked apologetic. ‘I lost her. We were down at the wharves together and suddenly she wasn’t there. I don’t know where she went.’
Ricci naturally wouldn’t have known about Tabby’s almost uncanny ability to melt away. It was in my mind that she might simply have got bored with his company but, more likely, she’d seen somebody to follow. It was worrying, but by now almost every thought in my mind was focused on getting inside the Lords’ chamber. Tabby would have to wait because an idea had come to me, desperate but just possible with luck.
‘Go back inside and try to find her,’ I said to Ricci. ‘If she’s in any sort of trouble, do whatever you can. Amos, will you come with me as far as Knightsbridge?’
He agreed at once. We watched as Ricci went unwillingly back inside the gates. As we walked across St James’s Park, going as fast as we could through the gathering crowds, I told him what I was hoping.
‘Will she, do you think?’
‘Probably not, but I can’t think of any other way.’
We stopped outside the bright new stone facade of Lord Brinkburns’ London house and wished each other luck. There seemed to be nothing else to say. He watched as I went up the steps and rang the bell, then turned as the front door opened and walked away towards Hyde Park. The butler didn’t recognize me at first in my old clothes, although he’d seen me many times. Perhaps he knew I was supposed to be missing because he stood staring at me, as close as I’d ever seen to a butler at a loss what to do. I asked him in as normal manner as possible if Lady Brinkburn was at home.
‘Her … Her Ladyship is upstairs, ma’am.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll kindly show me up to her.’
He asked me to excuse him while he let Her Ladyship know I was here, and I watched him as he made his dignified way up the wide stairs – carefully, not hurrying. It was several minutes before he came down, his face as expressionless as he could manage.
‘Her Ladyship will see you, ma’am.’
I followed him upstairs, the carpet soft under my feet. He showed me into Her Ladyship’s dressing room and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
‘Liberty!’ Julia was on her feet, her face incredulous. She was wearing a blue satin dressing gown and velvet slippers, her hair done up in a turban. Behind her, on a dressmaker’s dummy, was a blue dress with elaborate embroidery. Her maid was arranging brushes on the dressing table. ‘You’ve been … We thought you were … Where have you been?’
‘It’s a long story.’ I glanced at the maid.
‘Betty, will you leave us, please. I’ll ring when I want you.’
Julia and I were friends as well as sisters-in-law. In fact, I liked her better than I liked her husband, Stephen, Lord Brinkburn. But I couldn’t tell her everything. For one thing, there wasn’t time. For another, I still hesitated to tell the family about Robert. So I described my escape, leaving out the fact that it had been more than a week ago, my belief that an attack on the Queen was planned in the House of Lords and my attempts to get anybody in authority to listen. Luckily, she knew quite a lot about things I’d been involved with in the past and at least didn’t look at me as if I’d lost my mind. Understandably, it took some time for her to take in what I was saying.
‘Where’s Robert?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. The fact is I need to be inside the House of Lords. You’re going?’ The elaborate dress on the stand would have answered the question in itself. Julia was not extravagant and would only have spent so much for a royal occasion.
She nodded. ‘Along with all the rest of the peers’ wives. Obligatory.’
‘Could I go in your place?’
She considered for a moment. ‘Heaven knows, I don’t want to go. I’ve a headache already at the thought of sitting for hours shut up in this heat dressed like a waxwork.’ She bent her head, considered some more, then looked up at me. ‘All right. I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t suppose you’ve told me everything. But I trust you, and if you think it’s necessary, I’ll do it. Only we have to hurry because the carriage is coming round in an hour.’
Her maid, Betty, had to be told, because apparently the task of changing me from my unwashed and unkempt state into a lady fit for the royal presence was more than Julia and I could handle by ourselves. Betty was totally loyal, she said, and she’d tell her only that her sister-in-law had agreed to take her place because of the headache. In fact, Betty seemed to find the whole thing amusing and treated it like a dressing-up game. She sent down to the kitchen for jugs of hot water and organized things in a bathroom across the corridor that already had piped cold water. The bath she prepared, warm and scented, would have been a luxury at any other time, but now I stayed in it only long enough to get clean, resenting the minutes ticking by. Then I wore Julia’s silk underwear, cool against my skin, and Julia’s dressing gown. Betty did my hair. There was no time to wash and dry it, but at least that made it easier to put up. In the course of all this, I registered that Julia’s husband was already at the House of Lords on some committee business. If he’d been at home, I don’t think she’d have dared do it.
Julia and Betty fitted the dress on me. It felt as heavy as armour from the stiff lining and all the embroidery. Since I’m thinner than Julia, it needed taking in and stitching, and Betty was as light-fingered as a fairy at that. The shoes that matched it were too short for me but possible when I scrunched up my toes. Julia and Betty looked at me critically.
‘You’ll do,’ Julia said. ‘Now the jewels.’
Carefully, Betty lifted a silk cloth from a cushion on a small table. It was like sun on an ice palace – a cold blaze of light reflected at many angles. On it were a necklace of diamonds, square cut and heavy, with a tear-shaped pendant, two matching bracelets and a tiara.
‘We keep them in the bank and I only wear them once in a blue moon,’ Julia said. ‘But on a day like today, it will be all guns blazing. Most of the jewellery collections in the kingdom will be on show. These will be no more than daisy chains in comparison.’
‘I can’t wear these.’ The dress was bad enough. Carrying Julia’s ancestral diamonds into whatever might happen was too much.
‘You’ll be naked without them.’
‘Naked, then. But nobody will be looking at me.’ In any case, I hoped not.
‘The tiara, at least. Without a tiara, everybody will be looking at you, like it or not.’
So I let them fix it in my hair. At least it was a simple design, as tiaras go. Julia and Betty took one last look at me and were satisfied. Carriage wheels came to a halt below the window.
‘Don’t worry about the coachman,’ Julia said. ‘He’s so shy he never even looks up at me. I don’t suppose he’ll notice, and if he does it’s no business of his.’ As I was going out of the door, she ran after me, put an arm carefully round my shoulders so as not to crush the dress, and kissed me on the cheek. ‘I hope … Whatever it is, good luck.’
Betty came downstairs with me and saw me into the carriage. If it had been Julia, she’d have travelled to Westminster with her to arrange the dress when she got down, but I didn’t need her. Creases in the dress were the least of my worries.
It took an age to get there. The driver chose to go by Piccadilly, probably hoping to avoid even greater hold-ups nearer the palace, but as it was we struck such a press of carriages near the top of Whitehall that we couldn’t move for nearly half an hour. It was past midday. If it hadn’t been for the dress and shoes, I’d have chosen to get out and walk. As it was, I fretted for every minute that passed and opened the window right down to listen. All I could hear was normal traffic sounds of horses’ hooves fidgeting, a harness jingling as a carriage shifted a few inches, and coachmen cursing occasionally in voices more subdued than usual because their employers were on board. At least nothing had happened yet, but then I didn’t expect it out here. Even if Amos were right and an attack would be made on the Queen’s procession, that was nearly two hours away. I supposed Amos was somewhere there, striding among the mass of carriages, looking for anything out of the way, but I didn’t expect to see him. A tortoise could have overtaken us as we crawled down Whitehall and at last rounded the corner into Parliament Square. Crowds were deep on the pavement now, flags waving. At long last, we drew up outside the Victoria Tower and the footman got down from the back to open the door and let down the step. I joined the queue of gentlemen in knee breeches, stockings and decorations, and ladies even more richly dressed than I was. Julia’s official invitation was clutched in my hand. The official at the door hardly glanced at it before I was carried in on the slow tide of velvet, ermine and trailing trains, ostrich feathers waving and diamonds flashing, to the huge red-and-gold cavern of the House of Lords.