37
Friday, June 18, cont.
Elizabeth was all aquiver, and I feared if I didn’t tell James about our invitation for tomorrow night right away, she would burst. “I received a letter from Germany today,” I began, wanting to draw the moment out.
“From the Secret Police?” James asked. “Another bonus, perhaps?”
“Nothing so mercenary. The letter was from my dear friend, Professor Bell.”
“Oh, is he still in Germany? What on earth for?”
“He was awarded a week as a visiting professor in Heidelberg. Now he’s on a brief holiday. He’ll be back in London tomorrow, and has invited us to dinner.”
“Us? Why would he invite us?”
“Well, he’s invited me, but I wouldn’t go without you and Elizabeth.”
“And you accepted without consulting me?”
His reply brought me short. “James, there wasn’t time. I got the letter late, due to transferring my mail here. I needed to get the letter to the club where he’ll be staying before his arrival . . .” I glanced at Elizabeth. “And I needed to make certain preparations.”
“Tell him the rest,” Elizabeth said, her eyes trained on me, offering encouragement.
“Doctor Doyle will also likely be there, in remembrance of times past, when the three of us worked together.”
James’s smile was replaced by a clenched jaw and crossed arms.
“The Doyle who makes Scotland Yard look like a haven for the feebleminded? That Doyle?”
“Yes, James,” I said in a mild voice. “My dear friend and comrade, Conan Doyle. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you. I thought you’d be excited. I was planning on the five of us going on to a reading by Mark Twain afterward. My two companions and I have a bit of a history with him also.”
“Margaret, I’m in the middle of a manhunt. A man who, by the way, tried to kill us in the street. I’m unavailable tomorrow night. I hope you and Elizabeth have a wonderful time.”
“Elizabeth is very keen to meet Dr. Doyle, and I think you should come, if only for her sake.”
“Yes, please Father. Tell him the rest, Margaret!”
“Is there something else I should know?”
I cleared my throat. “Elizabeth and I are going in male attire, as we’ll be having dinner at a men’s club.”
Silence. James sat frozen in his chair for at least three ticks of the clock, then a low rumble from deep within his chest exploded like a volcanic eruption as he laughed long and deeply. Tears ran down his cheeks as he hugged himself in the release of pure joy. He clung to the moment as long as he could, and I sensed that he was letting go of far more than the troubles of the day. After he had finally regained his composure and his breath he asked quietly, “Is that all? Very well, then. I look forward to it!”
Elizabeth told me later it was then that she knew he was truly her father once more.
Peter Kropotkin and his daughter caught the evening train to Southampton. They would catch the morning ferry to Calais, and then travel on to Geneva to join fellow anarchists from throughout Europe. Although the various leaders moved with discretion, their journeys, and gathering, were noted.
The bleachers around the steps to St. Paul’s were nearly complete; the odor of freshly sawn pine made the square smell like an Alpine forest.
The choirmaster had the boys of the choir march to their places for the ceremony several times. No singing on the steps . . . yet. It was vexing enough just getting the little hellions to walk in a line without tugging on each other’s robes or causing mischief. They would be in place before the queen arrived, but thousands would already be there, and the choirmaster didn’t want the papers to remark upon their deportment.
Herr Grüber was disappointed to learn that Parmeggiani had cast Herman aside when the man’s likeness appeared in the paper, allowing him to avoid arrest. As Grüber expected, the fence’s familiarity with skirting the law had allowed him to emerge a free man after a brief incarceration. His message of condolence to Luigi went unanswered, which Grüber put down to the Italian’s caution after his recent brush with the authorities. Grüber would alert his contacts in Southampton to keep an eye out for Herman, though he had faith the man’s love for his son would keep him on task. His pawn was in play, and it was a move he could no longer recall.
Troop ships were arriving and tying up along the Thames. Soldiers from the far reaches of the British Commonwealth would ride along the route before the queen to demonstrate the extent of her empire to a watching world.
That night, soldiers from around the globe met in London’s pubs, ready to defend the honor of their various regiments against one another, sometimes with fists when words proved insufficient. Still, at the end of the evening, before staggering back to their respective ships, they linked arms and sang:
God save our gracious Queen!
Long live our noble Queen!
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save the Queen.