Castle of Shadows (10 page)

Silence crashed into the room like a felled tree. Two dozen pairs of elderly eyes widened in shock and turned to stare at Charlie. Surprise made her breathe in too quickly and cigar smoke made her cough. One of the old men who had been dozing in a corner woke up with a start. ‘What’s that?’ he cried. ‘What did ’e say?’

‘I said the chit’s not Princess Charlotte!’ snapped Topplesham. ‘And get her some water, Mumps, before she chokes to death!’

A footman who looked like a chicken in a wig scurried forward and handed a glass of water to Charlie. She sipped it slowly while she got over her surprise. She wasn’t frightened. No one could be frightened by these creaky, flustered old men. The only person in the room who scared her was Windlass, and she was careful not to look at him. His silence meant he was leaving her to deal with Topplesham. Another test.

‘Thank you,’ she said and handed the glass back to Mumps. She remembered what Windlass had said about acting a part. She marched to the Wool Sack and sat on it, perching upright in her best princess manner: back straight and hands folded in her lap. She looked at all the startled old men. ‘You may be seated.’

They sat, all except for Lord Topplesham, who folded his arms over his barrel of a belly and glared at her even more fiercely. ‘Thank you for the water, Lord Topplesham,’ she said. ‘When I next visit Parliament I would appreciate it if the gentlemen of the Lords and Commons would leave their cigars and pipes unlit. Tobacco smoke is bad for children. My mother made my father give up smoking when I was born.’

Topplesham’s scowl stuttered. ‘So she did,’ he gasped. ‘The King complained of it to me more than once.’

‘Please, Lord Topplesham,’ Charlie said, ‘tell me why you don’t think I’m me.’

He threw a dark glance towards the Prime Minister. ‘I’ll tell ye,’ he said. ‘And I’ll not mince words. There’s been too much of that for too long!’ He scowled at the old men scattered along the benches. The old men coughed and stared at the ceiling.

‘When the Queen disappeared no one was allowed near the King. That one,’ he jabbed his thumb at the Prime Minister, ‘banned everyone from the King’s presence. Medical reasons. Ha!’

Topplesham glowered at Windlass. ‘And no one’s seen the Princess, bless her, since then either. Perhaps her mum took her with her when she disappeared. Perhaps she’s took ill and died. Perhaps,’ he glanced darkly around the room, ‘
someone
did away with the mite. I don’t know what happened to Princess Charlotte. But I know that man,’ he pointed a podgy finger at the Prime Minister,
‘serves no one but himself!’

Topplesham turned his glare on Charlie. ‘He brings you here, missy, and says you’re Princess Charlotte. Well, where’s the proof? No one’s seen the child for years. Are we to take his word for it? What’s in it for him? That’s what we ought to ask. What’s in it for him?’

Charlie drew a deep breath. She didn’t dare look at Windlass. Instead, she gazed at the old men scattered around the benches. They were waiting for her to prove her identity…or to fail. She looked up, and the past monarchs of Quale stared down at her dubiously. Her eyes paused on the last of the portraits.

Charlie stood, hardly noticing that half the Parliamentarians tottered to their feet while half remained seated. She strode down the central aisle, her silk skirts rustling. She mounted the stairs to the gallery and paced along it until she stood directly beneath the portrait of her father in his coronation robes, aged fifteen.

She turned to face Parliament, knowing now the truth of what Windlass had said about appearances, wishing she had a diadem to glitter on her head, a sceptre to hold. She put up a gloved hand, adjusted the necklace. Windlass had said she was nothing but an actress. Then she would give them theatre! She gazed down at Lord Topplesham and the dregs of the Qualian Parliament.

‘Gentlemen!’ Her voice rang round the room and echoed from the walls. ‘I stand below the portrait of my father, King Henry Julius Stephen Charles Xavier of
Quale. I challenge anyone to look at me and look at my father’s portrait and doubt my lineage!’

The old men craned their necks, stared up at the painting, took out their spectacles and squinted through them. They began to mutter and nod.

Charlie waited. Her blood was singing, thrilling in her veins. All at once she felt invincible, capable of anything– even besting Alistair Windlass!

She lifted her chin, wishing she was taller. ‘I am Her Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte Augusta Joanna Hortense of Quale! If any of you still doubt my identity, I am sure the Prime Minister would be only too happy to arrange an interview with my father so that he can confirm that I am, indeed, his daughter. My father is indisposed, but he is not so ill that he does not know his own child!’

She waited a few seconds, each one as long as a minute, then marched back down the stairs. She did not dare look at Windlass. All her confidence had gone as quickly as it had come. What if it hadn’t worked? She strode to the Wool Sack, turned to face Parliament, and glanced at Topplesham’s face. The confusion she saw there made her almost sorry for him.

‘Well, Lord Topplesham, are you satisfied as to the young lady’s identity?’ Something in Windlass’s voice made Charlie shudder.

Topplesham turned so red in the face his white wig looked in danger of bursting into flames. But he managed
to give a curt nod. ‘I completely, and without reservation, retract my previous statement about the young lady who honours us with her presence. I was hasty in my accusation. She is the image of her father in his youth. I ask Her Highness’s pardon for doubting her.’

‘Well, of course––’ Charlie began.

‘As to that,’ the Prime Minister interrupted, ‘things are not so simple. Your outrageous accusation, Lord Topplesham, might well be considered treasonable.’

All the colour drained from Topplesham’s face, leaving it as white as his wig. The old man gasped in dismay and began to shake with fear.

‘But surely not,’ Charlie cried, daring to glance into Windlass’s eyes at last. ‘It was just a mistake.’

There was no warmth in the look he gave her. ‘These matters are best left to Parliament, ma’am.’ His voice was dangerously smooth. He expected obedience. Charlie felt her face grow hot. She dropped her eyes to the floor. What could she do? Windlass thought her a compliant puppet, a gullible little girl who believed every word he said. To challenge him now would be a declaration of independence. She couldn’t save Topplesham. It would be madness to try.

She glanced up at the old man. He stood with his head sunk on his chest. All the other Parliamentarians looked away, shuffled papers, hummed, stared at the ceiling. With a sinking heart, Charlie knew she had to do something.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. To her relief, her voice didn’t wobble. She forced herself to turn and look at Windlass again. Forced herself to smile at him: a trusting, naive smile. ‘I’m only the daughter of the King, Prime Minister,’ she said. ‘Questioning my identity was silly, but surely it cannot be called treason! Lord Topplesham did not question my father’s right to the throne.’

Windlass studied her. After a moment, one side of his mouth quirked in an unreadable smile. ‘Well done, ma’am,’ he said. ‘You put your argument succinctly. But I regret to inform you that questioning the legitimate succession to the throne is also a treasonable matter.’

Topplesham gave a dusty sigh, like a deflating bagpipe. Charlie felt sick. She had gambled and lost. She didn’t dare look at Windlass again, so she stared at the floor, trying to stop shivering. He would call the Guard, and they would drag poor, foolish Topplesham away to prison.

Why had she done it? If she lost Windlass’s trust, she would never find out about the weapon. Her usefulness to the Resistance would be over. They might stop searching for Bettina. The Prime Minister would wash his hands of her, and O’Dair would once more have complete power over her. Charlie wished for the glass of water back: her mouth felt as dry as dust.

‘However,’ Windlass said and paused. Charlie glanced up. His eyes gleamed at her, and she couldn’t look away. ‘Lord Topplesham has been foolish and impolite, but your own generosity of spirit in overlooking his rudeness is
persuasive. Perhaps he did not intend treason. Perhaps he should be given the benefit of the doubt.’

Charlie blinked. Her mouth fell open, and she quickly shut it again.

‘On the other hand.’ The smooth voice grew as cold and pointed as an icicle. ‘Lord Topplesham would do well to consider whether his foolishness is not in itself a resigning matter.’

‘I resign at once!’ Topplesham gathered his belongings and stumbled from his seat to stand, plump and quivering, in front of Charlie, his armful of papers and portfolios threatening to spew onto the floor at any second. ‘Your eternal servant, ma’am.’ He swept himself and his belongings into such a deep bow that he only stood again with difficulty. Then, without a backward glance, he turned and hobbled from the room.

‘You seem to have a talent for inspiring devotion,’ Windlass said, as he and Charlie sat on the Wool Sack in a chamber empty of all traces of Parliamentarians except for the lingering stink of tobacco smoke.

Charlie smoothed the skirt of her dress. Inside the gloves, her hands were clammy with sweat. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?’ she asked innocently. ‘That man is rather a fool, I’m afraid,’ she added, as though she had only just thought of it.

He stared at her and then threw his head back and roared with laughter. Charlie jumped. She didn’t know
whether to be pleased or frightened.

‘Well that, at least, cannot be said of you.’ The Prime Minister got to his feet. He towered over her, seeming taller than ever in his elegant clothes. A jewel shonemoonlike from the folds of his cravat, reflecting the colourof his eyes.

‘Have we finished?’ she asked.

‘Only just begun, Your Highness.’ He smiled down at her. She knew then that she had not fooled him for a moment.

When Charlie slipped into the next door room after her lessons the following morning, the first person she saw was Tobias, standing with his back to her, gazing out the window. Outside, rain slanted sideways on the wind. Nell sat hunched on a wooden box in the corner, staring at the floor. Tobias turned at the sound of her footsteps, leantagainst the wall, crossed his arms. Nell glanced up. Neither said anything.

‘Is there any news about Bettina?’ The other two looked as gloomy as the weather, so she wasn’t surprised when Nell shook her head, but the disappointment cut deep. ‘Nothing at all?’ she cried.

Nell sighed. ‘No hint of the woman in Quale. So Peter’s sent people to Durchland, but nothing yet.’

Charlie crossed her arms to hold in her frustration and began to pace. ‘What are we going to do now?’ she said at last. She wanted to break the silence so she could stop thinking about Bettina. Besides, she had lain awake half the night asking herself that question. Silence. She tried again: ‘Why aren’t you working, Tobias?’

He jerked his head at the window. ‘Even Fossy can’t garden in that. I’ve been cleaning pots all morning in the glass house. He’s gone off home till tomorrow. So I’m
taking the afternoon off.’ He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow. ‘Guess we ought to be bowing and scraping, Your Highness. The City’s full of talk about your procession to Parliament. Missed it, myself: I was shovelling muck. Did you get to wear a pretty dress, then?’

Charlie felt herself blushing. ‘None of that matters… except…’ She looked at Nell, who frowned.

‘Something happened? What?’

‘One of the Lords, Topplesham, he accused me of being an imposter brought in by the Prime Minister.’

‘What an idiot!’ Tobias grinned. ‘One look at that red hair of yours—’

‘Oh shut up! The point is, when he’d finished making a fool of himself, Windlass said he’d committed treason, and I couldn’t just… I…’

‘Oh, Charlie!’ said Nell.

‘I’m sorry! Anyway, I think Windlass knows I suspect him. I…I’m not sure.’

Tobias groaned. ‘Can’t you learn to think before you open your mouth? Well, that’s torn it. Because there’s no way we’re gonna get in his office. Not with a guard beside the door all night long. We’ve had it. It’s up to your lot now, Nell.’ He frowned at Charlie. ‘Maybe you
would
be better off out of the Castle.’

‘Giving up so soon, Toby?’ Nell’s voice was soft, but her eyes were hard brown pebbles. ‘Guess you ain’t a Petch – just like you always say.’

Stillness fell over Tobias. Then he shrugged and smiled.‘I ain’t a quitter!’ he said. ‘But I ain’t stupid either. There’s no percentage in trying to do the impossible. If you’re so clever, you tell us what we ought to do next.’

‘I will,’ Nell said. ‘There’s the rest of the ministerial wing. What about Windlass’s secretary? He must keep a diary. Peter wants to know Windlass’s movements around the City. Who he’s meeting, where he’s going and when.’

Charlie frowned at her. ‘Why does Peter want to know that?’

Nell met her eyes for a moment, then glanced away.‘He just does.’

‘Peter was right,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re a rotten liar. He’s going to try to kill him, isn’t he? He wants toassassinate the Prime Minister!’

Nell began to pace up and down the room, not looking at either of them. She rubbed her hands across her eyes, shook her head. Finally, she turned and glared at Charlie. ‘I don’t like it!’ she cried. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do. But…if we can’t stop him any other way—’

‘It’s murder!’

‘And what about your mother, girl?’ Nell’s voice whipped back. ‘She’s gone, and it’s Windlass’s doing. Your daddy’s mad and playing with toys in his nursery, and that’s Windlass’s doing too. He’s made himself King in all but name, living high while he let O’Dair half-starve you and dress you in rags!’

‘He didn’t know about Mrs O’Dair.’

‘He should have done! If he didn’t, it was because you weren’t important enough for him to bother with. Now he thinks different and you’re all dressed in silk and ribbons and riding in coaches to Parliament. No wonder you don’t want him killed!’

‘That’s a lie!’

‘Shut up, Nell!’ Tobias said. ‘Charlie’s right. I’ll help put that man in prison. But I won’t help murder him. Count me out.’

‘We’ll find out whatever we can,’ Charlie said. ‘Anything that will help. But not that.’

‘Then you’d better think on this, Charlie.’ Nell’s voice trembled with fury and frustration. ‘You’d better decide who you want to live: Alistair Windlass or your father. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.’ And she whirled away out the door.

Charlie stared after her, then turned to look at Tobias.‘What did she mean?’

His eyes flickered; he glanced away. ‘I don’t know. Shedon’t mean nothing. Don’t worry about it.’

‘You’re losing your touch, Tobias Petch!’ she spat, fear spinning, as it always did, into anger. ‘You used to be a halfway decent liar!’ And she turned and ran fromthe room.

If her mother were dead, her ghost did not haunt her bedroom. Charlie had never felt such an empty room. Everything shouted of absence: the windows staring over
the remains of the rose garden; the hangings of the four-poster bed, tidied into prim folds; the dressing table, with its pots of rancid cream and bottles of stale scent.

Worst of all was her mother’s dressing room. Most of the cupboards empty, the clothes gone, presumably stolen by O’Dair and sold. The rails that had once held rows of dresses, riding habits and ball gowns were empty except for dangling bunches of lavender that disintegrated at a touch. Charlie couldn’t stand the scent of lavender: it smelt of loss. She had not come here for years.

Braving this room was an act of sheer desperation. She knew it. But this was the last place in the Castle she could think of to search for clues to Bettina’s identity. There might just be a secret cache of letters hidden at the back of a drawer, under her mother’s mattress, in a hatbox tucked high in a cupboard. But all the drawers were empty, and the hatboxes had been stolen along with the hats.

She made herself look in every drawer. She felt beneath the mattress. She checked behind the mirrors and lifted the pictures from the wall to search their canvas backs. Her mother’s jewel case was empty. Charlie’s heart hammered at the sight of it. She imagined the O’Dair’s thick fingers plucking pearls, emeralds and diamonds from their resting places.

There was nothing of her mother left. Not so much as a single hair tangled in a hairbrush. Only, under her mother’s pillow, Charlie’s fingers touched a familiar
shape. A playing card. The queen of hearts. She pushed it back with a shaking hand.

She closed the door behind her. She hadn’t expected to find anything. Windlass would have had the room searched when her mother first disappeared. If there had been anything to find, he would have found it. It had been stupid to hope, but miracles happen sometimes. Only not today. She raised her head and found herself staring at the only other door in the corridor.

Charlie could not remember ever having been in her father’s bedroom before. It surprised her. Somehow, she had not expected it to be so tidy. No. Not tidy. Barren. It was much smaller than her mother’s room. A four-poster bed stood alone in the middle of the floor. Not a modern one, like her mother’s. This was an old bed. Dark. With figures of people and animals carved into the headboard and up the thick columns. They were crudely carved, with heads too large for their bodies and round, staring eyes. The eyes were old and cruel. She shivered and turned away.

The only other furniture was a narrow dressing table. There was no mirror and only one picture. It was small and set in a heavy golden frame that made it seem smaller still. It was a portrait of her mother.

The painted face was stiff, like a doll’s. But the artist had managed to capture her mother’s hair exactly: golden wires, tendrils and curls no comb could tidy. Hair exploded away from the painted face like fireworks.
Charlie remembered the woman in the crowd. No, it had not been her.

It was time to leave. As she passed the dressing table, she noticed a little brown bottle and teaspoon on a small silver tray. Her father’s medicine. She had seen him take it dozens of times. She stared at it. Slowly, Charlie approached the table, picked up the bottle and slid it into the pocket of her skirt.

Tobias dropped the packet of broad bean seeds. Large wrinkled beans scattered across the rusty soil. ‘Blistering heck!’ He knelt down to pick them up, and the pebble sailed over his head. Charlie cursed too, but silently, and fished another pebble from her pocket.

She blew on her fingers to warm them. Accuracy was important. Just a few rows in front of Tobias, old Foss was hoeing leeks. Charlie clung to the top of the kitchen garden wall, holding herself up with her right arm, her toes gripping the crumbling bricks. It made throwing difficult. But she had to speak to Tobias. She had stalked him through the Castle garden since early morning, and she would have to go to her lessons soon. Foss might have been Tobias’s jailer, so jealously did he watch over his every movement.

She cocked her left arm back, aimed, threw.
Clunk!

‘Ow!’ Tobias clamped his hand to his head, and Charlie winced. She had thrown harder than she meant to. Tobias whirled round, scowling. His mouth dropped open as he
spotted her. He shot a glance at Foss, but the gardener was bent over his hoe. Tobias turned back and jerked his head at her with unmistakeable meaning, warning bright in his eyes.

Charlie slid from the top of the wall and dropped to the ground. An overgrown hydrangea slumped nearby, its brown mop heads bent beneath a net of bindweed. She crouched behind it, waiting.

Fifteen minutes later, Tobias sauntered out of the kitchen garden, whistling loudly, hoe and spade slung over his shoulder. Without breaking stride or looking to see where she was hiding, he motioned for her to follow and strode on in the direction of the greenhouses.

When she caught up with him, he was standing outside the tool shed, scraping mud from his spade. He straightened as she approached. ‘Well?’ he said. She could tell he wasn’t pleased to see her. ‘What is it? This isn’t a good time. Fossy’s on the warpath today. I can’t do nothing right for him.’

‘I need to talk to you!’

‘Oh well. What’s one more ticking off?’ He put the spade and hoe in the shed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’d best go somewhere private. He’ll be along here in five minutes.’ He strode off, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Next time,’ he said without turning around, ‘throw gentle! I got a lump the size of a hen’s egg.’

She knelt between the roots of the largest yew tree in the Castle grounds. The giant stretched sixty feet into the sky; its lower branches swept the ground, forming a cave. It was dry under the tree, and the winter sunshine filtered through the branches and lit the cavern with an emerald glow.

‘It’s nice here,’ Charlie said. ‘It feels safe.’

Tobias nodded. ‘Foss won’t find us here. But I can’t stay too long. He’ll be looking, and he won’t stop till I show up. Doubtless I’ll be shovelling muck all day tomorrow.’ He was sitting on the thick root that burrowed into the ground beside her. There was no complaint in his voice, only a sort of bleakness.

She looked at him. ‘You really hate gardening, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘But that ain’t why you’re here. What’s up? I gotta get back to work.’

She fished the bottle of medicine from her pocket and handed it to him. ‘This,’ she said. ‘I need to know what it is. Would you ask Maria if she can figure out what’s in it? She knows about herbs and medicines.’

‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

‘Because she likes you better. She’ll do it for you no matter what. With me it’s chancy.’

‘Fair enough. Where’d you get it?’

She hesitated. ‘I’d rather not say. Not yet. Do you mind?’

He frowned, shrugged again. ‘All right, Charlie. You
don’t have to tell me. I’ll take it to Maria.’ He shoved the bottle in his pocket.

‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him.

‘She’s a brick, Maria.’

‘Watch certainly seems to think so.’

Tobias’s eyes darted to her face. ‘What d’you mean by that?’

‘Nothing. Only wondered if you’d written any love letters lately.’

Even under his tanned skin and the smudges of dirt it wore, she saw his face flush bright red. His mouth fell open. He shut it. ‘Peter certainly got his end of the bargain! You’re a born spy. Just don’t let Watch catch you. Not these days, with O’Dair on the rampage.’

‘You seem friendly enough with him.’

‘He’s all right, Watch. When he ain’t drunk too much. We’re old mates. But he ain’t altogether to be trusted. So don’t go wandering around the Castle at night on your own.’

‘It’s none of your business, Tobias Petch! I don’t tell you what to do!’

‘Charlie…’ He paused, shook his head. ‘This isn’t a game. People can get hurt.
You
could get hurt. O’Dair hates you, in case you hadn’t noticed!’

‘I don’t know why. I never did anything to her.’

‘That’s the way some people are when they do someone down. They can’t be an honest villain, so they blame the person they’re hurting. Now…breaking into the
secretary’s office. Can you do tonight? Nell’s agitating.’

‘But you said—’

‘There’s other stuff we can look for. Proof that Windlass is working with the Esceanians. We could give Peter names, contacts. The secretary’s bound to have a record of his meetings and correspondence in a tidy little file somewhere. It’s worth the effort, I reckon. Meet me in the library?’

‘What time?’ asked Charlie.

‘Midnight.’