Isabella Rockwell's War (15 page)

“I hear you
nearly had a nasty scrape,” he said in a clipped harsh voice.

Alix looked at
the ground.

“Yes, Uncle, I
did. I survived though. Thanks to Isabella here.” She gestured with
her head towards Isabella who curtsied politely. Really, she was
getting very good at this.

The man
nodded.

“Hmm, quite
the horsewoman I’ve heard.” He looked at her for a long moment
without expression. “Where did you learn to ride like that?”

“Rajputhana in
India, sir.”

“You’re a long
way from home, soldier.”

Isabella felt
her cheeks turn pink, but she kept looking straight ahead.

“Yes, sir, I
am.”

“An army brat,
I take it?”

“Yes, sir. My
father served with King William’s First Horse.”

“Served?”

“Died in
battle, sir…” She felt her lip start to wobble and she willed it to
stop. “Last monsoon.”

“I see.” His
horse shifted beneath him. “Damn fine regiment though.”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Served out
there meself many moons ago, would have stayed too, but…” He gave a
vague gesture of ownership to the air around him. “…duty called.
Sustained an injury in battle, I see.” He poked at her sling with
his crop.

“Yes, sir, but
it’s getting better.”

“Good, good.
Well then, carry on.” The next moment, the three men wheeled their
horses around and without a word set off down the path to the
stables.

Alix exhaled
noisily.

“Phew. Sorry
about that.”

Isabella
smiled.

“It’s alright,
don’t apologise, you goose. Who is he?”

Alix gave a
wry smile.

“That is my
Uncle Ernest, my father’s brother. If it helps, my father had five
brothers. Papa was number four and Uncle Ernest is number
five.”

“Is King
William number one?”

“No he’s
number two. My Uncle George died of consumption just after he
inherited the throne, King William took his place.” Isabella raised
her eyebrows. This was all very complicated. “Didn’t you ever do
history with Mrs Parson?” continued Alix in a teasing tone.

“I never
learnt anything of real use from Mrs Parson, not that I’m aware of
anyway.”

She fell
silent.

“Yes, I know,
schoolwork seems to have little bearing on real life,” replied
Alix.

“Anyway,
what’s your uncle doing here?” said Isabella.

“Oh, he lives
here, with his wife Fredericka. King William is always getting
cross with him saying he should pay more rent and not keep so many
horses, but Uncle Ernest won’t leave. He doesn’t have any money and
has a very expensive wife, so he has to stay. He only has a
soldier’s salary really, though he is a very great soldier, but I’m
not sure Uncle Ernest believes a General’s pay is enough for an
heir to the throne to live on.”

They walked
between two high banks of yew to where the path doubled back on
itself under an old oak. The sound of a stream came through the
mist, but Isabella couldn’t see it. A crow cawed once, waiting for
an answer.

“I thought you
were heir to the throne?” said Isabella.

Alix
laughed.

“Oh I am. It’s
just Uncle Ernest would be next in line if something were to happen
to the King and then to me, seeing as though he’s the king’s
closest brother.”

“I wonder when
he served in India?”

Alix urged her
mount forward.

“I’ve lost
count of all the countries he’s fought in, sorry, I don’t know when
he was there. You’ll have to ask him, I’m sure he’ll be at
dinner.”

“There’s a
dinner?”

“Don’t look
like that, Isabella. There is dinner every night.”

“What for
everyone?”

“No, not
usually, but tonight we are visiting King William. We’re taking
presents.” For a moment Alix looked more like a ten year old than a
twelve year old. “But actually I think he wants to meet you. He and
his wife, Adelaide, have always been kind to me. He complains he
doesn’t see enough of me….” Alix stopped herself from
continuing.

“And why
doesn’t he?”

Alix made a
wry face.

“He doesn’t
get on with mother or …” There was a long pause.

“Mr
Conroy?”

It was a stab
in the dark, but sure enough Alix’s cheeks flamed.

“Since Mr
Conroy arrived, we have visited St James’s Palace less and less. So
now the king must come here to Kensington, and he is not well, so
the journey is difficult for him. It doesn’t seem right.”

“He must have
been very fond of your father, to be so fond of you,” replied
Isabella, wanting to make it a little better for Alix.

“Oh yes, he
was. He’s fond of Ernest too, despite their rows, they’re quite
similar really. Oh look, there’s Mrs Jolyon.”

She waved at
the small dark figure, wrapped in a dark cloak on the path up ahead
and walked on towards her. Isabella increased her pace, dying to
ask how Ernest had got his scar, but felt it might be bad manners
in front of Mrs Jolyon, so held her tongue. Mrs Jolyon gave
Isabella a careful hug, and placed a gloved hand on the mare’s
neck.

“Good morning,
girls. You are up early. Well done, your majesty, for getting back
aboard.” Mrs Jolyon’s face was upturned to Alix’s and full of
admiration. “How do you feel now? Better?”

Alix
smiled.

“Yes, thank
you Mrs Jolyon. Much better. I knew if I took my lucky charm with
me I’d be brave enough to get back on.”

Mrs Jolyon
hugged Isabella again.

“That’s just
right, Princess, that’s exactly what she is.”

“We saw Uncle
Ernest….”

Mrs Jolyon
smiled and looked at Isabella.

“And what did
you think of our Captain Courageous?” Isabella snorted with
laughter though she tried hard to control it.

“Mrs Jolyon!”
Alix’s voice was shocked, but there was a hint of laughter to it.
Simon, Isabella noticed, could barely keep a straight face.

“I’m sorry,
your majesty,” said Mrs Jolyon, looking nothing of the sort, “but
he is ridiculous. I know he’s a hugely decorated soldier, but
really! He rides around here as if we were moments from invasion,
with all his soldiers and his swords. This is Kensington Palace,
not the front line at the battle of Waterloo. He’s nothing more
than a small boy.” Now Alix was laughing openly as they came back
though the bricked arch into the stable yard.

“Sssh, Mrs
Jolyon. His staff might still be here.” Mrs Jolyon raised her eyes
to heaven. Alix went to dismount, but Mrs Jolyon stopped her.

“Not here
dearest. Simon, can you take her majesty to the dismounting
block.”

Alix looked
bleak.

“Is Mother
watching again?”

“Yes dear,
she’s in her study.”

Alix pulled a
face. “Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly…”

“Now, now
dear.”

Alix turned
toward Isabella. “I expect you’ll be summoned to the Blue Salon at
some point. It’s mother’s study and I seem to spend my life staring
at its floor being lectured.” Her voice was bitter.

Isabella
smiled. “I used to get lectured too, if that makes you feel any
better,” but her mind was spinning. The Blue Salon! Wasn’t that
where Zachariah had said the painting was?

Alix smiled
back. “A bit.”

Isabella
looked back through the arch. One hundred feet away stood the grey
stone sundial. Should she go back and see if she could still see
the duchess? Then
if
she did decide to take the painting,
she would know where it hung. Not that she had decided, but hadn’t
her father always said reconnaissance was never wasted?

“Mrs Jolyon,
I’ve dropped my glove, I’ll be back in a moment.” Surprised at
herself, Isabella shot back down the path they way they’d come. At
the sundial she made a great show of bending and retrieving a glove
she’d slipped from her sleeve into her hand. Then she turned and
walked back slowly toward the stables, eyes moving from window to
window and then… there! What luck! She could see flash of spoilt
face and chestnut hair between heavy blue curtains. The Blue Salon
lay on the ground floor, two floors beneath Alix’s apartments.

There was a
sound of hooves and footsteps and Alix and Simon came back into the
yard and tied the mare up outside her stable. Isabella was loathe
to leave the horses and rubbed Shadow’s nose over the stable door
as he good naturedly chewed a ribbon on her cloak, his good humour
fully restored.

“Shall I
untack the mare?

“Go on then,
Miss,” said Simon with a smile. “Why don’t you do the bridle and
I’ll do the saddle.”

A moment
later, despite her arm, Isabella took the bridle into the large
tack room. She stood for a moment admiring the rows and rows of
gleaming tack, of all different types, carefully labelled. She
walked over to a row of saddles all covered with scarlet blankets
the same colour as Prince Ernest’s jacket. Well, Mrs Jolyon could
say what she liked about his behaviour, but his riding equipment
was faultless. She went back to search out the peg for the bay
mare’s bridle. Here it was, next to Shadow’s. What a lovely horse
he was. He must have a bad back to have behaved like that
today.

Alix’s saddles
all had dark blue rugs covering them, each embroidered with her
coat of arms – a lion and a unicorn. Isabella lifted her sleeve to
polish the end of Shadow’s saddle and then, putting her hand
beneath the padded cheek of the saddle, lifted it to push it
further back onto its rack. A searing pain shot from her finger,
all the way up her arm and she jerked her hand back quickly,
feeling the pain disappear as an object, sharp as a needle,
withdrew from her hand. Lifting the saddle with her good arm, she
leant down to look closely at its underside. When she saw what was
there, selfishly, her first thought was pleasure that her instincts
had been right. Careful not to pinch and so dislodge more of its
spines, she eased the burr from beneath the saddle. The Star Burr
lay undamaged in her palm. What on earth was it doing here, tangled
in Shadow’s tack?

Well, this
certainly explained why he’d bolted twice. Then another thought
came to her, dark and sticky, which she forced from her mind almost
as soon as it had entered. Could it be someone wanted to harm
Princess Alix?

Back in her
room, Isabella fumbled under her mattress for where she’d hidden
her bag and took out her pouch. Abhaya had put the Star Burrs with
the other poisons within the pouch, though as far as Isabella could
remember, they weren’t poisonous. They didn’t need to be with
spines like that. Maybe the spines came off? In her palm the Star
Burr she’d found in the padded under-side of Shadow’s saddle,
resembled nothing so much as a spiked acorn, but it was tough, and
the spines, as she pushed against them, were hard as oak and would
pierce, rather than break. She checked it against the one she found
in her pouch, but she hadn’t needed to; she was right, they were
identical.

She took out a
bag of comfrey and placed it in the tea she’d found waiting when
they’d returned from the stables and then forced it down, it’s
bitter liquorice taste sitting for a moment at the back of her
throat. She looked down at her arm. Alix had been right, it did
look better, but it was still annoying to be so out of action.
There was a knock.

“Just a
moment,” she replied hurriedly wrapping up her pouch, and shoving
them back in her bag. It was Mrs Jolyon who, to her delight,
addressed her in Hindi.

“Would you
like to come to the schoolroom, dearest one? Or do you need to
rest? I know the Princess would love it if you sat in on her
lessons with her. She already dreads your leaving and wishes to
make the most of every minute.”

“I don’t need
to rest, Sahiba, I would love to come…I like her majesty very much
too. She is one of the kindest people I think I ever met.”

“She is
indeed,” Mrs Jolyon held the door open for her.

“How did you
come to meet the family, Mrs Jolyon? It makes me laugh when I think
of the Moleseys and Mrs Trotter, how impressed they’d have been if
they’d have known you were to be part of the royal family.”

Mrs Jolyon
laughed.

“Oh I doubt
it. I’d still be servant class to them, but I wasn’t allowed to
discuss it. It was all a bit cloak and dagger.”

“Did you meet
them in India?”

“No, I didn’t
meet them at all. I was recommended to the Duchess of Kent by my
previous household. Their children were all grown and, though I
could have stayed with them, I thought a change would be good for
me.”

“Weren’t you
worried about leaving India?”

“I knew I
would miss it, but I always knew I would return. It’s where my
husband is buried, after all, and it holds most of my adult
memories. I was barely older than you when I first went out there,
so it is my home.”