Bedlam: The Further Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë (47 page)

“Stop him!” I cried.

No one did.

A
WEEK AFTER THE SCENE AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE, I RETURNED to Bedlam. It was a rare, fine summer morning in London, shortly before eight o'clock. The sky was blue, the air freshened by a cool wind. Pigeons fluttered, their wings flashing white in the sun, above the dome of the insane asylum. The horrors that I'd experienced there still gave me nightmares, but today I felt no fear as I entered Bedlam. Slade was beside me. He limped from the gunshot wound in his thigh and leaned on a cane, but fortunately the bullet had gone straight through, causing no serious damage besides an alarming loss of blood. That he hadn't died was a testament to his strong constitution and will to live.

We walked together beneath the shade trees on the grounds of Bedlam. I carried a gift- wrapped box from a confectionary store. We climbed the wide staircase with the other visitors, then proceeded to the criminal lunatics' wing. I hesitated, my heart suddenly pounding, outside the iron door, that portal to hell.

“Don't be afraid,” Slade said, his hand closing warmly around mine. “Everyone who worked for Wilhelm Stieber is gone.”

“I know.” The police had arrested the doctor who'd tortured us. Wagner was dead, accidentally killed by me. Friedrich had hanged himself in Newgate Prison. We had learned this from a Foreign Office agent who'd come to see us at the hotel where we were staying. But I had to steel my nerves as the matron admitted us to the criminal lunatics' wing and led us down those dismal corridors. She unlocked a door, put her head in, and said, “You've a visitor.”

While Slade waited outside, I entered the cell. Julia Garrs sat primly on her bed. She smiled, and her violet-gray eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Charlotte! You've come back to see me! They said you wouldn't, but I knew you would.”

“Hello, Julia.” Tears stung my eyes because she again reminded me so painfully of Anne. “I brought you a present.”

She tore open the wrappings. “Oh, I love candy! Thank you so much.”

“I wanted to thank you,” I said. “You saved my life.”

When Lord Palmerston had sent his troops to Bedlam, Julia had guided them to me. If not for her, I would have been murdered by Stieber.

She nodded as if she understood, even though I couldn't tell her what had happened. I said, “If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

“Could you find my baby?” she asked. “And tell him that I'll be with him soon?”

All I could say was that I promised I would. I pitied her, and I thanked God that Anne was at peace. I bid goodbye to Julia, then joined Slade in the corridor. He said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” I had set off a chain of events, and I felt obligated to witness all the consequences.

The matron led us to another cell. Slade and I peered in the window. Niall Kavanagh crouched on the floor, dressed in pajamas, his red hair tousled; his spectacles had slipped down his nose. Pen in hand, he scribbled frantically on sheets of paper. His writings and diagrams looked like utter nonsense.

“He's been doing that every day,” the matron said. The army had taken Kavanagh straight from the Crystal Palace to Bedlam. The doctors had removed the bullet that Slade had fired into his shoulder and stitched up the wound. They'd also discovered that he was suffering from pneumonia, not wool-sorter's disease. He wasn't going to die yet. “His ma and pa came to see him yesterday, and he got so violent we had to tie him up in a blanket gown.”

I pitied Sir William and Lady Kavanagh. As I wondered what terrible new ideas he was formulating, Kavanagh looked up. His face was puffy, his gaze blurred. He didn't seem aware of me. Then he bent his head over his papers and continued scribbling. My heart ached because I saw Branwell in him. But I took comfort from the fact that my brother had come to his senses and repented of his sins in the end, while Kavanagh had not.

“What will become of him?” I asked Slade.

“He'll probably spend the rest of his life here.”

“But shouldn't he be tried in court and punished for what he's done?” After all, he'd murdered the three women in Whitechapel, and he'd almost killed the Queen, not to mention millions of other people.

“Imprisonment in Bedlam will have to be punishment enough,” Slade said. “Kavanagh can't be put on trial. He can't go out in public, not even to be hanged. God only knows what he might say. He has to stay in Bedlam, where his ravings won't be taken seriously and the doctors can control him with drugs. Otherwise, the whole story might come out. And the government does not want the story to come out.”

Queen Victoria had cleaned up after the fiasco at the Crystal Palace with admirable if not gentle efficiency. She sent for the army to restore peace at the Great Exhibition, then ordered Slade, George Smith, Mr. Thackeray, and me to accompany her, Prince Albert, and the royal entourage back to Buckingham Palace. When we arrived, we were given rooms in the guest quarters. The Queen's personal physician removed the bullet from Slade's leg and dressed the wound. I kept vigil by his bedside while Slade slept.

In the morning, after breakfast, a servant escorted me to a chamber where I found George and Mr. Thackeray sitting at a vast, highly polished table beneath a crystal chandelier. They didn't appear to have slept any more than I had. They had dark shadows under their eyes and the stunned look of people who had wandered into strange territory and didn't know if they could ever go home. They rose when I joined them. We remained standing while the Queen and Lord Palmerston entered.

We made our bows; the Queen acknowledged them with a brisk nod. She seated herself across the table from us, motioned us to sit, and said, “I've summoned you here to talk about the sorry business at the Great Exhibition.”

Standing beside her, Palmerston smiled, but with less humor than usual. “We must ask you not to discuss it with anyone, not even among yourselves.”

I suspected he was sorry to have missed out on the excitement. Perhaps he also thought he could have handled the situation better than we had.

“Oh, don't mince words,” the Queen said impatiently. “We're not asking. It's an order.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Palmerston said.

“It would serve no good purpose for the British people to learn what almost happened,” the Queen said. “It would only frighten them and destroy their confidence in the government.”

Neither George, Mr. Thackeray, nor I dared to suggest that since the threat to Britain had been engineered by one of its own officials, perhaps the government deserved to lose some of its citizens' faith in it. When the Queen said, “Do you swear to keep the events of last night a secret?” we each solemnly said, “I do.”

“You are free to go,” Palmerston said. “Unless you have questions you'd like to ask.”

“I hope Dr. Crick is not in trouble?” I said.

“Fortunately for him, no one was hurt when his airship exploded,” Palmerston said. “I've had him sent home. He won't be punished.”

“The only thing he's guilty of is having the bad judgment to fall in with you, Miss Brontë,” the Queen said, cutting her eyes at me.

Mr. Thackeray spoke up. “What's to become of Dr. Kavanagh?”

“That is yet to be determined,” the Queen said.

“What about his research?” George asked.

“Her Majesty has declared it a state secret,” Palmerston said. I understood that it was his idea. “We'll collect Kavanagh's papers and equipment and put them in a secure place.”

“Shouldn't his work be continued?” Mr. Thackeray asked.

“It could be used for the good of mankind,” George said. “Why, it could revolutionize science.”

“Possibly,” the Queen said, “but his theory about the cause of disease is too extreme to be sprung on the world all of a sudden.”

“His techniques for culturing the animalcules are too dangerous to let fall into the hands of our enemies during this troubled age,” Palmerston said. “His work must be suppressed until the time is right to make it public.”

I couldn't imagine when that would be. “But Wilhelm Stieber knows about Dr. Kavanagh's research. He'll tell the Tsar.”

Palmerston's smile thinned. “Not if we can help it.”

“Your Majesty, may I ask how Mr. Slade is?” George said, looking at me.

“My physician tells me that Mr. Slade is expected to make a full recovery. But you could have asked Miss Brontë.” The Queen gave me an unpleasant, insinuating smile. “I daresay she knows more about Mr. Slade than anyone else does.”

I covered my embarrassment by asking, “Is there any news of Lord Eastbourne?”

“He was caught this morning at his home, where he'd gone to pack his things and fetch money to leave the country,” Palmerston said.

“What will become of him?” Mr. Thackeray asked.

“He will get his comeuppance,” the Queen said, “never fear.”

“In the meantime, we would like to thank you for your service to the Crown,” Palmerston said to George, Mr. Thackeray, and me. “I'm sorry that because of the need for discretion, we can't give you any medals, but please know that you are held in the highest honor.”

“Yes,” the Queen said. “Mr. Smith and Mr. Thackeray, you are heroes. And you, Miss Brontë, are a heroine.” She pronounced the last word as if she'd had another one in mind.

We thanked her and Lord Palmerston. After she had dismissed us, George and Mr. Thackeray and I were escorted out of the palace to a carriage that waited to take us home. Mr. Thackeray said, “That was certainly a hullabaloo, wasn't it, Miss Brontë?” I noticed that he didn't call me Jane Eyre. I suspected he never would again. “I could have dined out on it for the next ten years if I hadn't been sworn to secrecy.”

George held out his hand to help me into the carriage. “May I?”

“Thank you, but I'm not going yet.” I wanted to wait for Slade.

George dropped his hand. “I understand.” He sounded dejected. I recalled that he'd seen me kissing Slade last night. He'd deduced that there was no place in my heart for him. “Well, then,” he said with an attempt at a smile. “I hope to see you the next time you're in London.”

As I bade goodbye to my friends, I felt a distance between us. Last night they'd seen a new side of me, and it had frightened them. Because of me they'd become involved in a near disaster. Our friendship would never be the same, I regretted as I watched the carriage roll out the palace gate. But although I had lost something valuable, I had found what I had set my heart on that day I'd visited Bedlam. I turned and went back inside the palace, to Slade.