Laura Rowland - The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Bronte

“How long have I been asleep?” I said, trying to speak calmly and hide my fear lest it rouse his suspicion.

“Long enough,” came the reply.

My heart plunged, for I calculated that I must have slept through an entire day. By now the Queen must have discovered that the children and I were gone, and Mr. Slade must have begun a search, but still no one had rescued us.

“Where are we?” I said.

“On the North Sea,” Hitchman said.

I looked backward as Nick rowed and our boat cut across the water. Lights twinkled on a distant shoreline. My hope that Mr. Slade would come for me waned further.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“To meet Kuan.”

Ahead loomed the dark form of a steamship floating at anchor. I deduced it to be the vessel that Kuan had stolen from the opium traders and that had brought him to England. Lanterns burned on its deck. Skeletal masts supported weather-beaten sails on rigging that was like the web of a giant spider. The huge, curved wheel-houses bulged with latent power. The funnel rose tall enough to impale the heavens. Nick brought our boat alongside the ship. A ladder was mounted on its hull.

“Up you go, Miss Bronte,” Hitchman ordered.

Still weak and sick from the laudanum, and trembling with fright, I climbed the ladder. The ship’s hull was scarred from long journeys, infested with barnacles, algae, and wormholes. Two Chinese sailors hauled me aboard. Their narrow, hostile eyes stared at me; they wore pistols and daggers at their waists. More Chinamen loitered around the deck. I felt as though I’d stepped onto foreign territory. I despaired, knowing that Mr. Slade would never find me there.

Hitchman, Nick, and the sailors brought Vicky and Bertie and the dinghy onto the ship. Hitchman said, “Come, Miss Bronte, I’ll show you where you’ll live during our voyage to China.”

China! I felt a stab of horror. I never imagined events would reach this point. Hitchman and Nick carried the children down a flight of stairs below deck. My responsibility towards Vicky and Bertie outweighed my fears for myself: Whatever happened, I could not allow harm to come to them. I followed them into a narrow passage that smelled of coal smoke, tar, and fish as well as those odors produced by humans living in close, unsanitary quarters. We entered a tiny chamber that had four bunks mounted on the walls, a washstand, and a porthole window.

“See to the children,” Hitchman said as he and Nick laid them on the two lower bunks. By now they were restless and yawning. “Make sure they behave themselves. Nick will bring you food and water. You’ll find everything else you need in the cupboards under the bunks.”

The men departed. I unwrapped Vicky and Bertie. They had wet themselves while asleep, and their nightclothes were soaked. In the cupboards I found children’s garments, and some that would fit me. Those were of much better quality than I usually wore. Kuan had provided well for us. This dismayed rather than pleased me: It seemed the final confirmation that I would indeed be going on this journey. Nick brought bread, cheese, cold meat, and a water jug. I cleaned the children and dressed them.

“Miss Bronte,” Vicky murmured. “Where are we?”

I felt a terrible pity for her, and a guilt even more terrible. “On a ship.”

“What are we doing here?” Vicky sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t feel good. Where are we going?”

I hadn’t the heart to tell her.

“Where’s Mama?” Bertie demanded. I tried to put shoes on him, but he kicked at me. “Go away! I want Mama!”

“I’m sorry, but your mama isn’t here.” Wondering how in the world I would manage him, I resorted to an outright lie: “Be a good boy, and you’ll see her soon.”

Bertie began to cry and wail, “Mama! Papa!”

When I tried to soothe him, he pushed me away and wailed louder. Vicky sat silent on her bunk, prim as ever; but her chin trembled.

“You must be hungry and thirsty,” I said in an attempt to distract the children from their woe.

Vicky drank some water, but she refused the food. “No thank you, Miss Bronte,” she said politely. “I don’t think I can eat.”

Bertie said, “I’m going to find Mama,” and scrambled out the door.

I followed, calling, “Bertie! Come back here at once!”

He ran down the passage, but Nick stood blocking the stairs. Nick picked up Bertie, who shrieked and fought, carried him into our chamber, and dumped him on the bunk. Bertie lay there squalling. Nick gave me a look that warned me to keep Bertie inside, then left. The rolling of the ship churned my stomach. I wanted to vomit up my sickness and terror, to weep with despair. But I had to hold myself together for the sake of the children. It was up to me to save them from Kuan. I sat beside Vicky and took her cold little hand in mine.

“Can you keep a secret?” I whispered.

She gave me a somber, questioning look. Then she nodded.

“Some bad men have kidnapped us,” I whispered. “I promise I’ll take you and Bertie back to your mama and papa.” Somehow, God willing, I would. “But I need you to promise to help me. Can you?”

I couldn’t explain to a child the terrible specifics of what might transpire, but Vicky seemed to understand at once that we were in danger and must band together. She said, “Yes, Miss Bronte. What do you want me to do?”

“You must try not to make those men angry,” I said. “Should there arise a chance for us to escape, be ready to do whatever I tell you.” She nodded solemnly. “And if you can calm your brother, please do it right now.”

Vicky hopped down from her bunk and addressed Bertie: “Shame on you, Prince Albert Edward. That’s no way for the future King of England to carry on. Be quiet!” She cuffed the sobbing boy on the head. “Show some courage!”

At that moment she sounded just like her mother. Bertie ceased his tantrum and pouted. I gave Vicky a look of thanks, which she acknowledged with a gracious nod.

Hitchman appeared at the door. “Mr. Kuan would like to see you,” he told me.

He locked the children in the room. Apprehension gripped me as we went up on the deck. Kuan stood gazing eastward out to sea. He had shed his European garb and now wore the coat, trousers, cap, and slippers of a mandarin. He looked altogether foreign, and even more sinister than before.

“Greetings again, Miss Bronte,” he said.

He motioned for Hitchman to leave us and extended his hand to me. The Chinese crew loitered nearby, armed and wary. I gave Kuan my hand, which he pressed to his lips. I stifled a tremor of revulsion. No matter that I could still sympathize with his cause, Kuan was the devil incarnate. I avoided his gaze, lest mine reveal my thoughts.

“A thousand thanks for delivering the royal children to me,” Kuan said. “You have performed admirably.”

Despite his extensive network of informants and virtual omniscience, he seemed unaware that I had betrayed Captain Innes and that the man was dead. Nothing in his manner indicated that he suspected me of collaborating with his enemies. I silently thanked God.

“It was my pleasure to serve you,” I said, eager to keep his trust, the better to find a way to escape.

“I regret holding your family hostage,” Kuan said. “It was but a necessary precaution. Before we set sail for China, I will send word to my men to release them. I hope I haven’t caused them any inconvenience.”

He spoke as if imprisoning my family were so trivial that I wouldn’t mind. I swallowed my anger and said, “When do we sail?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, “when the rest of my men arrive. They will bring the gold we need to journey around the world and carry out my plans in China.”

My spirits lifted momentarily, thinking I’d been granted a reprieve; then it dawned that I had but one day to save the children. And how could I, when we were on this ship, so far from shore? If only Slade would find us!