Isabella Rockwell's War (11 page)

She looked
down.

“It was
alright, it was nothing. Anyone else would have done the same in my
place.”

“I’m not sure
they would,” said the girl, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever
seen. Tyrwhitt, please give her some money.”

Isabella went
to hold up her hand to say this wasn’t necessary, but a red-hot
poker of pain shot up her right arm and she let out a gasp.

In a moment
the blonde girl had rushed to her side.

“What is it?
You are hurt. Please sit down. Tyrwhitt quickly…” But her concern
came too late. Isabella’s last thought was how much she missed
Bumblebee, before she fainted.

Isabella woke,
instinctively feeling for her money belt, but all she could feel
under her fingers was soft, brushed cotton and the knobbles of her
ribs. Opening her eyes she sat up. Where on earth was she? She
looked at her feet moving beneath the cream and gold embroidered
coverlet and felt the softness of the deep feather pillows on which
she lay. She didn’t think she’d ever been so comfortable. Through
the rich tapestries hanging around the bed she could see patterned
wallpaper on which yellow and white daisies wound their way to the
ceiling. A fire crackled in the grate and next to it was a small
table laid with what looked, and smelt, like good things to eat.
Her stomach rumbled and she sat up straighter, but in doing so she
winced. Looking down she saw her right arm had been bandaged
tightly and lay, like a dead bird, in a sling across her chest.

She frowned.
Well, that was no good. No money, no bag and now no right arm.
Swallowing hard, she pushed her fear back down where it belonged.
She mustn’t worry. Her bag must be with Zachariah or Midge who
would take care of it for her. Her money must have been taken when
she was changed into this nightgown. Her bare feet sank into the
thick blue carpet when she stood to look through the drawers of a
bureau next to her bed.

The first
drawer contained clean underwear, the second, an assortment of
clean handkerchiefs smelling of lavender and in the third lay,
untouched and intact, her money belt. Isabella nearly cried with
relief.

Still, this
arm was a problem. She didn’t like the way the fingers of her hand
were cold and how the nails had a blue tinge. If she’d had her bag
with her she’d have been able to treat herself, but without it
she’d have to make do with keeping her arm warm and moving.

She sat in a
deep chair next to the fire, and helped herself to one scone and
then another, their sweetness and bulk driving away her tiredness.
This was not a dream then, she thought, blowing hard on her cup of
tea. She must have been taken to the home of the girl on the horse.
Very nice it was too.

Taking her cup
to the window, she could see the light outside was grey and the
snow had started again making it hard to see anything, but she
thought she could just make out a great expanse of grass dotted
with trees, their branches black against the snow. Was it morning
or evening? There was no way of telling. Still, this was a very
nice room and she was comfortable. It made a nice change from her
blanket between Midge and Ruby and having to listen to the little
ones argue. She might as well enjoy it while she could as, no
doubt, she’d be out on her ear fairly soon.

She checked
the door was open, just in case. Outside was a long corridor lined
with portraits and thick crimson carpet, quite like the Molesey’s,
except grander, with heavy gold chairs placed at intervals, as if
the corridors were so long one might run out of puff and need to
sit down. Isabella smiled. If all the toffs spouted as much hot air
as Lady Molesey did, they would need to.

Closing the
door, she made her way over to a bookshelf. Next to it stood a
beautiful white dressing table with cut glass bottles full of
things that looked like they would smell nice. A large
ostrich-feather powder puff sat next to a silver hairbrush.
Reaching up, Isabella took a brightly-coloured book down. It was
covered with drawings of animals and she loved the detailed picture
of the African lion, so different to the mountain lions of India to
which she was used. Inside the cover was an inscription.

“To my dearest
Alix, on your very special second birthday. With fondest love, your
Papa.”

Slowly, as if
through cobwebs, Isabella felt her brain start to work. After she’d
stopped the runaway horse hadn’t one of the men said ‘your majesty’
to the girl? Wasn’t there a Princess Alixandrina? Was this the
princess she’d heard her father once discussing with Jhota Lal one
night on the porch. Her father breathing out the smoke from his
pipe which hung around his head in the humid night air.

“Poor little
mite. She’s the same age as Isabella…”

Jhota Lal had
sighed.

“Small
shoulders indeed for such a responsibility. Let us pray that those
around her are trustworthy.” Isabella had always meant to ask why
they worried for the little princess, but she had only been young
herself and life was far too exciting for her to hold onto to any
thought for long.

The door
handle turned with an expensive click. Isabella pulled the cord of
her dressing gown tighter. A blonde head and wing-browed blue eyes
peered around the door.

“Oh, you
are
awake. I was right. Everyone said you’d sleep until
lunchtime and to leave you be, but I was worried you’d wake and not
know where you were.”

Next to Lily,
Isabella thought this girl had one of the kindest faces she’d ever
seen. She was richly dressed in a blue wool sailor suit, the skirt
thick with petticoats and her straight blonde hair was pulled back
from her face with a dark blue silk band the same colour as her
eyes. Her nose was straight and regal and her mouth wide and
inclined to laughter, but Isabella caught a shadow on this
beautiful countenance and she narrowed her eyes.

The girl came
over to Isabella.

“How is your
poor arm?”

Isabella
looked down at it.

“It’s a bit
sore, to be honest.”

The girl
nodded her head.

“I am not
surprised. You gave it the most ghastly wrench to stop my horse and
it looked pretty nasty when the doctors were bandaging it.”

“Did I faint?
I can’t remember anything.”

The girl sat
on the bed, happily prepared to recount everything.

“After saving
my life, you fainted as my man was trying to give you some money.
Personally, I thought your arm was broken…. Then there was a bit of
a scuffle because your friends wanted to take you home with them
and I wanted to bring you back here, for I should never have
forgiven myself if you had not been mended well. And though your
friends were kind and well-meaning…” She paused, embarrassed. “I’m
not sure they could have afforded the doctors which we could.”

Isabella
smiled.

“No, probably
not.”

“So,” the girl
continued, “we brought you back here by carriage. Two doctors
attended to your arm and my maid changed you. You did not stir once
and I was terribly worried, but my doctor said this was normal for
someone who’d been living a…” Here she paused again. “Living a
difficult life on the streets….”

Isabella
coloured.

“I don’t live
on the streets. I do have a home. It might not be as grand as this,
but it’s still a home.”

Now it was the
girl’s turn to go pink.

“Oh no I’m so
sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course you have a home. I
didn’t mean to presume, it’s just you are quite thin and, er,
grubby and we all just assumed….”

“Well don’t,”
snapped Isabella. Who did this girl think she was? So what if she
did live on the street? What had it to do with this girl who
clearly had never gone hungry in her life?

The girl hung
her head.

“Sorry.”
Isabella looked at her suspiciously. “You’ve got good friends too,”
the girl continued quickly. “They put up a real fight when were
putting you in the carriage. The little one broke one of my guard’s
boots by kicking it.” Isabella smothered a grin. “I promised them I
would return you, good as new, when your arm had been seen to. The
older boy said he’d be back this afternoon to check you were all
right.”

Isabella
frowned.

“Did I sleep
all night long?”

The girl
nodded.

“I had someone
bring you some breakfast in case you woke and I checked on you last
night, but you were fast asleep. You must have been more tired than
you realised.”

“No wonder I
was so hungry,” Isabella gestured toward the table, “the scones
were delicious. Thank you.”

The girl
looked pleased, her embarrassment evaporating.

“Oh good, I’m
so glad.”

To Isabella,
the girl’s face looked as if she actually were, and Isabella found
herself warming to her. She walked over to the bookcase and took
down the book from earlier.

“And this, is
this yours?”

The girl came
and stood at her shoulder, and Isabella caught the scent of
roses.

“Yes. My
father gave it to me years ago.”

“So your name
is Alix?”

“Yes. My full
name is Alixandrina Hanover, but it’s such a mouthful everyone just
calls me Alix. Your name is Isabella isn’t it? The older boy told
me.” She went pink again. “He’s quite handsome isn’t he?” Now
Isabella threw back her head and laughed, and it was Alix’s turn to
look cross. “Well he is. You’d have to have a white stick to think
he wasn’t.”

“I’ll tell him
you said so,” said Isabella.

“Oh no please
don’t,” Alix looked horrified.

Isabella
smiled.

“All right, I
won’t. It would only make his big head even bigger than it already
is.”

“Is he your
brother?”

“No, but to me
he is family.”

“And the
little boy and girl?”

“The same
really. We live together.” Isabella chose not to say anymore. She
didn’t want to risk telling someone of the location of their den
and all their stolen loot.

“With your
parents?”

“No. We are
orphans, so we take care of each other. That’s why they gave your
soldiers such a hard time. They will be worried about me, in the
same way I would be worried about them if our positions were
reversed.”

Alix face
softened.

“I’m sorry.
Isabella is such a grand name… for someone who has to live by
themselves.”

Isabella
smiled.

“According to
my father my grandmother loved posh names and made my mother
promise if I were a girl, I would be named Isabella.”

“And if you’d
been a boy?”

Isabella
wrinkled her nose.

“Edwin.”

Alix smiled,
eyes dancing.

“You had a
lucky escape, then. Maybe I shall call you Edwina instead.”

“Not if you
want to live,” Isabella replied idly.

Alix laughed
out loud, and put her hand on Isabella’s good shoulder.

“It’s so nice
to have someone my age to talk to. It can get very dull around
here.”

“Alix, I’m
sorry, but where are we? Also, I can’t find my bag and I wondered
if you knew what had happened to it?”

Alix smiled, a
hesitant smile, as if she had news, which she felt might not be
well received.

“Sorry, of
course. Your bag was taken by the littler of the two boys and, I
suppose it’s not obvious, but you are in Kensington Palace. I am
Princess Alixandrina. I probably should have told you this
before.”

Alix looked so
fed up with this admission, Isabella couldn’t help feeling sorry
for her.

“I thought you
were when I saw what your father had written in your book. Don’t
worry. I remember my father’s soldiers talking of the little
princess. They must have meant you.” Isabella’s words were gentle,
but tears still sprang to Alix’s eyes and her face clouded
over.

Isabella found
herself taking Alix’s hand.

“I know how
you feel. My father is dead too and my friend, Abhaya, who raised
me. You were right. I am alone. No matter how hard I try to pretend
I am not.” Isabella sighed. “Still, I have a plan and I hope to
return to my home soon.”

Alix looked up
through her tears.

“Where is your
home?”

“India.”

Alix smiled
and rubbed her eyes with her sleeve.

“How
romantic,” she said. “My mother and father visited India and they
said it was the most beautiful place they’d ever seen.” So for the
next hour, Isabella gave into her homesickness and told Alix of her
life at home; of her dear father, of Abhaya and her cooking, and
Bumblebee the pony, of scorching sunsets and purple nights and
finally of the dreaded cholera and all the things which had brought
her here to this place.

“No wonder you
want to go home,” said Alix in a small voice, “it sounds like
paradise.”

Isabella
smiled.

“Well, not
always… I used to get in trouble from time to time,” she said with
a mischievous grin, “and I didn’t have a mother either, but with
Abhaya, I didn’t really ever need one.” Her face fell. “I can’t
believe she’s no longer there.”

An
Abhaya-shaped hole yawned before her. Alix thrust a cup into her
hand, filled with a steaming sweetness. So engrossed was Isabella
in her story she hadn’t noticed a maid bringing in hot
chocolate.

She wondered
why she’d told this girl so much? Was it because they shared the
same loss? Or was it Alix’s kind face, and that shadowy hint of
things not quite as they should be, which made Isabella think Alix
had her own secrets, and was therefore safe to talk to?

Both probably,
Abhaya would have said.

“You could
come and visit me one day, if you would like to?” Isabella offered
shyly.

Alix’s face
lit up.

“I would love
to.” She leant forward and pulled a fabric bell-pull. “Now, how
about a bath?”