“This is a lovely room,” said Mary, looking around at the paintings on the walls.
“That one is by Thomas Gainsborough,” said Mrs. Russell. “And that one, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, shows Lord St. Levan when he was still Sir John St. Aubyn. It is a pleasant room, is it not? In the style of Horace Walpole’s Strawberry Hill, I have been told. And that Chippendale sofa, upholstered in blue, is particularly important. Tomorrow, a very special visitor will be taking elevenses on it!”
“Do you mean Her Majesty?” asked Mary, clasping her hands together. “Right here, in this room? We read all about her visit in the Daily Telegraph.”
“This very room,” said Mrs. Russell in a satisfied tone. “I’ll be serving her a variety of sandwiches—cucumber and cress, shrimp salad, Cook’s special curried egg salad—as well as a Charlotte Russe. And the Lapsang souchong she likes.”
“How wonderful!” said Mary. “I imagine Lord and Lady St. Levan will be thrilled. Will any guests be allowed on the island while Her Majesty is here? I’m sorry she won’t be visiting Marazion. I should so like to see her again myself. My mother took me once, when I was a little girl.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Mrs. Russell. “The family are abroad in France, and Her Majesty particularly asked to make a private visit. She is coming here to commemorate a visit she made with Prince Albert in 1846, when Their Majesties arrived unannounced during a tour of Cornwall. Prince Albert played the organ in the chapel, and the Queen had tea with my predecessor, a Mrs. Thomasina Sims, who was housekeeper here at the time. She was a friend of my mother’s and told me the story herself when I was a child. On this visit, Her Majesty will greet the servants who live in the village below, take refreshments in the blue drawing room, and then spend some time by herself in the chapel, praying. I understand that she is making a tour of places she visited when she was considerably younger. It is a sort of—well, I don’t like to say it.”
“I understand,” said Mary. “She’s seeing these places for the last time, isn’t she?”
“Well, she is quite old now,” said Mrs. Russell apologetically, as though she did not want to admit it. “As a young woman she climbed up the hill herself. This time we have arranged for her to be carried in a chair by the undergardeners. Of course, the island will be closed to visitors while she’s here. The only boat allowed in the harbor will be the barge that rows out to fetch her from the Royal Yacht.”
“Then I’m glad we’re getting to see it today!” said Mary. “What about the tower? Is that still used for anything?”
“That is the chapel bell tower,” said Mrs. Russell. “But at one time it was also used as a beacon. In the eighteenth century, there was a regular system of beacons on the cliff tops. If danger threatened—if Black Jack Rackham were sailing along the coast, for instance—each of the beacons would be lit, signaling the boats to return to the mainland. From St. Michael’s Mount, you would be able to see the beacons light up along the coast, like a row of fireflies. We don’t go up there anymore except to clean the bells—it’s a cramped, narrow stair up to the top. But there’s a sort of iron cauldron up there in which the beacon fire was lit. I suspect it’s used as a bird’s nest now! Let me show you the map room and the armory—then you can go into the chapel and make your way back down to the causeway before the tide turns.”
An hour later, as Beatrice and Mary stood once again in the garden, Mary turned to her and said, “Bea, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Beatrice was not at all sure—she seldom thought the way Mary, or any of the other girls, did. But she might as well venture a guess. “That we should have warned Mrs. Russell? She was so kind, showing us all around the castle. Surely she should be warned that the Queen is in danger.”
“No, I mean that I’ve thought of a way to warn the Queen. Or at least her ship, before the Queen gets into that barge. The captain, or whoever is responsible for that sort of thing on a ship, should be able to see a fire on the tower. I think we should light the beacon and warn her away from here.”
Would that work? Beatrice was not certain. “But Mary, do you think the captain would understand it as a warning? After all, this is no longer the eighteenth century. And you must consider the weather—there will almost certainly be a storm. I can feel it. A strong wind or pouring rain would put out the fire.”
“Well, that’s the only thing I can think of at the moment,” said Mary crossly, as though vexed. “The beacon was used to warn people—hopefully someone would understand that it’s a warning? The problem will be getting some sort of fuel to the top of the tower. What would create a really fearsome fire? You’re the one who seems to know all about chemistry and combustion. After all, you created the paprika spray we used on the vampires in Budapest. I was hoping you would be able to suggest something useful.”
Beatrice thought for a moment. “There is of course kerosene, but I do not think it would burn well in a storm. Turpentine? We could soak rags in it. I believe you said the general store was well stocked. Turpentine would burn hot and bright.”
“Isn’t that what Justine uses to clean her paintbrushes? Can we find turpentine in a general store in Marazion?” asked Mary doubtfully.
“Of course. Turpentine is used by housewives to clean their floors, and by sailors to treat lice.” How could Mary not be familiar with such a common chemical? But then, it was not she who did the marketing and cleaning at 11 Park Terrace. She could not be blamed for that—it was the social system that dictated that one person should clean, and another command. But it did leave those who did the commanding dreadfully ignorant about the facts of life.
Beatrice did not say any of this aloud, but there must have been something in her tone, because Mary turned back and said, “It’s not my fault I don’t know these things. I wasn’t raised to, you know.”
“You know other things,” said Beatrice consolingly. After all, it was Mary who brought in the steadiest paycheck through her secretarial skills. It was she who did the accounts, she who organized them all. There was certainly value in that!
“Well, I don’t know how to fight someone with Tera’s power!” said Mary. “Even if we manage to warn the Queen, we still have to deal with Tera and Mrs. Raymond. Perhaps Justine will have a telegram from Ayesha with instructions for us. Come on, we have to hurry. I can see the tide starting to come in. I don’t want to get stuck on this island.”
Beatrice took Mary’s hand again, and together the two of them hurried across the causeway toward the mainland. There was a storm coming—she could feel it. Tonight, she thought. It will come tonight. I hope it will not prevent us from saving the Queen.
BEATRICE: I truly do not understand why more people do not pay attention to the vegetable creation. Plants are fascinating, once you learn about them. If you observe closely, you will see that they think and feel, just as we do. They communicate with one another. They even organize for mutual defense against insect species.
CATHERINE: Maybe because plants are boring? They just sit there.
BEATRICE: But they are not, Catherine, as I have just been explaining! They are really not so different from us. If you sat in a forest for an hour, I promise that you would see wonders you have not imagined. Leaves falling, the fronds of bracken curling open, birds alighting on the branches and bursting into song.