“Unhappily, that is indeed true.”
“But if power flows upward from the people, this would not be possible. The people must elect their representatives to work the common will. If they do not — why, they will be ejected from power. That, and the checks and balances of the judiciary and a supreme court, will be the force to ensure that the will of the people will be sovereign. Not hereditary lords or a hereditary monarch. Not even God can alter that.”
“You believe then that disestablishmentarianism is to be intended?”
“I do. There shall be no ordained church ruled by the monarch. As in the American constitution, there should be no established church at all. In fact, there must be a strict separation between church and state.”
Gladstone put his teacup down, nodded, and sighed.
“This may prove a bitter pill to feed to the people of this island.”
“Strong medicine is sometimes needed. But with your good grace, Mr. Gladstone, and the others in our constitutional congress, the will of the people could become the law of the country.”
“A noble ambition — and hopefully a possible one. I am your man, Mr. Mill, behind you every step of the way.”
The crew on duty aboard the newly launched USS Stalwart, named for the dauntless warship sunk during the battle for Ireland, looked on with interest as the magnificent steam yacht came up the Solent and slowly passed them by. Their work was to guard the city of Portsmouth, and the great naval station there. But they could see no threat in this well-turned-out little ship that was flying the royal ensign of Belgium. They would have found no menace there — even if they had not received strict orders to let the vessel pass undisturbed. In the last of the evening sun, the yacht passed through Southampton Water and into Cowes Roads. After rounding the Isle of Wight, it drifted gently up to the fenders on the dockside in Cowes. Its arrival must have been expected, because a carriage was there, waiting.
Others besides the carriage driver had been expecting the trim vessel’s arrival. There was another yacht tied up farther down the docks. A yacht as well turned out and gleaming as the royal Belgian one.
On the bridge of the Aurora two men stood, watching the other vessel’s arrival. They were both dressed in well-cut broadcloth suits, but each had the bearing of a military man.
“So far, Count, your information seems to be more than accurate,” Gustavus Fox said.
“It should be,” Count Korzhenevski said, “since I paid a good deal in gold for it. Belgium is a small country, its politicians notoriously penurious. However, one or two of them know that my agent there pays well for sound information. They queue up to be bribed. You have alerted the navy?”
“As soon as I got your message and arrived here. That yacht is not to be approached, searched, or troubled in any way. Free to come — even freer to leave.”
“I am glad of that,” the Count said, looking through his glasses again. “But one does wish that they could be a little more discreet. That is the fifth large trunk that has been loaded aboard from that dray.”
“The German nobility has never been known for its intelligence.”
“Quite.” The Count squinted at the sun setting behind the rolling hills. “It will be dark soon.”
“Not soon enough. The quicker this escapade is over and done with, the happier I will be.”
“Do not despair, dear Gus.” The Count laughed and pulled at his arm. He snapped a quick command in Russian to the officer on watch. “Come below and share a bottle of champagne. We shall be called as soon as there is any activity on the pier.”
In Osbourne House there was a great stirring when the Belgian Foreign Minister, Baron Surlet de Chokier, was admitted. The Queen was waiting, wearing black traveling dress and fussing over her younger children. The Prince of Wales, known to all the family as Bertie, stood to one side; Alexandra, his bride of two years, also beside him. They were a contrasting pair: she was slight, and very attractive. Young though he was, if the pudgy Bertie had ever had any charm, it was long since gone. Black-bearded and potbellied, he was already going bald. He looked on, apparently bored, when the Baron spoke to the Queen.
“It has all been arranged, Your Majesty. King Leopold was immensely concerned with the safety of you and your family, and indeed was most relieved when you accepted his offer of sanctuary. The yacht is tied up and awaiting only your presence.”
“It will be safe?” Victoria sounded lost, unsure of herself.
“I assure Your Majesty that Belgium will provide a safe haven for you, far from this devastated, war-torn country. Your bags are being loaded. We only await your royal presence.”
The Queen looked down at the children, wrapped warmly in jackets, and then at Bertie and the bare-armed Alexandra.
“You’ll get a chill,” she said firmly.
“Not really, Mama,” Bertie said, a sly smile on his lips. “I think that Alexandra and I will be quite safe here in Osbourne House.”
“But — we planned. For all our safety…” Then Victoria’s eyes widened and she gasped. “You are not coming!” Her voice was shrill, angry. “You will remain here, behind my back? We are the Queen. You have been talking to the monarchists, haven’t you? Behind my back!”
“Of course not, Mama,” he said. But there was little reassurance in his voice and the tiny smile belied the meaning of his words.
“You want me gone!” she screeched. “With me in Belgium, you want the crown for yourself!”
“Don’t excite yourself, Mother, it does you ill. You will enjoy Belgium, I am sure.”
In the end Bertie excused himself and left, waving the shocked Alexandra after him. It was some time before the horrified ladies-in-waiting could convince the Queen that she must go on the yacht — if only for the sake of the children. Weeping and distraught, she eventually entered the carriage, hugging the crying children to her.
Aboard the Aurora, over half of the bottle of vintage champagne was gone before Gus and the Count were summoned on deck once again. Although the lamps on the dock had not been lit, the waning moon cast enough illumination for them to clearly see the arrival of the carriages. Dark figures, one after another, emerged and were hurried up the gangway. Even as the passengers were boarding, a cloud of smoke issued from the little vessel’s funnel and floated across the harbor. Soon after that the lines were taken in and the yacht puffed out into the Solent. Minutes later the Aurora moved slowly in her wake. They sailed past the anchored naval vessels and out into the ocean. The Belgian yacht continued away from the shore a good few miles before she altered her course to the east.
“She is now out of British territorial waters and well on her way to Belgium,” the Count said happily. “Now — let us finish that bottle since this necessitates a little celebration.”
Once in the salon, he poured their glasses full, raised his on high. “This calls for a toast,” Korzhenevski said. “Did your American schools teach you about Bonnie Prince Charlie?”
“Not really. We are not a country that goes in much for British history.”
“A serious lapse. One must always know one’s adversaries. It seems that in Scotland they toasted the deposed prince as ‘the King over the water.’ ”
“That has a nice ring to it.” Gus raised his glass as well. “Shall we drink, then, to the Queen over the water?” They touched glasses and drank deep.
“Did they really think that we wanted to keep her here?” Gus mused. “King Leopold has done us an immense favor. Too bad we cannot thank him.”
Although it was after dark in England, it was still early afternoon in Washington City. President Abraham Lincoln looked wearily at the papers that cluttered his desk, then pushed them away. He pressed the electric button that summoned his secretary. John Nicolay poked his head in through the door.