“The sovereign of a great nation exercises power abroad as well as at home,” she agreed, with suspicion as well as pride.
“And Your Majesty has unsurpassed ability to use this influence for the good of mankind.” My voice quavered and my heart pounded.
“Naturally,” the Queen said in a tone that forbade me to attribute anything but the noblest motives to her. “Now please get to the point of this conversation.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” I steeled my waning courage. “I wish to discuss the opium trade.”
“The opium trade!” Surprise inflected her voice: She would never have expected me to raise this subject. Apparently no one had explained to her the story behind Kuan’s crimes.
“Yes,” I said, as meekly and agreeably as possible. “I wish to broach the subject of its problems with your majesty.”
“Its problems?” She narrowed her eyes in offense. “Opium is produced by colonial plantations in India. It is prized for its unparalleled medicinal properties, which have hitherto been unmatched by those of any other plant and have allowed for enormous advances in medical science. It is the principal commodity sold abroad by British merchants. It produces some three million pounds in annual revenue for the Crown. The money earned recoups the fortune spent by Britain on tea, silks, and spices in the Far East.”
This was news to me. Kuan had spoken only of the evils of the opium trade. The Queen knew only the good. I ventured cautiously, “But there are terrible ills associated with opium.” I saw her bristle. However little I wished to affront her, I must continue, for the sake of her children and my family. “Opium enslaves the people who use it. It saps their bodily strength and their moral character. It weakens their will to do anything but obtain more opium and sink themselves deeper in vice.” My need to enlighten the Queen impassioned my speech. “People have stolen, murdered, suffered, and died for opium. It does far more evil than good.”
Distrust darkened the Queen’s expression. I realized that even if she knew these facts, she was bound to protect the trade that financed such a large portion of her Empire’s activities. She said, “Perhaps you would tell me how you derived these notions of its evils?”
I couldn’t admit that I had learned them from Kuan; I didn’t want her to think that I was in league with him in any way. “My brother is a slave to opium. I have personally witnessed his destruction.”
The Queen made a disdainful sound. “Some people whose minds are weak overindulge in opium; some overindulge in liquor. It is the overindulgence that causes their troubles. Opium is wholesome when used in moderation; it is perfectly legal and respectable. In fact, it is a good sedative for infants. I’ve used it on my own children.”
My hope of altering her opinion faded; yet I persisted: “One may decide to use opium oneself, for better or worse.” I grew reckless in my desperation. “But should opium be forced upon people who don’t want it, who have enacted laws to prohibit it in their land? Britain is forcing opium on China and waging war there in order to perpetuate the trade which brings suffering to multitudes.” Halting on the path, I faced the Queen; I clasped my hands in ardent entreaty. “I beg Your Majesty to put an end to the trade!”
I thought that if it ceased, Kuan would be satisfied enough to give up his desire for revenge against Britain. I hoped that if I helped him thus, he would release me. I would not have spoken so boldly to the Queen had I not considered it my only chance to save both my family and hers.
She drew back from me, repulsed by my vehemence. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Miss Bronte, you have gone too far,” she said with great indignation. “Your outburst hardly deserves the courtesy of an answer. But answer I will, if only to correct your deplorable misconceptions and rebuke your flagrant disrespect. In the first place, no one is forcing opium on anyone. Should there be people who do not want it, they may refuse to buy it. In the second place, the Crown would never have waged war against China had China not mistreated British merchants, destroyed valuable opium stores that belonged to them, and insulted British honor. Britain has rightfully exacted compensation for these offenses and protected British commerce in the Far East. The issues of warfare and international trade are far more complex than a humble governess untutored in the arts of statesmanship could ever grasp.”
Her words dashed my hopes. In my sad humiliation I realized that from the Queen’s perspective, the greatest good would necessarily always lie in what best served Britain. The Queen had no reason to take the part of distant foreigners over that of her own country.
“Furthermore, Miss Bronte,” the Queen said, “your presumption at questioning your Queen’s judgment about what is best for Britain borders on treason.” She waved an imperious hand at me. “Go. Vex me no more.”
I slunk away like a whipped animal. All around me was bright; all within me, black with misery. As I stumbled down a flight of stone stairs cut into the terraces, someone called my name. It was Mr. Slade. He was the last person I wanted to see. In my haste to elude him, I tripped on the rough stairs; he caught up with me and steadied me.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yes.”
“No, you’re as pale as death. You’re trembling. Something has happened. What is it?”
How I longed to blurt it out! Such a temptation I felt to share the burden of my knowledge with Mr. Slade in the hope that he could help me! But even as my tongue quivered on the brink of confession, I glimpsed a figure below us, on the terrace nearest the wide, sparkling river. It was Captain Innes. He waved cheerily at us and winked at me. My heart sank at his reminder that my family would die if I breathed a word of what he’d said to me last night. I looked at Mr. Slade, and although he stood close enough for me to touch, he seemed as remote as the other side of the world.
“Nothing has happened,” I mumbled, turning away from Mr. Slade. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go back to the children.”
I felt Mr. Slade-and Captain Innes-watching me as I hurried up the stairs. On an upper terrace I found Vicky, Bertie, and little Alfred rambling about with the Prince Consort and the Duchess of Norfolk. The Queen was absent, to my relief.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Bronte,” the Duchess said with a welcoming smile. “Come join us.”
I did, grateful for her friendliness. The rest of that morning, her blithe conversation enlivened the party. The children were fond of her; Bertie behaved with more decorum while in her presence; even the somber Prince Consort cheered up. That afternoon, when the Queen and Prince Consort went driving in a pony cart, the Duchess helped me tend the children. I was glad to have her company, for I noticed Mr. Slade and Captain Innes loitering nearby, and her presence kept them both away from me.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the vial of opium hidden in my room. I couldn’t deny that the next day I would have to deliver the children into Kuan’s hands or condemn my own family to a terrible death. As the hours passed, I became certain that I could do neither.
My apprehension increased during dinner and the musical entertainment afterward. By the time I retired to my chamber, my heart agitated within my ribs like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage. I paced the floor while the clock ticked a cadence of doom. At three in the morning, unable to sleep or sit still or bear the waiting any longer, I flung my cloak over my shoulders and raced out of the castle.
The freezing Highland wind gusted at me, stirring the dark forests. The moon and stars shone icy silver radiance upon the castle’s turrets and the snow-peaked mountains. The vast, dark landscape seemed haunted by ancient Scottish ghosts; wolves howled. I ran through the night, as if by running I could escape from Kuan. While I ran, I wept. I stumbled through woods, over rocks and fallen branches, caring naught that I didn’t know where I was going.