Adventures in Time Travel: Deeper Undercover (part six)
Fortunately I’d slipped my Blackberry into my pocket. I texted Debrett-Burke.
Having bad day. First row with J. In dungeon. Do not know what he intends. M.
Within minutes he replied:
Stay calm Moppet. We have GPS fix. Sending SWAT team break you out. DB.
I felt relieved. But I didn’t really want to be broken out by a SWAT team. It meant goodbye to John, which was probably no bad thing, but also goodbye to Oscar. And I had to stay in Oscar’s life, if only to make sure no-one tried to feed him lampreys. I texted back:
Hold off on rescue. May just be tiff. Will update you. M.
Stay in contact. If do not hear from you every 15 mins will deploy team. DB.
I spent most of the day online, posting on a thread in a relationships forum entitled, ‘My BF is really controlling.’ The other posters were basically of one mind.
About the stripper – ur BF needs to grow up! what? r u not allowed 2 go out w/ur friends anymore
He has locked u up in a DUNGEON…He is MARRIED to an 8yo OMG…get off the internet call the POLICE!!!
Lady moppet get a life, this is called abuse, u have to leave him while u still have a pulse
Take. Your. Child. And. Go.
If only it were that simple.
When I heard footsteps outside I hastily muted the Blackberry and hid it. It was John. He sauntered in, smiling. Backlit by the flickering glow of torches from the passage outside, he looked rather like the Devil emerging from a fiery pit. I tried to look calm and collected.
“Well, Moppet. Cold, are we? Hungry yet? Ready to apologise?”
I began to recite the speech I had prepared.
“I am a liberated woman of the twenty-first century with healthy self-esteem. I – “
“If you’re so liberated why are you in a dungeon?”
Good question.
“I am not your subject,” I continued. “I will not allow you to intimidate me. I find your infidelity and your controlling attitude unacceptable and I will no longer tolerate them.”
John tickled me under the chin. “I love it when you get cross.”
“I will not be infantilised or treated like a pet.”
“There’s a saucer of milk for you if you say you’re sorry.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! What have I to be sorry for?”
“Well, I’m prepared to overlook the stripper thing,” he conceded. “Lady Mittens said you didn’t seem very interested. Almost like you’d seen that kind of thing before. But Moppet, you must learn to control your jealousy. Now let’s get out of here. It smells.”
As we went up the stairs I thought I heard a voice saying faintly, “Help!”
No surprise there. We were in the dungeons, after all. But there was something familiar about this voice…
John took my hand and tried to pull me onwards. I tugged back. “Wait!”
“Help! Help me!” floated up the stairs.
“It’s Mrs Kensington!” I gasped.
“No, it’s not,” said John at once.
“Is someone there? Can anyone help me…?”
“You kidnapped Mrs Kensington!”
“Well done – you’ve spoiled your own surprise,” he said crossly.
“Is this why you locked me up all day?”
“Of course. I knew you wouldn’t help. Fortunately the Little Princess people were more accommodating. After all,” he smiled in a nasty way, “I am a valued customer.”
Suddenly I was in despair.
“Oh, John, what happened to us? It used to be fun. And now look. Kidnappings. Capitalism. What next?”
He took me in his arms. “It can be like that again, Moppet. We’ll recapture that spark. This trial will be jolly. You’ll see.”
Mrs Kensington’s voice was still drifting up from the depths.
“Help me!”
The Little Princess Corporation was a multimillion-dollar, publicly owned company employing thousands of people worldwide. It didn’t surprise me that they were willing to sacrifice the life of an employee in order to keep a major account in an emerging market. I knew Mrs Kensington couldn’t expect any pity from them. MI5 were likely to see things rather differently, and once I had got upstairs, warmed up and had something to eat I told John so.
“The government will turn a blind eye to the Little Princess stuff as long as it’s only a commercial matter, because it would probably cost more than it’s worth to stop it and they’re getting some interesting scientific data out of it, anyway. But if you murder Mrs Kensington – and they will see it as murder because she’s not your subject – everything will change. Little Princess will be hounded right back into the twenty-first century, and that means goodbye to your profits and to Philip Augustus’s too. Didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to give him an excuse to go to war?”
“That woman insulted you, me and Oscar. She has to pay the price. And anyway, I’m not going to murder her.”
I sighed with relief.
“I’m going to bring her to trial, judge her and execute her. Don’t worry, Moppet, it will all be perfectly legal.”
“Oh, God,” I groaned.
“You might show some gratitude,” he said, sounding hurt. “I did all this for your sake.”
I thought he’d been at least equally motivated by sheer vindictiveness, but it was obvious plain speaking would get me nowhere (other than back in my dungeon), so from then on I pretended that I was delighted by Mrs. Kensington’s capture and looking forward to the trial. Meanwhile I cast my eye about the court for someone who could talk John out of it.
The only person I could think of was his half-brother William of Salisbury. I remembered William as a seven-year-old from my visit to Henry II’s court; he was the only one whose New Year presents John hadn’t stolen.
“I already told the King that it’s not in his best interests to execute Mrs Kensington,” said Salisbury. “But he’s dead set on it. You see, Lady Moppet, he really needs to execute someone now and again. It’s tension release as much as anything else. He says the Belle-Belle thing was an accident, but I have my doubts. Don’t worry, though, he won’t execute you. You’ve got skills none of the court whores have got. I mean with Microsoft Excel,” he added hastily.
I could only hope that John would spare Mrs Kensington. But as work proceeded on the scaffold being built in the bailey, it seemed I hoped in vain.
Oscar and I watched the trial from the royal box, where we joined by Isabella, Ela, Joanna and the Scottish princesses. Oscar began to whimper as he caught the scent of freshly-baked cake rising from the basket Joanna carried.
“Why are we here?” asked Ela. “Will it be fun?”
“We can’t have fun all the time, girls,” said Isabella briskly. “We need to acquire an understanding of rules of evidence and procedure. How else do we hope to rule after deposing our husbands? What comes with great power?”
“Great responsibility,” they chirped.
“Good. Ela, you can make notes. Joanna, you can pass round the fairy cakes. No-one else have the pink ones, I like those.”
I took a pink one anyway. Joanna gave Oscar a yellow one, which he crammed whole into his mouth.
“Here’s Daddy!” said Joanna excitedly as John strode into the courtroom, wearing his crown, his best purple robes, embroidered with little gold heraldic lions, billowing around him. “Doesn’t he look grand?”
“Distinguishing apparel acts as a symbol of authority, reflecting the judge’s hierarchical superiority,” observed Isabella. “Make a note of that, Ela.”
Joanna sprang to her feet. “I’m going to give Daddy a cupcake.”
She chose one with lavender icing. John said, “Thank you, sweeting,” and patted her cheek. Joanna came back beaming. I caught Isabella looking at her with no very friendly expression a couple of times after that.
We all had to wait while John ate the fairy cake. He balled up the paper case, threw it at his servants, who stumbled over each other trying to catch it, then got down to business. “Let the accused be brought into the court.”
Mrs. Kensington looked somewhat the worse for wear for her stay in the dungeons. Her tweed suit was badly crumpled, and so was her perm.
“State your name for the record,” demanded the usher.
“Patricia Kathleen Kensington.”
“Mrs Kenton!” Oscar had spied his former adversary.
“Hush, darling.”
“Patricia Kathleen of Kensington,” said the usher, “you stand arraigned before John, King of England. Make your obeisance.”
She managed her bob quite well, no doubt having put in plenty of practice before the Duchess of Cornwall’s visit to the nursery the previous year.
John decided this was the moment to exchange business cards. He examined Mrs Kensington’s with some interest.
“Patricia Kathleen Kensington, Childcare Manager of Little Princes and Princesses Nursery, you have been denounced by our faithful and well-beloved friend Lady Moppet of Yorkshire. Lady Moppet, step forward.”
I gave Oscar to Joanna and left the royal box with what dignity I could. I swept a deep curtsey to John, who managed to nod at me regally while shooting me a look that said Don’t mess this up.
“Lady Moppet, of what do you accuse Patricia Kathleen Kensington?”
“Of dereliction in her duty towards my son Oscar John Plantagenet, with whose care she was entrusted. Specifically, she failed to recognise Oscar’s potential as a warrior and leader, in fact she complained to me about his aggressive behaviour. When I withdrew Oscar due to its not being the right environment for him, the demands for money began.”
“Hm,” said John. “And she let him mix with his social inferiors. You forgot about that. What has the accused to say?”
“That I will not accept the ruling of this kangaroo court!”
“This is not Kangaroo,” said John. “This is England. And as we gave you warning that we would regard you as our enemy if we found you in our dominions, we wonder greatly at your presence here.”
“I’m here because your soldiers chloroformed me and dragged me out of my own office!”
“Be that as it may. How do you answer Lady Moppet’s accusations?”
“As Ms. Moppet well knows, I was unable to meet her requirements as this would have conflicted with our Inclusion Policy.”
“What about the Exclusion Policy?” asked John.
Mrs Kensington looked bewildered. “We didn’t have an Exclusion Policy.”
“Then you were operating illegally. Every nursery in England has to have an Exclusion Policy. It governs the treatment of royal children. Clause 1 states that they are to be educated separately from common children. Clause 2 states that they are to be encouraged in warlike activity at all times. Clause 3 states that their parents have the right to withdraw them at any time without notice or any monies being payable. Clause 4 states that their parents can pick them up late without any fee being charged. Do you mean to state, Mrs Kensington, that you know nothing of this Exclusion Policy?”
“I don’t believe it exists!”
“We wrote it ourselves last week,” said John. “The Little Princess Corporation inform us that you were appointed to your present post in 1996. You have, therefore, had over thirteen years to implement a policy enshrined in the common law for over eight hundred. Unaccountably, you failed to do so.”
“I – “
“I waive the right to pass sentence,” said John. “That will be done by the real victim in this unhappy matter. My son Oscar.”
“Oscar Fitzroy, come into the court!” cried the usher.
Fortunately I’d brought some baby wipes. I dashed back to the royal box, cleaned the icing and cake crumbs off Oscar’s hands and face, ignoring his smothered howl of protest, then carried him over to John, who took him on his lap.
“Daddy, fairy cake.”
“Never mind that just now, Oscar. Here is your enemy, Mrs Kensington.”
“Mrs Kenton!”
“She is our prisoner. What shall we do with her?”
Oscar thought about it.
“Kill her dead?” he suggested.
“That’s my boy!”
***
