Traitor and the Tunnel Read Online Free PDF

the Chinese community in London. England was not at war with China. Not official y, at least. But English troops were kil ing Chinese – both soldiers and civilians; the Chinese retaliated, and there had been rumours of torture.
    The horrors in China now echoed through Limehouse, where for generations Asians had lived in quiet – if not, perhaps, peaceful – coexistence with their English neighbours. Now, there were reports of conflict: service refused to a Chinese woman at market; a Chinese man attacked by a gang of boys; a shop sel ing Chinese herbs burned down. English outrage was high, and some took that as licence to “retaliate” – as though the denizens of east London were responsible for the actions of the Chinese emperor. There could be no doubt as to where Beaulieu-Buckworth stood.
    Had stood. That was the key: the pig was dead.
    And although his name was mud in aristocratic circles – a wel -known gambler, whoremonger, drunkard and coward – he was stil one of them. He was, after al , an “Honourable”, a scion of a noble house. That his short life had been almost entirely without honour or nobility mattered not. There would be no satisfactory ending to this tale.
    “The Prince,” continued the commissioner,
    “though alarmed by the general violence, decided this was a good opportunity to persuade Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth to depart. But when he tried to help his friend up, he found him dying, a knife buried deep in his chest.”
    A strange, high-pitched sound erupted – a cry that seemed more animal than human. “Murder!”
    Mary scrambled to make sense of this scream. It hadn’t come from the Queen.
    “Murder of a young aristocrat, and an attempt on the Prince of Wales’s life!”
    “Indeed, Mrs Dalrymple,” said Blake. “But we are speaking to Her Majesty in confidence; it is of utmost importance that you keep silence about what you’ve just heard.”
    “That goes without saying,” said Her Majesty severely. “We do not tolerate tale-bearing and idle gossip at our court.”
    “Forgive me, Your Majesty.” But Honoria’s voice continued to vibrate with emotion.
    “We are glad of your discretion in coming to us first,” said Prince Albert, “and we stil have much to discuss. But first: you have arrested the vermin, of course?”
    “Yes, Your Highness; the miscreant is in Tower gaol even as we speak.”
    “He was an opium fiend?”
    “Yes, Your Highness.”
    “And an Asiatic, you said.”
    “A Chinese sailor, Your Highness, and a rather elderly one at that. Unless I’m much mistaken, he sailed his last journey some years ago.”
    A pause. Then the Prince Consort murmured,
    “That is useful.”
    “‘Useful’, sir?”
    “Surely you understand me, Commissioner,” said His Highness in a meaningful tone.
    “Mrs Dalrymple,” said the Queen suddenly, “you may instruct my maids to draw my bath and prepare my morning dress.”
    “Very good, Your Majesty,” said Honoria in a soft, even voice. A few moments later, the door closed behind her with the softest of clicks, and Mary tried to visualize those who remained: Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, Blake and Blake’s silent subordinate, she thought.
    “The Prince of Wales must not be named as a party to this shocking event,” said the Queen in a rapid and matter-of-fact fashion. “Mr Beaulieu-Buckworth was alone in his visit to the opium den.
    The Prince and his equerries became separated from the larger group at a much earlier hour, and the Prince returned here, to his family, at midnight.”
    Blake cleared his throat. “There is the smal matter, Ma’am, of the other witnesses. Patrons of the opium den, for example.”
    “A rag-tag band of drug-addled sots,” replied the Queen.
    “And the owner, with whom the Prince exchanged words?”
    “He must be persuaded of his error. He cannot possibly believe that the Prince of Wales entered his low den and spoke to him.”
    “We can certainly try, Ma’am. But the gravest difficulty