Page 50 of The Uprising
‘We must warn the palace,’ said Cara.
‘I’d better get over there immediately. Swifty, we’ll go together, and you can tell them all you know. You can fill me in on more of the details, on the way.’
‘What if they’re at the palace and have already planted the bomb?’ asked Cara.
‘Good point. I’ll see if I can find a bobby on the way and alert the police.’
‘I’m coming,’ said Cara.
‘No, you stay here, it’s too dangerous.’
‘That’s exactly why I must come. Three of us are better than two. You might not find a police officer, never mind proper back up.’
‘I can’t stop you coming, can I? I know that look in your eyes.’ George sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes.
‘If I can be of service to the queen and help keep you safe, then my place is at your side. I’m no help waiting here and will just go out of my mind with worry.’
‘Very well. I dare say Her Majesty will appreciate your company and is likely to be shaken up when she learns of the plot.’
They hurriedly dressed and five minutes later they exited the house and then ran silently through the dark, sleepy streets, hoping they weren’t too late.
‘Let’s go in the back way,’ George whispered as they approached Buckingham Palace, which lay under a dense black sky apart from the bright silver moon twinkling overhead like a piece of crushed satin.
They headed round the back and lined up ready to climb over the wall, panting from the exertion of the long run.
Swifty said, ‘Allow me to go first, my lord, and I’ll help you down—I’m used to sneaking in this way when I’m late back.’
They heard Swifty’s feet touch the ground on the other side, and they paused, listening. Then they heard a growling voice. ‘There he is. There’s the lad who got away. Stop him! He’s going to alert the queen.’
Then came the sound of pounding footsteps, followed by an eerie silence.
George looked at Cara and pressed his finger to her lips, and they stood unmoving, waiting in the wall's shadow.
Rose Cottage, York - Present day
Cara and George lounged in the garden, drinking tea, and enjoying the last of the warm afternoon rays.
‘I have to say, I was surprised when I found Turner. I read that he lived in squalor until his death,’ said George.
‘I suppose it’s a classic case of don’t believe everything you read on the internet,’ said Cara.
‘He wasn’t at all desperate for money, and from what I could see he was totally loved-up with a wonderful woman called Sophie Booth, and they seemed like the perfect match.’
‘How lovely. Well I’d rather that than the other depressing version of events.’
‘Although it makes one wonder how much of what we think is history, is simply a load of mumbo-jumbo,’ said George, crossing his legs, and repositioning himself in the sunchair.
‘In my official historian’s capacity, sadly, I can confirm that a great deal of it is mumbo-jumbo.’
‘It’s eerie knowing exactly when people are going to die, isn’t it? I found it unnerving talking to Turner and knowing when his last day on earth would be.’
‘It is strange, but it’s great to hear he’s making the most of his final years,’ said Cara, rubbing suntan lotion onto her face, and passing the bottle to George. ‘What’s your next move?’
‘London is under tight security, with public buildings being guarded from potential Chartist attacks. I tried to get the painting into the Bank of England to store it in a vault, but I was swept away in the rallies on my way over there. The bank is one of the spots where the military is quartered and it’s swarming with troops, so I don’t know when I’ll be allowed in. The city was in chaos.’
‘How about asking the queen for help?’
‘Now, that’s an idea. I hadn’t thought of that.’
