Chapter 6

Cousin Albert was without a doubt one of the most handsome young men Sir Boniface Fogg had ever met; in a very Germanic way, that is. Hm, just made it worse.

When Phileas had told Sir Boniface what had happened, he immediately found a reason to meet this cousin. Albert appeared a well-spoken unassuming young man with a voice easy on the ears. He didn't have the swagger other German suitors had when visiting. He didn't even appear to be interested in promoting his suit. Yet, one look at Victoria's face in this young man's presence was all it took to make him realize his son had spoken the truth. It had been love at first sight. She was shy, giddy, and fawning in his presence, all at the same time. Shaking his head, Sir Boniface accepted the inevitable. He bid his son to marry himself to the couple anytime they were together while he put a close guard on the young man. Word of this was going to get out fast.

On the fifteenth day of October, Phileas was within earshot of the shocking event of an English Queen proposing to her first cousin. They didn't see him. He was on the far side of a hedge in the garden which was framing their private moment. Queen Victoria's soft voice showed her nervousness. Her words were carefully picked and very sweet. She acknowledged that Albert couldn't propose to her, so she offered herself.

Albert didn't look eager. In fact, he looked quite uncomfortable. At last, he took her hands in his and said the words of acceptance that she was waiting for. Then he kissed her. It was a tentative thing at first, and then gaining courage, Albert took her in his arms.

Phileas didn't watch any more. He swallowed down his discomfort and misplaced disappointments, scanning the garden around them for other observers. That was when he saw a shadow by a tree. Looking closer, the shadow formed a man, dressed in a heavy black overcoat with a tall black hat pulled low over his eyes. Anywhere else, he wouldn't have been noticed. But here, in a secluded section of the gardens around the palace, he was profoundly out of place. Men at court didn't wear such attire when strolling the grounds, so he couldn't be an accidental spectator from some other part of the palace.

Phileas quietly moved toward the man. This observer might just be a reporter watching for something to write about. If so, I will turn him over to the palace guard. How in thunder could a reporter get in here in the first place? Father is going to have someone's head over this.

A second later, Phileas sent himself flying for the intruder. The man had made a movement, a bending of the arm in a way that sent Phileas's heart into his throat. He sprang as that arm came up and pointed a pistol at the couple. Phileas wrapped both hands around the arm, pushing it to the right as he forced the gunman back and away from the Queen. The gunman, as tall as Phileas, yet more muscular, didn't topple over as intended, but the gun arm did move.

An explosion rang out against the quiet. Phileas's ears rang. Fire flashed before Phileas's face. He didn't immediately feel pain, just the shock of the blast. The gun had been so close to his head when it went off, it could have discharged into his skull. Adrenaline surged through him, giving more strength out of terror for his own life. He got a foot behind the man's left ankle and pulled hard. The assassin lost the fight, tumbled to the ground with Phileas on top of him.

There was no conscious recollection of the exact events of the next several minutes. Phileas held tight with all his might as the big man struggled with him. They rolled under the trees, repeatedly. There was no gaining an advantage in this. All he could do was hold on for dear life and not allow the man to gain his feet.

An eternity seemed to pass as he fought in deadly earnest. He was on top of him again. Suddenly, hands grappled him from behind. Someone shouted in his ear to let go. It took all the discipline Phileas had to override his terror and obey. Hands forcibly separated him from the assassin. They forced him to sit down in the grass. Someone stayed beside him, holding him as he shook uncontrollably.

"There now lad, we have him. He isn't going anywhere. Are you alright?"

Phileas couldn't make his voice work to answer.

"Good show young man!" Another voice said. "If you had not been so close, he might have succeeded and escaped. Good show indeed!"

Slowly, Phileas got hold of his frenzied body, slowed his breathing down. He fought to get his bearings on just there he was, and who was holding him. "I'm blind," he stammered.

"The powder from the pistol," The one holding him said. "You're a bit singed. Going to be a poor mess for a time." The agent had understated that. Phileas's face was blackened with powder burns and his unseeing eyes, blood shot red.

In the background of the commotion of feet and orders being barked about, Phileas heard Cousin Albert's voice, asking if he was all right. He had no way of telling if the danger had truly passed yet, and he was still too stunned to answer with the propriety required. Sire, get back, get back to the Queen. See the Queen to shelter!"

"Get him indoors," Cousin Albert ordered.

The hands holding him lifted him. Another took his other side, helping him across the lawn to the palace. Phileas's last coherent memory, before the world fell out from under him, was of the Queen's voice demanding a doctor.