A Royal Christmas Quandary

by Samantha Hastings

  Oh dear, we have been naughty.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” George demanded in a very duke-like voice.

  “Constable,” the proprietor said to Father Christmas, “look in his coat. You’ll find a necklace worth a king’s ransom. I’ve caught you a pair of robbers.”

  The beefy, white-bearded constable reached into the pocket of George’s coat where it hung on the rack and pulled out Drina’s ruby necklace. He whistled.

  “Probably stole it from one of the swells visiting the Queen for Christmas,” he said. “Smythe, you take that one. I’ll take the little one.”

  “I can explain—” George began.

  But the dark-bearded Belsnickel didn’t give him a chance. He grabbed George by the arm and yanked him out of the chair, hauling him out of the room as if he were merely a sack of wheat. George flailed his arms, trying to break free, but to no avail.

  Drina stood up, her legs shaky. The constable held George’s coat in one hand and took Drina by the arm with his other. He held her so tightly that she could feel bruises forming as he led her out of the hostelry and down the back of the building to another street. Drina knew she ought to try and run away for help, but she felt so light-headed that it took all of her concentration to even walk in the too-large boots.

  The trip to the jail wasn’t more than five minutes, but still Drina felt frozen through by the time they arrived. The building was cramped and dirty, consisting of an office with a small fire and two cold prison cells. George was pushed into the first one. There was dirty straw on the floor and a chamber pot in the corner. The second cell looked equally unpromising. The whole building smelled as if it hadn’t been cleaned since the previous Christmas.

  The constable released his hold on Drina’s arm and she stumbled a few steps.

  “Take his hat and check his coat for more stolen valuables,” the constable told his partner.

  Before she could stop him, the dark-bearded Belsnickel pulled off her hat, and her long yellow hair tumbled down.

  “Blimey, it’s a woman,” he cried.

  Drina took a step back from him. “The necklace wasn’t stolen. It’s mine.”

  “And who might you be, the Queen of England?” the constable asked, sarcasm dripping from each word.

  She stood up straighter and hiccupped. “Queen Victoria—hic—is actually my second cousin, once removed. I am Lady—hic—Alexandrina Gailey, daughter of the Marquis of Rothfield and Princess Wilhelmina of Hoburg.”

  “Blimey,” the Belsnickel said in wonder, bowing to Drina. She gave her most regal nod in return but ruined the effect with a burp.

  The constable folded his arms across his barrel of a chest, looking her up and down. Drina glanced over at George, who scrambled to his feet.

  “Unhand her,” he said. “I am Lord George Worthington, the second son of the Duke of Doverly.”

  The constable raised his eyebrows and looked from George to Drina.

  She nodded her head.

  Which was a terrible idea—the entire room spun.

  “We are looking for my cousin,” Drina managed.

  “And who might he be?”

  “Prince F-Friedrich of Hoburg,” she said in a slurred voice, but thankfully without any hiccups or burps.

  “What a load of twaddle!” the white-bearded constable said. “Do you take me for a gullible fool? Never heard of a country called Hoburg. Toss her in the other cell.”

  “It’s a German principality,” she explained.

  The dark-bearded man seemed hesitant to touch her.

  “Smythe, do as I say at once,” the constable demanded.

  “Sir … Constable, sir. I think we might have been a tad over hasty,” he said. “I read in the newspaper that the Crown Prince of Hoburg would be staying with the Queen for Christmas, as well as the Duke of Doverly. He’s the head of the Foreign Office, sir.”

  “No doubt these villains read the newspaper, too,” the constable growled, seemingly unconvinced. “Smythe, if you don’t put her in that cell, I’ll put you in one for contempt.”

  The younger constable muttered an apology as he gently took Drina’s arm, leading her to the door of the cell and closing it behind her.

  She couldn’t stay here. What would her parents think when they found her room empty in the morning? What would George’s parents think when they found her clothes in his room? What scandal and uproar there would be if this escapade became known! Drina would be ruined and Cousin Victoria would refuse to break the entail on her family’s estate. She would lose her home, fortune, and reputation … all for trying to help George.

  Scheisse!

  She had to find a way out of this jail without anyone, especially the Queen, knowing about it.

  Whom could she ask for help? Who wouldn’t tell? Her mother? No, she couldn’t see her mother in such a place as this or being able to keep her mouth shut about it after. Her father? He was always sympathetic, but not particularly helpful in most practical situations. She couldn’t picture her scholarly father in this dirty jail with these rough men.

  “Wait,” Drina said. She stuck her hand through the iron bars, grabbing the collar of Belsnickel Smythe’s coat. He turned and she let go. “George’s brother will come and v-vouch for us.”

  “And who might his brother be?” the older constable asked with a sneer. “The King of Sweden?”

  “No—hic, the Earl of Dim—I mean Lord Dinsmore,” she said breathlessly. “He’s staying at Windsor Castle as a special guest of the Queen.”

  George groaned audibly, and Mr. Smythe shifted back and forth on his feet.

  “She’s making a fool of you,” his partner said flatly.

  “P-please,” she begged.

  Smythe rubbed his dark beard. “’Twouldn’t hurt to check her story out, sir. I’ll just nip up to the castle and see if there’s an earl by the name of Dinsmore there and if he’s ever heard of Lady Alexandrina Gailey.”

  “It’s past midnight.”

  “They’ll be up at the castle,” Smythe replied. “Toffs stay up until the early morning hours.”

  “Thank you!” Drina said, grabbing the iron bars. “Oh thank you!”

  Smythe nodded to her and then opened the door to leave. Drina shuddered as the sharp winter wind blew into the room. She backed farther into the cell, but the smell of urine and unwashed bodies became even worse the closer she stepped toward the straw. She sidled toward George’s cell and he stuck his hands through the bars.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he whispered, taking her hands.

  Her hands finally felt warm inside his and she felt heat blooming in her belly. “It’s not entirely your fault,” she admitted with a hiccup. “I should’ve left my jewels in your room.”

  “I never thought I’d be arrested as a bridle cull.”

  “A what?”

  “A common thief.”

  “Don’t disparage our profession, George,” Drina said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We weren’t condemned as common thieves, but as jewel robbers. Something quite superior, I believe.”

  “Yes, of course, much superior,” he said wryly. “I believe we would be hung, instead of transported.”

  Drina pulled one hand from George’s hold and touched her neck. She could feel her pulse in her throat.

  “It won’t come to that,” George assured her, and caressed her cheek with his free hand. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her between the grimy iron bars. But she saw that his eyes had wandered from her face to the door.

  She sighed and bit her lip. When would she finally accept that George wasn’t interested in her romantically?

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, pulling her other hand away from his. “Besides, this isn’t our usual crack lay.”

  George laughed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even want to know where you learned the thieves’ cant for housebreaking, Drina. But I think you’re very bricky. The brickiest girl I�
�ve ever met.”

  It was nice that he thought she was brave, but she would much rather that he thought her beautiful.

  Drina rubbed both her arms with her hands. She felt so cold, but it at least helped clear her mind. There wasn’t any humor to find in their situation. She didn’t doubt that they would get out of jail—tomorrow probably, once she and George were missed at Windsor Castle. But if she wasn’t found in her bed tomorrow morning, her reputation would be lost and Queen Victoria would not remove the entail on her father’s estate.

  The royal family’s rigid morality could not tolerate even a hint of impropriety.

  Drina would lose her home. Where she loved every blasted brick and individual blade of grass, and most importantly, each person who lived on the estate. Who would ensure that old Mrs. Crick in Robin Cottage had enough bread when her rheumatism flared up? Or check on Mr. Portier, their retired butler, who was mostly deaf but still spoke enough for three people? And who would laugh with the Bradshaw sisters, all seven of them, who worked as maids in Rothfield House? The sisters did more than dust and scrub; they seemed to bring joy to every room they entered.

  What would happen to everyone she loved when the estate defaulted to the government? Would it be sold? Or kept under the careless watch of a steward who valued its profitability more than its people?

  She turned around and sat with her back against the cell wall. George must have sat down, too, with his back to the bars—she could feel his warmth.

  It was a small comfort in an otherwise dreadful situation.

  Chapter 5

  As they sat back to back, George could feel Drina’s quick, shuddering breaths, as if she were trying to hold in a sob or a hysterical laugh. He felt terrible; he’d gotten her into trouble again. And since they were no longer children, the consequences would be much greater … disastrous, even.

  George couldn’t do anything to help her at the moment—except distract her.

  “Remember the time we got locked out on the roof of your house?” he said.

  “I told you not to shut the door.”

  “You also told me that there was a female ghost on the roof that we could only see at midday.”

  “Not a ghost, a Weiße Frauen,” she said with a laugh. “And she was supposed to be brushing her hair in the sunshine, but I think our howls scared her away.”

  “How long do you think we were out there? One hour? Two?”

  “It was not even half an hour before my father found us,” Drina scoffed. “He heard our yells for help.”

  “I think half of the county must’ve heard our calls for help,” he said. “Then your father took us back to his library and gave us toffees. He asked us all about our adventure and he listened to each word you said as if it was as important as a pronouncement from the Queen … I was so jealous.”

  “Papa is a good listener.”

  “And when your mother found out, she scolded us in English and German and then kissed our cheeks and ruffled our hair … My mother was rarely home and even when she was, she never took the time to talk to me or hug me. I was so envious of you.”

  “Your father was home.”

  “Father never talked to me. He only yelled,” George said. “And he still won’t listen to me. He only threatens to send me to Austria if I don’t improve at the Foreign Office, and you know how bad my German is.”

  “It is truly dreadful,” she agreed. “Why don’t you talk to your mother about becoming an engineer? Maybe she could help you—she has her own income and more political connections then even your father.”

  “I barely even know her,” he said, letting his face fall into his hands. “She’s spent more time with the Queen than she has with me.”

  Drina’s breath caught, followed by a sob. “If Queen Victoria finds out about my part in this escapade, any chance of her breaking the entail on my father’s estate will be gone. I will be practically penniless when my father dies, and Mama will try to pressure me into a marriage with some rich wretch like Lord Weatherby.”

  Unbelievably, George felt his lips twitching upward into a smile; relieved to know that she didn’t return Weatherby’s obvious admiration. He lifted his head to look at her, but all he saw was her back, huddled in his overlarge coat. His slight smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh, Drina, I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  She turned to face him. “My cousin Friedrich should get a small share of the blame.”

  “He wouldn’t have dragged you into this,” George said, taking her hand again through the bars and rubbing it between his hands to warm it. Her hand, like all of her, was beautifully shaped and so soft. He couldn’t help wishing that he was the eldest son or a prince—with a fortune and an estate. The sort of fellow whom she’d one day marry. The sort of man she deserved to marry; not a dependent younger son with few prospects. “I should’ve known better, but there’s no one I can trust as much as you. No one whom I’d rather be in a pickle with.”

  Drina pulled her hand back. “Well, we’re certainly in a pretty pickle. Too bad the jail door isn’t … a jar.”

  He smiled at her wit, instantly missing the warmth of her touch.

  The door to the jail opened, and a rush of cold entered the already frigid room. George scrambled to his feet. He turned to offer his assistance to Drina, but she was already up, her delicate face peering through the bars.

  The first person to walk through the door was none other than his elder brother, Edward, smiling like he’d found the silver sixpence in the Christmas pudding. He took off his tall, dark hat and gave the constable a sharp nod of recognition. Smythe followed behind him and closed the door.

  “I am the Earl of Dinsmore. What do I need to do to set these two at liberty?” he asked in an authoritative voice that George almost didn’t recognize. Edward took a card from his coat and handed it to the constable.

  The constable took the card and read it carefully.

  “May I see the jewels in question?” Edward asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

  Smythe took George’s coat off the table and pulled out the ruby necklace and the matching earrings, holding them out with his large, hairy hand. Edward accepted the jewels, pulled his quizzing glass out of his waistcoat pocket, and looked at them through its lens.

  “Undoubtedly, these belong to the Princess Rothfield,” he said in the same aggrandized tone.

  “My mother!” Drina chimed in and then hiccupped. She covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Please release Lady Alexandrina Gailey, and my little brother, Lord George Worthington,” Edward said, and added in a soft, dangerous tone, “I should hate to have to report your overzealousness to your superiors.”

  The constable stood still as a stock. The only sign that he’d heard what was said was that his eyes kept blinking.

  “I’ll do it, sir,” Smythe said. He took the keys off a nail on the wall and unlocked first Drina’s cell and then George’s.

  Drina rushed out of her cell. “Thank you so much, Edward,” she said, embracing him.

  George involuntarily made a noise of disgust. Not that their hug was improper, or overly long. He wasn’t sure why it annoyed him so much. He walked more sedately out of his cell, with what was left of his dignity. There wasn’t much.

  Edward held up his quizzing glass at George. “No embrace of gratitude for your big brother?”

  George didn’t reply. His much taller brother loved to needle him about his lack of height. He picked up his coat and put it on. Edward handed the jewels to Drina without a word. She slipped the earrings into her ears and clasped the necklace around her throat. Mr. Smythe gave Drina her hat and she put it back on. She looked rather ridiculous wearing jewels and a top hat. Still, Edward offered Drina his arm and they walked out of the jail with their heads held high. George followed behind them with his head low.

  The carriage was waiting outside the jail. Edward opened the door for Drina and assisted her inside; George sighed for not doing so
himself as he climbed in after them.

  As the carriage began to move, Edward yawned. “Am I assisting in an elopement?” he asked in a bored voice. “I’ve always wanted to, you know.”

  “Of course not!” George said hotly.

  “Oh no!” Drina cried at the same time. “I’m much too young to be getting married.”

  “Then, Drina, may I be so vulgar as to inquire why you are dressed in men’s clothing and out with my little brother, without a chaperone in the middle of the night?” Edward asked.

  “No,” she said flatly, before George could speak. “That’s why we asked for you, Edward. We don’t want anyone to ask awkward questions. Isn’t that right, George?”

  “Yes,” was all he could manage.

  “Ah,” Edward said, twiddling his quizzing glass. “So I did not leave the castle in the middle of the night to bail you two out of jail?”

  “Perhaps you had a headache?” Drina suggested.

  “You went into town for a drink,” George said. “There has to be some cause why he called for this carriage.”

  “That’s reasonable,” she agreed, nodding.

  “Very well, then,” Edward said, pocketing his quizzing glass. “But I’m going to tell Emily the truth. She’s dashed clever and wouldn’t believe anything else.”

  George groaned. Of course Edward would tell his wife.

  The carriage came to a stop, and Edward got out first. “Don’t dawdle getting back to your own rooms,” he said suggestively. He touched the brim of his hat and left without another word.

  George and Drina stood up at the same time. They bumped together and lost their balance; he fell back on the carriage seat with Drina lying across his lap. She scooted off his legs immediately and they both said, “Sorry,” at the same time. Her hat was off again and he could see her beautiful long hair. It looked silver in the moonlight.

  “After you,” he said in an attempt at chivalry.

  Drina twirled up her hair and shoved the hat onto her head. She lopsidedly stepped out of the carriage and then stuffed her hands in her coat pockets as she walked toward the castle door. George followed and rushed to open the door for her.