Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

  For

  Margaux, Rowan, and Rob

  —M. M.

  Chapter 1

  In Which Liza’s Circumstances Change for the Worse

  Chapter 2

  In Which Liza’s Position Is Clarified

  Chapter 3

  In Which Liza Goes Below Stairs

  Chapter 4

  In Which Liza Is Noticed and Not Noticed

  Chapter 5

  In Which Liza Takes Up Her Duties

  Chapter 6

  In Which Liza Tries to Win the Affection of the Princess

  Chapter 7

  In Which Liza Strikes Two Bargains

  Chapter 8

  In Which Liza Sees Both the Carrot and the Stick

  Chapter 9

  In Which Liza Goes Outside with Inside Boy

  Chapter 10

  In Which Liza Confronts a Newspaperman and a Fallen Woman

  Chapter 11

  In Which Liza Insists on the Privacy of Her Thoughts

  Chapter 12

  In Which Liza Is Fitted for a Suitable Ball Gown

  Chapter 13

  In Which Liza Attracts the Notice of a Prince

  Chapter 14

  In Which Liza and Victoria Wish for the Same Thing

  Chapter 15

  In Which Liza Puts Away Her Blacks

  Chapter 16

  In Which Liza Meets a Royal Personage

  Chapter 17

  In Which Liza and Will Have a Private Quarrel in a Public House

  Chapter 18

  In Which Liza Receives an Intriguing Offer

  Chapter 19

  In Which Liza Witnesses a Fall from Grace

  Chapter 20

  In Which Liza Disrespects Her Betters

  Chapter 21

  In Which Liza Taunts a Tyrant

  Chapter 22

  In Which Liza Learns to Not Underestimate Sir John

  Chapter 23

  In Which Liza Finds Flash Patter a Useful Language to Know

  Chapter 24

  In Which Liza Dons a Peculiar Outfit to Rescue the Princess

  Chapter 25

  In Which Liza Negotiates with Sir John

  Chapter 26

  In Which Liza Curtsies to the New Queen of England

  Chapter 27

  In Which Liza Gives Up Her Heart’s Desire for Her Heart’s Desire

  Author’s Note

  For Further Reading

  1

  In Which Liza’s Circumstances Change for the Worse

  Liza huddled in the armchair near the window, her mother’s shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Despite the fire, she couldn’t seem to get warm. The blinds were drawn against the morning’s winter light.

  It shouldn’t be sunny.

  There was a discreet knock at the door. A maid in a black dress with a white apron entered, carrying a meal on a tray. “Miss Liza, you mustn’t shut yourself away like this. It’s not like you.” With a quick motion, she deposited the tray and jerked the blinds open. Liza blinked and held up a hand to shade her eyes.

  “Cora!”

  “With all due respect to your bereaved state, Miss, the staff is beginning to talk,” Cora scolded. “This is no life for a young lady such as you. Go out of doors, put some color back in those cheeks.”

  “There’s nothing for me outside.”

  The hotel suite had been her refuge since the day she had walked behind the black carriage drawn by four black horses and watched the shovelfuls of black earth rain down on her parents’ coffins. And now what? Her family had come to London to join society. But without Mama’s letters of introduction, there would be no welcome for Liza in the best homes. There would be no glittering season followed by a brilliant marriage. She was alone in a strange country; she had neither friends nor family. When her parents’ cabriolet had plunged into the Serpentine a fortnight ago, it had desolated Liza’s life too.

  “I have a letter for you,” Cora said enticingly.

  Hiding her face in the protective wing of the chair, Liza’s answer was muffled. “Leave it on the table.”

  “The notation says ‘Urgent.’”

  Liza peeked out from under the shawl. “Who sent it?”

  A satisfied smile spread across Cora’s face. “I don’t know.” She handed Liza the letter. “Look for yourself.”

  Liza stood up and brought the letter to the window. “It’s from Papa’s lawman, Mr. Ratisbon.”

  Cora’s bright smile dimmed. “I never knew good news to come from a lawyer.” She picked up Liza’s dressing gown from the floor and bustled into the bedroom.

  Liza broke the seal and began reading the letter half aloud. “Assets…liens…five hundred pounds owed?…creditors…legal action…Oh my goodness.” She sank back into her chair. “Papa left nothing? Less than nothing.” Her breathing was shallow as if her lungs had shrunk along with her expectations. “How am I to live?”

  For the first time, she looked at her luxurious hotel suite and realized it must be expensive. Two bedrooms, a sitting room, meals on trays, a maid…it all cost.

  Did Mr. Ratisbon include the hotel in his list of creditors? She would be a thief if she slept here another night or ate another meal. How could she afford to pay for Cora?

  What on earth am I to do?

  Liza began to pace. “How could you do this, Papa?” she whispered to the sumptuous room. “You and Mama were my whole world. How could you leave me with nothing?”

  The crinkle of paper in her hand recalled her to the last paragraph of Mr. Ratisbon’s letter. Her heart beat faster. After informing her she had lost everything, the lawyer presented her with the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “Cora!”

  “Miss?”

  “I have to get dressed! I’m to go to court!” Liza exclaimed, waving the letter. “More precisely, I have an interview at half past one o’clock to be a lady in waiting.”

  Cora’s eyes widened. “To the Queen?”

  “No, to the Princess Victoria at Kensington Palace.”

  “Court is where the King is, Miss Liza,” Cora corrected. “But the little Princess is just as good. She’ll be the Queen someday. I saw ‘er once, picnicking with ‘er mother, the Duchess, in ‘yde Park. She’s ever so pretty.”

  “She’s not so little. I read in the broadsheets she’s sixteen, a year younger than I,” Liza said. “If I suit her, I’m to live at Kensington Palace.”

  “Your good mother would have been proud.” Cora’s face fell when she saw Liza’s stricken expression. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

  Liza rubbed her sore eyes. “You’re right, Cora. My mama would have been so pleased. This was all she ever dreamed of—but now she’ll never know.” She straightened her back and tilted her chin. “We must pay particular attention to my toilette,” she said. “This appointment is the most important of my life.”

  Liza carefully folded Mr. Ratisbon’s letter while Cora hurried away to fetch Liza’s clothes. Liza ran her fingers across the crease, thinking hard. What if she didn’t find favor with the Princess? Or rather, Her Highness’s governess, the Baroness Lehzen? Mr. Ratisbon said that the Baroness would make the decision. This interview must go well. It must. Liza had nowhere else to go.

  “Your black lace?” Cora asked from the bedroom.

  “No! Not that…“ Liza’s voice faltered as she recalled her parents’ funeral, but then she forced herself to be practical. “Never mind, it’s the best I have, even if it reminds me of terrible things.”

  She slipped her dressing gown off her shoulders and stood in her chemise. Cora fastened a wide petticoat around her waist.

  “The corset?” Cora asked.

  Mama would have insisted. “No,” Liza sai
d, with a twinge of guilt. “It’s wretchedly uncomfortable.”

  “Your waist is tiny enough as it is,” Cora said, fastening the dark skirt around Liza’s middle. The black silk was heavy with fine lacework from Brussels. Liza remembered the rainy afternoon she and her mother had spent in the milliner’s shop poring over dozens of styles. Cora buttoned the sleeves into the armholes. They were wide below the elbow but narrow at the shoulder. She tut-tutted, “This style looks more like a leg of mutton every season.”

  Liza stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Mama always told me I looked washed out in dark colors.”

  “But you have to wear your blacks, it’s disrespectful else,” Cora said.

  “To honor Mama and Papa properly, I will,” Liza said. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sighed; this had to stop. The Princess would send her away if all she did was cry.

  Cora avoided looking at Liza’s face. She finished joining the hooks and eyes at the back of the bodice. “That looks lovely,” she said. “Your shape is ‘ourglass perfection.”

  Taking a deep sniff, Liza pursed her lips and set her shoulders back, fighting her tears. “With these huge sleeves and wide skirt, anyone would look like an hourglass.” But even as she said it, she remembered laughing with her mother, discreetly of course, at the ladies who insisted on the latest styles even though they did not have the natural tiny waist.

  “‘Tis the fashion, Miss.” Cora’s voice was firm.

  Liza said, “Fashion isn’t everything.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat; her mother would have swooned had she heard Liza say such a thing. Fashion had been their consuming passion, save for the opera and theater. But now Liza had more important concerns.

  “What about jewelry, Miss?” Cora asked briskly.

  “My gold and enamel locket.” It contained a small length of her mother’s hair. “And the jet bracelet and pin. I must look my best.”

  “A pretty girl like you is sure to please the Princess. They say she ‘as no friends ‘er own age. You’d be a boon to ‘er, you would.”

  “I hope so.” Liza fastened a black bonnet on her head and arranged the black ribbon to display becomingly in her blond curls. “It would be a boon for me to go where there are no memories.”

  The lobby was filled with its usual denizens, well-to-do young ladies and their mothers and, on occasion, pompous fathers. Two weeks ago Liza had been utterly at home here; she had grown up in fine hotels in the most elegant cities around the world. A murmur spread through the room when she appeared at the top of the stairs. Behind gloved hands or strategically held fans the ladies whispered, speculating. Liza blushed.

  Stop being self-centered, Liza. They can’t possibly know the money’s gone. They are curious because I’ve been a hermit in my rooms this past fortnight. They can’t possibly know.

  “Miss Hastings!” A peremptory voice drew every eye to her. It was Mr. Arbuthnot, the hotel’s manager. Though portly, he insisted on wearing gaudy vests that emphasized his girth. “Miss Hastings, I must speak to you about your account.”

  Liza wished she could sink into the lush red carpet. Instead, she took a breath and made one foot follow the other down the stairs. Now everyone was staring at her and she knew they weren’t admiring the lace on her mourning dress.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Arbuthnot,” she said formally.

  Recalled to his manners, he said, “Of course. Good afternoon. May I speak to you in my private office, please?”

  Liza looked for any possible reprieve, but his piggish, black eyes were implacable. “Why, certainly, Mr. Arbuthnot, although I only can spare you a few moments. I have an important appointment.”

  He led the way through the crowded lobby. Liza followed as slowly as she dared. Her father’s lawman had said she wasn’t responsible for her father’s debts. But did Mr. Arbuthnot know that? Perhaps the bailiffs were waiting to take her to debtor’s prison?

  Mr. Arbuthnot opened the door. Liza craned her neck to see past his bulk. Her knees weakened with relief; the room was empty.

  Mr. Arbuthnot sat behind a too grand mahogany desk. Most discourteously, he didn’t offer her a seat, but Liza’s legs were trembling so, she sank unbidden into the deep chair opposite him. Immediately she regretted her choice; the chair dwarfed her petite frame and she felt like a small child.

  “Do you know why I’ve asked to see you?” he began.

  “You’d like to offer your condolences?” Liza asked hopefully. But she had spied a letter with Mr. Ratisbon’s handwriting on his desk; the manager would not be commiserating with her over her tragedy.

  “Your account is in serious arrears, Miss Hastings.” He frowned and picked up the letter. “Your father’s solicitor tells me you have no fortune at all and no prospects,” he said as though it were her fault.

  Two weeks ago, he had fallen over himself to indulge their every whim. Violets in winter? Of course, Lady Hastings. Seats to the opera for Don Juan, starring the famous tenor Luigi Lablache? Consider it done, Miss Hastings. But his courtesies had a price.

  “Mr. Arbuthnot, my father was a valued client of yours.”

  “Indeed he was…when he was alive to pay his bills.”

  Liza gasped. “How much is the amount outstanding?” she asked, when she trusted her voice again.

  “Forty-three pounds, two pence,” he said.

  Liza recoiled as if from a blow to her body. Her gloved fingers twisted around the handle of her little reticule, which contained only a few pounds and a handful of change.

  “That is the amount due immediately,” he continued. “If you stay another night, it will be more.”

  “Of course,” Liza said. “My parents would have—,” she began again.

  “The hotel is deeply sorry for their deaths, but even our generosity has its limits. Have you no one to pay your debts?”

  “As you know, we have only just arrived in London from Munich. I know no one.” Liza struggled out of the chair. “As it happens, I have an appointment this morning that will provide me with a new home.” She smoothed out her full black skirt. “I will pack my trunks and leave as soon as possible.”

  Mr. Arbuthnot’s fleshy lips quivered with impatience, “And your account?”

  Liza’s stomach was full of angry butterflies. “I have no way to pay right now, but it will be settled,” she promised.

  “I don’t see how,” he replied, his tone snide. “But Claridge’s will not be the loser; I’m sure I can sell your personal chattel for at least some of what you owe.”

  “You cannot!” Liza cried.

  “But I can.” He tapped the letter on his desk. “Ask your solicitor.”

  “You can’t sell my clothes to strangers! And certainly not my mother’s jewelry and my father’s books…“ As Liza listed the other possessions she could not bear to lose, her voice grew louder and more shrill.

  “Miss Hastings, calm yourself.” He stood up and made sure the door was closed. “I’m the maître d’hôtel of the finest hotel in London, what will my paying guests think if they hear your caterwauling?” He shoved a handkerchief at her.

  With so little money in her reticule, how could Liza buy some time? Looking up at him from under her damp eyelashes, she said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Arbuthnot, but I’m an orphan, at my wit’s end.”

  Mr. Arbuthnot shifted from foot to foot, his eyes looking everywhere but at Liza. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  With a sudden air of inspiration, Liza sat up straight saying, “Perhaps I should throw myself on the mercy of your guests? Once I tell them the hotel is going to cast me out onto the street, someone will help me.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” he snapped. “I’ve the hotel’s reputation to think of.”

  “You have left me no choice,” Liza sniffed, dabbing at her eye with his cologne-laden handkerchief.

  “Perhaps I could let you have one trunk with your personal effects,” Mr. Arbuthnot grudgingly offered.

  “That would be exceedingly
generous,” Liza said, hating the necessity of sounding grateful.

  “But the rest…“ he said.

  “You may hold my other belongings until I pay the debt,” Liza interrupted.

  “For ninety days,” he countered. “Then I sell everything.”

  “A twelvemonth at least. You must give me time to find my feet, sir,” she said. Surely that would be time enough to make her fortune or at least to find a suitable husband at Kensington Palace.

  “Half a year. And that’s my final offer.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” She stood up and waited for him to remember to hold the door open for her. She was about to sweep through when she remembered another problem. “One more thing,” she said.

  “What?” he said sourly.

  “I have a meeting at Kensington Palace, but I’ve no money to pay for a hansom cab.”

  “You could walk.”

  “I could,” she mused. “But how would it reflect on Claridge’s? A young lady, walking unescorted through Hyde Park?”

  He snorted. “Miss Hastings, I think if you had been in charge of your father’s business interests, there would be an estate worth inheriting.”

  Liza waited, her face impassive.

  “Very well, I’ll pay the fare,” he said at last. “But first you pack your things. I have an Italian nobleman arriving this evening. He can afford to pay for your suite.”

  When Liza came back downstairs, Mr. Arbuthnot was waiting for her. He rushed forward to take her arm and shepherd her through the crowded hall, and Liza rewarded him with a genuine smile. To her surprise, she felt grateful to Mr. Arbuthnot for forcing her to pack so quickly. She would have mourned every item; cried over every glove, cufflink, and book had she more time. Instead, her single trunk was bursting with her favorite things and clothes appropriate for a grieving daughter.

  Mr. Arbuthnot accompanied her to the door and instructed the doorkeeper to pay for a hansom cab to Kensington Palace. Then he turned on his heel and retreated to the comfort of London’s finest hotel.

  Liza was left standing with the doorkeeper, her eyes blinking against the cold sunlight. He blew a shrill whistle and was answered with the clip-clop of hooves and the rattle of a cabriolet driven by a tiny man in an oversize greatcoat and a battered top hat.