Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

Eyeing her property, Liza said, “Princess, my shawl.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to catch a chill, would you?”

  “Of course not, Your Highness.”

  “Good night, Liza.”

  “Good night, Your Highness.”

  From Miss Elizabeth Hastings to the

  Firm of Ratisbon and Ratisbon, Esq.

  5 April 1836

  Kensington Palace

  Dear Mr. Ratisbon,

  Thank you for your consideration during my recent troubles.

  I am grateful for your efforts on my behalf. I wish to assure you I intend to honor all of my father’s debts. However, I am concerned you have found no assets whatsoever. As the daughter of an old and valued client, might I prevail upon your magnanimity to do a last service on my behalf? Please ascertain the whereabouts of Mr. Ripley, my father’s business manager. I am certain he can provide an explanation. The last I heard news of him, he was superintending a manufacturing site in Kashmir.

  You can reach me at Kensington Palace, where, entirely through your kind intercession, I am now installed.

  I have the honor to remain,

  Miss Elizabeth Hastings

  8 April 1836 Excerpt from the Journal of Miss Elizabeth Hastings

  I’ve survived my first week as a maid. The work is not hard; my duties have never been more onerous than on my first day. Boredom and loneliness are my enemies. I’m not permitted to have friends below or above my station. The only servant at my level, Mademoiselle Blanche, hates the ground I walk on. The sentiment is heartily reciprocated!

  Despite our different ranks, the Princess is just as bored and lonely as I am. My plan is to keep her amused. To that end, I am withholding Annie Mason’s letter. Although I promised IB (even within these private pages, I will keep his secret), I’ll wait until the Princess requires a diversion. While I am mortally curious as to its contents, I can’t bring myself to peek. A sorry sort of spy, am I!

  The Baroness was pleased with me when I gave her the broadsheet. The only thing I’ve done properly since she hired me. Sir John has not forgotten our bargain. Whenever he sees me alone (something I avoid whenever possible), he asks what the Princess wants for her birthday. She doesn’t know her own mind. One day she thinks she wants another spaniel. Other days, she wants a new mare. But Sir John wants to give her something special. I suspect he is looking for another way to control her—what Sir John giveth, he can taketh away. Since the Princess loves the opera, I’m going to suggest Signor Luigi Lablache, the famous tenor, might come to the Palace and sing for her.

  Princess Victoria not only wants Lablache to sing, she wants him to teach her voice! Being a Princess has its advantages!

  8

  In Which Liza Sees Both the Carrot and the Stick

  Liza was always pleased when Victoria had her piano lessons because those were times she didn’t need to entertain the Princess. Besides, the Princess played very well indeed. Her Mendelssohn was always full of pleasant verve.

  “And now the Wagner,” said Mr. Hayes, the music instructor. He was a middle-aged, rotund man, whose bottom was much wider than his piano stool.

  Victoria grimaced. “Liza, don’t you detest Wagner?”

  Avoiding the piano teacher’s discomfiture, Liza answered, “No, Your Highness. I’ve always rather liked his music. He’s German, as you know.”

  “Bother where he’s from! It’s all big notes and bombast to me,” the Princess complained as she began to play. Mr. Hayes and Liza did their best not to wince at the flubbing of the notes.

  Finally, Mr. Hayes could bear no more. “You’ve not practiced, Your Highness,” he scolded.

  Victoria shrugged her pretty white shoulders. “I don’t like this piece.”

  “Sir John insists you learn the classics, including Wagner.” Disapproval puffed out his cheeks. “Start again. Even princesses must practice.”

  Without warning, the Princess slammed the cover on the piano and shoved her chair back. The instrument continued jangling even as she stood up. “There is no MUST about it. We are finished for today.”

  Clutching her piano book as though it were a club, the Princess stormed out. Liza followed on her heels, barely sparing a glance for the embarrassed instructor. Victoria walked to the Duchess’s sitting room in stiff staccato steps.

  “Why should I learn Wagner if I don’t want to?” The Princess slapped her palm with the book, over and over again. “Do you really think it makes one bit of difference whether the Queen can play Wagner or not?”

  “It’s not for me to say, Your Highness,” Liza said, cautious of her answer with the Princess so out of sorts.

  Victoria stomped her foot. “Answer me, Liza.”

  Liza grinned and let her guard down. “I don’t see how it possibly could matter, Princess.”

  “Yet Sir John forces me to learn Wagner!”

  At that moment, the door slammed open and the man himself walked in. He presented a dapper picture in his greatcoat and shoes shined to a high polish. Liza caught a glimpse of a fashionable chartreuse waistcoat. He held a top hat in his hands. “You dismissed your piano teacher?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did, Sir John.” Victoria emphasized his title in such a way as to remind him of hers.

  “I will not permit any interference with the Kensington System. It is designed to maximize your instructional time. It is not for a little girl, pardon me, a Little Woman, to second-guess me.”

  The Princess’s fingers turned white as she gripped her piano book tightly. “This ‘Little Woman’ will be your Queen, Sir John. Do not forget that in your…zeal for my welfare.”

  Liza wanted to cheer for Victoria.

  “When you are Queen,” he said sternly, “you will be prepared for your duties, thanks to my system.”

  “I’m sure the nation owes you a tremendous debt for making me practice the piano,” the Princess replied in a tone that would wither a man less sure of his power.

  Sir John turned his top hat in his hands, his long fingers running along the satin rim. “If you won’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to cancel your birthday surprise.”

  “What surprise?” asked Victoria, with a quick glance at Liza.

  He turned his back on her and walked to the window.

  No doubt, to make the Princess frantic with suspense.

  “After all the trouble I’ve taken, it would be a shame to tell Signor Lablache not to come after all,” he said over his shoulder. “I arranged for him to be your singing teacher during the season.”

  The Princess played the role of an astonished girl to perfection. “Lablache? Coming here? What a marvelous treat, Sir John. How did you know how much I admire his voice?” She winked at Liza.

  “Anyone could see your passion for him,” Sir John said, turning around to reveal a satisfied smile on his thick lips. “You practically fell out of the royal box applauding his last performance. Everyone was laughing about it.”

  Victoria’s joy dissolved like a sugary confection in a downpour and Liza wished she could scratch Sir John’s mean eyes out of their sockets.

  “I thought he sang very well.” Victoria’s chin trembled from mortification.

  Sir John’s eyes never left her face, savoring every ounce of her humiliation. “And thanks to me, he will be your teacher.”

  The Princess retreated behind her exquisite manners. “Thank you, Sir John.” She looked down, duty dripping from every syllable. “It is very kind of you and Mama.”

  “You will practice your Wagner?” He was implacable.

  “Yes.” Victoria’s eyes stayed rooted to the floor.

  “Excellent.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we return to the music room?”

  Victoria followed him like a puppy kicked by her master. Her back stiff with resentment, she settled herself in front of the piano. Sir John pulled on his kid leather gloves and without a word, turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Victoria and Liza listened to the sound of his footsteps fade. With a cry o
f frustration, Victoria hurled the piano book at the door.

  “The gall of Sir John Nobody lecturing me! Me!” Victoria poked herself in the bosom. “To offer a carrot and turn it into a stick to beat me with the very next moment!”

  “But what a carrot!” Liza said. “It’s just what you wanted.”

  For an instant, Victoria let herself be pleased. “I’ve always wanted to meet Lablache and now I get to study with him!”

  “Can you sing?” asked Liza, forgetting who she was and to whom she spoke.

  “Of course, Liza.” Victoria gave her a cold royal stare. “Do you think Lablache would instruct a complete novice?”

  If the novice were the future Queen, he might.

  “But I owe it to Sir John!” The Princess’s pique returned in a rush. “It ruins everything. You didn’t think of that, did you, Liza?”

  Liza thought quickly. “Your Highness, you are mistaken.” The Princess’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Liza hurried on. “Signor Lablache is coming here because of your position. Any, any…“ she searched her mind for a word to please, “any flunkey could have made the request.”

  The Princess beamed and Liza sighed.

  “Lablache comes for me, not the odious Sir John. How clever you are to see it, Liza.”

  “Thank you, Princess.”

  “If I want the maestro, I had better practice.” She sat on the bench and looked at Liza expectantly. Discomfited, Liza realized the Princess wanted her music score. She scurried to retrieve it and place it in on the piano.

  “You turn the pages, Liza.” The Princess set her hands delicately on the black and white keys. Her fingers were plump and looked like little sausages on striped cloth. But she didn’t play yet. “You know, I won’t have to suffer his insolence forever. Soon I will have all the carrots and all the sticks. Guess which Sir John Conroy will receive?”

  The notes of the detested Wagner filled the room. Waiting for Victoria to reach the end of the page, Liza imagined a tiny Queen with an enormous crown, holding a huge scepter as she chased a frightened Sir John out of her royal presence.

  The next Tuesday was cold and wet. But more importantly, it was the Princess’s first singing lesson with Maestro Lablache. Liza was to chaperone. The Princess had been singing all week long in anticipation and Liza was wearied to death by her practicing. Her voice was pretty enough but pitched too high for Liza’s tastes.

  Victoria could barely contain herself as they waited for the great man. Dash had caught her excitement. The spaniel raced frantically around the large room yipping. He jumped up onto Victoria’s full, pale pink taffeta skirt.

  “Down, Dash, or else you will have to leave,” the Princess ordered. She stroked his head and smiled. “I do think Tuesday will be the best day of the week,” she said. “And what a privilege it will be for you, Liza, to hear the maestro.”

  “But I already have, Princess. Twice,” Liza said without thinking. “His Leporello in Don Giovanni was wonderful. Mama took me to see it.” It was the last opera she had seen with her mother. Steeling herself against the melancholy that came with remembering her parents, Liza went on, “My mother and I went to the opera whenever we could. My father never came; he called it caterwauling to a full orchestra. We often laughed about it.”

  The Princess’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I wasn’t allowed to go. Mama thought it unsuitable. But you and I are almost the same age.” The Princess’s face grew bleak.

  Too late, Liza remembered the unpalatable facts: The Duchess was not the Princess’s friend, the Princess had never known her father, and Liza had seen an opera the Princess had not. Liza almost felt sorry for her.

  “Where is the man?” Victoria exclaimed, cross. “If he is late, I won’t be able to have my full lesson.”

  At that moment, Simon came in, a dashing figure in his green livery. “Your Highness,” he said, staring into the air above Victoria’s head. “Signor Lablache has a touch of the ague and will not be coming.”

  “Thank you,” the Princess said quietly. Though her spirit was crushed, Victoria was too well-trained to show her feelings in front of Simon. Dash was not so subtle. With a small whimper, he lay his body across her feet, his head pressed flat against his paws.

  As the footman backed out of the room, his face filled with sympathy for the Princess. Liza rather liked him for it. She started to speak, but the Princess waved her silent, tears rolling down her cheeks. She sat at the piano and banged out a gloomy tune as though beating a carpet. After a time, her playing became more measured. The music trailed off slowly and silence overtook the room. Liza started when the Princess finally spoke.

  “What a week! Every night I have wanted to visit, but Mama has been vaporish. She’s cancelled all her evening engagements.” She swung around on the velvet piano stool and faced Liza. “Have you talked to the publisher yet?”

  “I haven’t been able to leave the Palace,” Liza said. “Mrs. Strode watches me like a hawk.”

  “Did you even try?” the Princess cried. “I can’t rely on anyone!”

  “That’s not fair, Princess,” Liza protested. “My livelihood is at stake.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic.” The Princess was neither amused nor sympathetic. “You have so much more free time than I do. The least you could do is find out about this broadsheet.” She sighed. “I always have to wait for news.”

  “When I have a day off, I’ll get it for you,” Liza promised.

  “As soon as you can,” the Princess said. She walked over to the window and stared outside at the rain. “What am I going to do for the rest of the afternoon?”

  Liza had kept Annie’s letter with her all week, waiting for the perfect moment. “Princess, I have a letter for you.” She pulled out the folded square.

  “I never get letters.” Intrigued, the Princess turned the letter over in her hands.

  “Truly? No one writes to you?”

  “Oh everyone writes to me, even people I don’t know! But Mama and Sir John open all my correspondence first.”

  “It’s from Annie Mason,” Liza said.

  “Annie?” The Princess looked as excited as a child with a surprise gift. But the paper was folded too tightly for her to open it. “Liza, open it.”

  Using her fingernails, Liza separated the folds to reveal a small piece of paper covered with writing. Annie had used every inch. Twice. She had written across the narrow side of the paper and then turned it and written again on the long side as well. Her face expressionless, Liza handed it to the Princess, whose excitement drained away.

  “I can’t read this! It’s a mishmash. Why ever would she do that?”

  “Your Highness, paper is expensive.” Liza had learned this lesson since her parents’ death when Mrs. Strode had begrudged her the writing paper to correspond with her solicitor.

  “All the more reason to make it legible.”

  “You can decipher it, once you get the knack.”

  The Princess huffed, impatient. “I don’t want to strain my eyes.” She pushed the letter at Liza. “You read it to me.”

  The salutation was easy to make out. “Dear Princess Victoria,” Liza read. “I hope you are well and Dashy is recovered from his nasty cold.”

  “Does she say why she left?” asked Victoria avidly.

  Liza shook her head and squinted at the letter. “No. She says Sir John ruined her and he dared not let her stay at the Palace.” Liza felt a knot grow hard in her stomach. “She says ‘Do not trust him or his men.’”

  “Sir John!” Victoria leaned forward, intrigued. “What did he do?”

  “Ruin usually means one thing, doesn’t it?” Liza asked in a low voice.

  The Princess’s eyes gleamed. “And under my mother’s roof! If Mama found out…she’s quite unforgiving about other people’s lapses. Perhaps this is my trump card against him. Brava, Liza!” Standing up, she shoved the piano stool across the parquet floor. “Should I tell Lehzen? Perhaps she already knows.” She began pa
cing around the music room, rubbing her palms together.

  Liza felt as though she was looking on the scene from a great distance. She saw a tiny girl in a pink dress thinking ugly thoughts. The Princess had not given Annie’s predicament a second’s worth of consideration before she began to think of herself. Liza was ashamed for her. And frightened for herself.

  “What about Annie?” Liza asked abruptly. “Have you forgotten her?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” The Princess stopped her pacing. “Finish the letter, Liza.”

  Liza took the letter closer to a lamp. “She says ‘I was let go without a reference and cannot find decent work. I have no money and am in desperate straits.’” Liza grew cold. She had reached the bottom of the page and turned it on its side to read the rest. “Annie describes how much everything costs. Then she says ‘Please send money.’”

  “She wants money!” The Princess sounded more annoyed than surprised. “She knows I don’t have any. My pocket money is only a few pounds a month.”

  Liza was still staring at the letter. “It’s well written,” she said slowly. “I didn’t realize Annie was educated.”

  The Princess was still brooding on her iniquitous allowance. Absently, she said, “Of course she was, Liza. Her father was a clerk. Lehzen won’t allow just anyone to associate with me.”

  Not quite a gentleman’s daughter, but not working class either.

  “Will you help her?” Liza asked.

  “I would hate to think you are deaf, Liza. I don’t have any money to send.” But the Princess wouldn’t meet Liza’s gaze.

  “But she’s desperate.” Her recent personal experience gave Liza’s words passion. “You don’t know what it is to worry where you’re going to sleep and how you will eat.”

  “Liza!” The Princess reminded Liza of their relative ranks with a word.

  Bowing her head to hide her angry face, Liza said, “Your Highness, I forgot myself.”

  “It would seem so.” Their positions reestablished, the Princess’s mood softened. “Do you really think her need is dire?”