Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

  The first thing Liza noticed was a loud rumbling coming from the back of the building. The clean room had a large desk in the center with several chairs scattered around it. Her eyes watered from the strong vinegary smell of printer’s ink. Fulton offered her a chair and a glass of ale, apologizing he had not the means to make a proper tea.

  “Ale is fine, thank you,” she said, marveling that she was drinking ale alone with a young man.

  Inside Boy came into the shop burdened with the broadsheets. “Is Jim in the back? I’d like to say ‘ello.”

  Fulton nodded, and Inside Boy disappeared through a door in the back corner. The rumble became a roar when the door was opened. Liza caught a glimpse of a large, iron press, churning off broad sheets of newsprint. Fulton sat down across from her and placed two glasses on the desk. She noticed his ink-stained hands had long, well-shaped fingers.

  “I should’ve realized the Princess’s lady would be upset with my article.”

  Liza almost told him she wasn’t a lady anymore. For a moment, Liza toyed with letting him believe she was still a lady.

  But Inside Boy will tell him if I don’t.

  “I’m the Princess’s maid,” Liza said in a low voice, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Her what?”

  “Her maid.”

  He guffawed, displaying his bright straight teeth. “I don’t believe it, not with that coat and that accent.”

  “I just started working there.” She was anxious to turn the conversation back to Victoria. “But I’ve been present at the Princess’s lessons. She’s no fool.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes sources disagree. What’s a publisher to do?”

  “Publisher? You’re hardly older than I,” Liza said.

  Spots of red appeared high on Fulton’s cheeks. “I may be young but I write news. I print it. I sell it. By definition, I’m a publisher.”

  “How can you call it news when it’s all falsehood?” She slapped her hand on the desk.

  He held up his arm warding off her anger, but a grin snuck onto his face. “It’s all a matter of perspective, Miss Hastings.”

  “Truth is truth and lies are lies. There’s no in between, Mr. Fulton.” She cleared her throat and said in a stronger voice, “You should destroy them!”

  “I can’t afford to toss my profit in the trash,” he protested. “Let the Princess buy every copy if she’s so upset.”

  “Isn’t the truth more important than profit?” Liza asked tartly.

  “When I’m rich, I’ll say yes. But for now, I’ve my living to earn.” His voice was reasonableness itself. “I’ll tell you what, I won’t print any more. That’s more than fair. This looked to be a popular edition.”

  Liza took a sip of ale. Licking the foam from her lips, she considered him. His hair was an agreeable sandy color. She tapped the crumpled paper with her gloved hand. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Keep your money. I’ll consider the Princess to be in my debt.” His chair tilted back and his arms folded, Will contemplated Liza. “I could use information from someone well placed like yourself.” He waited for Liza’s reaction.

  “Be one of your sources? I think not.”

  Why does everyone want me to be a spy?

  “Why not?” He grinned. “Inside Boy brought you here for a reason.”

  Liza glanced toward the back of the shop, where Inside Boy had disappeared. “I asked him to bring me…”

  Did I? Or was it his idea?

  “Maybe he wanted to help you. I pay well.” Fulton rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Boy’s earned ten pounds since he moved into Kensington.”

  “But I couldn’t possibly spy on the Princess,” Liza said.

  “Who asked you to spy? I want her willing participation. If her enemies are spreading rumors about her, this is a way to fight back.”

  Liza opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it with a snap. Fulton had a point. The Princess might leap at a chance to communicate with her future subjects. And Liza needed the money. She was sure Mr. Arbuthnot at Claridge’s was just counting the days until he could sell her things.

  Could this be how I pay my father’s debts?

  Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Liza said, “The Princess’s life is very dull, you know.”

  “So are the days of most young ladies,” he reminded her. “My readers will be reassured by her domestic doldrums.”

  “She’s only sixteen.”

  “An age when most girls are launched in society, attending balls and dreaming of young men. Which handsome prince is Victoria dreaming about?”

  Liza caught her breath. If her parents had lived, she would be one of those girls, planning her season, saving her dance cards. But she would never have met an enterprising young man like Mr. Fulton at a society ball. She stared at his stained hands.

  “Well?” Fulton interrupted her reverie.

  Liza came back to herself and half surrendered. “I’ll ask her, but only on the condition you stop selling the paper.”

  His eyes gleamed and he seemed more delighted than discomfited. “You strike a hard bargain, Miss Hastings.” He held out his hand and they shook. His grip was firm. “Talk to your Princess and send me word by Inside Boy.”

  Inside Boy came back in the room. “Miss, we ‘ave to go.”

  Liza would not have minded more conversation with Mr. Fulton, but she was careful not to show it. “Mr. Fulton, thank you for your hospitality. It has been a most interesting discussion.”

  “Please, Miss Hastings. Call me Will. If we are going to work together—”

  Inside Boy looked sharply at Liza. “‘as ‘e got you into ‘is web? Lousy spider, ‘e is.”

  “I’m undecided,” Liza said.

  Inside Boy shook his head in warning. “Remember Miss Liza, ‘e’s a newspaper man. ‘tis job is to get people to say things they’ll regret. But it’s your funeral, Miss. Let’s go.”

  “You know how to find Annie?” she asked.

  Shooting a look at Will, Inside Boy said briefly, “We’ll talk about it outside.”

  Will leaned forward and Liza saw the investigator’s gleam in his eyes. “Annie. Would this be Annie Mason, late of Kensington Palace?”

  “Yes,” Liza said.

  At the same moment, Inside Boy said, “‘tis none of your business, Will.”

  Will’s face was stern. “Why are you visiting her?”

  Inside Boy drew his finger across his throat.

  Taking his hint, Liza said, “It’s not any of your concern, Mr. Fulton.”

  Will turned on Inside Boy. “I know Annie’s a friend of yours, but she’s not fit to meet Miss Hastings.”

  “‘tis none of your business,” Inside Boy repeated.

  “It’s any gentleman’s business to protect a lady,” Will retorted.

  Liza felt lightheaded; no one had tried to protect her since her parents died.

  “You’re no gentry cove, Will Fulton,” said Inside Boy in a sour voice.

  “Miss Hastings,” Will said. “You shouldn’t go there.” He stepped closer and she could smell the vinegar on his shirt and the yeasty ale on his breath.

  “You can’t stop us, Mr. Fulton,” Liza said. Handsome or not, he was trying to keep her from her duty.

  “I’ll go with you then,” he said. “Trust me, in that neighborhood, you want someone a bit more imposing than Boy here for protection.”

  Will locked up his shop and they set off through the crowds of Saturday shoppers, rushing past with their baskets and packages. Sea gulls screeched above and the wind carried the foul smell of the Thames River. Inside Boy led them through a series of narrow, dirty streets. The houses were poorly built and leaned against each other for support. Liza wondered, were one removed, would they all fall down? A stream of stinking waste was discarded from an upper window; fortunately Inside Boy was alert to such dangers and held Liza back. Will was not as lucky, his pants got splattered with the fetid liquid. He shook off as much as
he could, disgusted.

  Inside Boy finally stopped in front of a dilapidated wooden house. The windows sagged but the oak door was stout. Liza heard raised voices inside.

  Will put his fist to the door. “Are you sure?” he asked Liza.

  “I promised Her Highness.”

  “Stubborn,” Will muttered. Liza hid a smile behind her gloved hand.

  He pounded on the door, and the shouting stopped. Eventually a woman opened the door a crack and peered out. Liza stifled an exclamation when she saw the woman’s face.

  Pox!

  The woman’s face was covered with old craters that had once held the dreaded smallpox. “No snoozin’ kens,” the landlady said and tried to slam the door shut.

  Will shoved his boot between the door and the jamb. “We don’t want rooms.”

  Liza stepped forward. “I’m looking for Annie Mason.”

  “What do you want with that light skirt?” She spat on the doorstep, just missing Liza’s boot. “You’re no better than she is, no doubt.”

  Liza took a step back.

  “Some friends want to see her,” said Inside Boy, passing a coin through the door.

  The landlady shoved the coin in her pocket, swung open the door and said, “Top o’ the stairs, first door on the left. There’d better be no trouble.”

  Liza gritted her teeth and entered a small, dingy hallway. The smell of onions and an overpowering odor of too many unwashed people hung heavy in the hall.

  “How many people live here?” she asked Will.

  He shrugged. “I doubt the landlady keeps count. But she’ll get her rent from each one of them, no question.”

  Inside Boy darted ahead. With foreboding weighing down every step, Liza followed. Will brought up the rear.

  Annie’s room was narrower than Liza’s room at the Palace. A thin mattress of straw lay on the floor and a battered valise sat in a corner. Liza couldn’t help staring at the woman standing just inside the door. She had imagined Annie like herself—petite and blonde. But Annie was an Amazon—very tall with red, curly hair and pale eyes. Her white Carrara marble–like skin gleamed against her blue velvet gown trimmed with tattered lace. Modest enough once, the dress had been altered to display more of her full bosom, though the bones at the base of her neck jutted out. Liza couldn’t help but think how pretty Annie would be without her cut and swollen lip.

  “Boy, I’m glad to see you,” Annie said. Her gravelly voice made Liza wonder if she had just risen from bed, though the noon bells of St. Paul’s chimed in the distance.

  Inside Boy twisted his cap in his hands. “Annie, you asked for ‘elp. Course I came.”

  “It took you long enough. Did you give Victoria my letter?”

  “I gave it to ‘er.” He pointed to Liza. “She found a way to get it to the Princess. You know ‘ow they are—she ain’t ever alone.”

  “Who’s she? One of those do-gooders who want to help but don’t know how? Someone tried last month to get me into service again. As if I’d ever do that.” Annie tugged her sleeves down to her wrists, but not before Liza saw the cruel bruises ringing her forearm.

  “Quit it, Annie.” Inside Boy’s face tightened. “This is Miss Liza, ‘oo’s got your place with the Princess.”

  Annie stared down at Liza. “Didn’t take them long to replace me,” she said, bitterness twisting her mouth. “Don’t start thinking of it as home, they’ll throw you out like a used rag when they’re done with you.”

  Liza couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “Your letter said Sir John daren’t let you stay at the Palace. What did you mean?”

  “Did he send you?” Annie asked suspiciously.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then never mind what I meant. I’m safer if I say nothing. I never should have written that letter.”

  “But—”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  In the hall, Liza could see Will leaning against the wall, watching everything with an investigator’s eye.

  A large roach skittered across the floor and Liza drew her skirts close. Annie’s plight was worse than Liza had imagined.

  Annie was suddenly angry. “Don’t sneer, Miss High and Mighty. I can pay my rent and feed myself. I’d like to see you do as well on the outside.”

  Stung, Liza replied, “I never said I could. But if you are doing so well, why did you beg the Princess for money?”

  “When I wrote that, I had no friends, ‘cept for old Boy here. Since then, I’ve found a protector.”

  “A fancy man,” said Inside Boy in a flat voice.

  “Then you don’t need help?” Liza asked uncertainly.

  Will muttered, “She needs help, but not the kind you can give.”

  Annie glared at him. “The Princess owes me. I did her dirty work, just like you’re doing now. I’ll take her money. How much did she send?”

  “She doesn’t have a large allowance,” Liza said.

  “You think I don’t know that? How much?”

  Liza fumbled with her reticule, pulling out the money Victoria had given her. Annie snatched the coins from her hand. As she counted them rapidly, Liza took note of the filth under her jagged fingernails. Heedless of the men in the room, Annie lifted up her skirt.

  Liza gasped. She knew she should avert her eyes, but she couldn’t help but stare.

  Annie secreted the coins in a pocket attached to a strip of cloth tied around her waist, then smoothed the skirt down. Liza, as well as Boy and Will Fulton, could testify she was not wearing a corset.

  Liza waited, expecting some sort of thanks.

  “Well?” Annie challenged. “What else did you come for?”

  “Nothing,” Liza said. After a moment, she turned to leave.

  Before Liza reached the door, Annie began to speak and the words came tumbling out as though she wanted to say her piece before she thought better of it. “Does the Princess miss me at all?”

  Liza froze in the doorway. Annie had fallen so far from Kensington Palace; even farther than Liza had fallen from Claridge’s Hotel. She answered gently, without turning around. “I think she does.”

  Will took Liza’s arm without saying a word. He led her outside. Inside Boy stayed behind talking to Annie for a moment, then joined them on the street.

  Shaken, Liza looked at the two of them.

  “Does ‘fancy man’ mean what I think it does?” she asked.

  Inside Boy and Will looked at each other, neither of them meeting Liza’s gaze.

  “Never mind,” she said. She could guess. Annie had become a prostitute and the fancy man was her procurer. He took her earnings and treated her none too well by the look of her bruises. In just a few weeks, Annie had sunk so low. A chill ran up Liza’s spine as she realized her own precarious position: she was out of the Palace without permission.

  “I must get back,” Liza said. “I’ll lose my job if I’m out too late.”

  No one had to say what happened to maids who were dismissed from Kensington Palace.

  11

  In Which Liza Insists on the Privacy of Her Thoughts

  Liza’s feet were sore as she trudged to the servants’ entrance alone. Inside Boy had disappeared as soon as they sighted the Palace. The memory of Annie’s degradation made her feel dirty and fearful. Why had she left the Palace without permission? Before she could steel herself to knock, the door opened and Mademoiselle Blanche appeared. Liza’s heart sank; this did not bode well.

  “Miss Hastings, you’ve been missed,” hissed the French maid. “My Duchess returned an hour since. She has sent me to find you two times.”

  Liza knew better than to expect favors from Mademoiselle. “What did you tell her?”

  “What could I say, but the truth? You have not been seen for all the day!”

  “I’d expect no less of you, Mademoiselle.”

  With a malicious smile, the Frenchwoman said, “My Duchess has spoken sharply to Madam
e Strode, who wants to speak to you, immédiatement.”

  “Merci beaucoup,” Liza said sourly. She hurried to the housekeeper’s private room. Her heart beat so hard it threatened to drown out her footsteps. A formidable voice bade her to enter. Mrs. Strode sat in her armchair knitting before the fire.

  “Miss Hastings, you’ve been here less than a month and you’re already sneaking out of the house,” Mrs. Strode said, without looking up from her knobby blue scarf.

  Liza’s blood pumped even faster. “Mrs. Strode, let me explain.”

  But what can I tell her?

  “Well?” said the housekeeper.

  Picking at her skirt, Liza said, “It’s confidential.”

  Mrs. Strode’s needles clicked louder. “Miss Hastings, you will have to be more forthcoming, else you’ll pack your bags today.”

  “I was…“ Liza sought the right words. “I was on a confidential errand for the Princess.”

  Mrs. Strode’s head jerked up and she gave Liza a look that penetrated through the city grime. “The Baroness gave you permission to leave the Palace?”

  Liza hesitated. “No. The Princess did.”

  Click, click. Mrs. Strode’s needles were moving faster now. “You work for the Baroness.”

  “I was told I also work for the Princess.”

  “The Princess is a child.”

  “The Princess is a month shy of seventeen,” Liza retorted. “If she gave you a direct order, would you disobey her?”

  Mrs. Strode said nothing for a few minutes. Her needles clicked louder and faster. Finally she muttered as though she had forgotten Liza’s presence. “Twenty-seven years I’ve worked for the royal family, but never have I seen the like. A grown Princess treated like a child. A maid who doesn’t know who her mistress is. I have to keep secrets from the Duchess, my employer, if I am to serve the Princess, my future Queen.”

  Liza nodded sympathetically.

  “The Princess expected you to draw her bath half an hour ago,” Mrs. Strode said.