Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

  Liza stood rooted to the floor.

  “What is it, Miss Hastings?”

  “Am I still employed?” asked Liza in a rush.

  “Consider yourself on probation. Another lapse like this one and you will be dismissed. Without a reference.”

  Liza hurried out before Mrs. Strode could change her mind.

  Liza put her ear to the door of the Duchess’s sitting room. Her mother would be horrified, but Liza refused to walk in unprepared.

  “The King thinks you look pale?” The Duchess’s strident German voice sounded loudly and Liza jumped back from the doorjamb. “How dare he criticize me?”

  Princess Victoria’s gentler tones replied, “Mama, Uncle King only suggested I take some exercise. He is sending me a mare so I can ride.” She sounded pleased. “I’ll name her Rosa.”

  “He insults me by implying I can’t give you a decent mount,” said the Duchess. “Of course, if he gave us a proper allowance, I could afford a horse. We’ll send it back.”

  Liza shook her head and sighed at the Duchess’s foolishness.

  “The mare is a gift for me!” Liza could hear the tears in the Princess’s voice.

  “Will the King’s gift come with oats? I don’t think so.” The Duchess added, “I wish I had thought to say so to his face.”

  “Don’t worry, Mama—you said more than enough.”

  On the other side of the door, Liza winced.

  “Cruel, ungrateful child!” The Duchess sounded wounded. “Victoria, you have never appreciated the difficulties of my position.” As if the Duchess sensed Liza’s arrival, she said peevishly, “Where is that girl? You should be in your bath, not arguing with me.”

  Liza slipped into the room. “Your Grace.” She glanced at Victoria who was staring out the window, still wearing her day dress. Even the line of her back looked sullen.

  “Where have you been, Miss…Miss?” the Duchess asked in German.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am?” Liza remembered to pretend not to understand.

  In English, the Duchess said, “The Princess required you quite some time ago. Mrs. Strode is too lax. Where were you?”

  Liza waited, but the Princess did not turn around.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I…I…“ Liza stammered.

  The Duchess said, “Answer me. Where have you been?”

  Liza steeled herself to lie, but Victoria turned away from the window and spoke for her. “Oh, Mama, stop interrogating Liza, I sent her to town.” Her eyes were swollen and her face blotchy.

  “To town? Why?” The Duchess’s eyes narrowed.

  “Mama, I’d rather not say.”

  Liza’s heart sank. The Duchess would never accept such an evasion.

  “Victoria, a mother and daughter must have no secrets.”

  The Princess managed a coy expression. “But Mama, your birthday is coming—”

  “My birthday isn’t until August.”

  “Mama, please don’t ask—you’ll spoil the surprise.”

  Her pique forgotten, the Duchess smiled. “How nice.” She click-clacked out of the room, saying as she went, “Take your bath, Victoria.”

  The Princess made a face at her mother’s back.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” said Liza, feeling like a soldier who had miraculously survived a battle.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t save you?” Victoria asked listlessly. “I promised.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t trust you to keep your word, but the stakes for me are very high.”

  The Princess sighed. Liza followed her down the hallway to the bathroom.

  “Where is the Baroness?” Liza asked.

  “Lehzen went to bed. She suffers from headaches, particularly after we visit the King.” In the dim light of the hallway, Liza could still see the tearstains on Victoria’s cheeks. “Today was especially awful.”

  Two scullery maids were just pouring the last of the large cans of steaming water into the porcelain claw-foot tub as the Princess and Liza entered the bathroom. They bobbed and skittered out, empty cans banging. Liza began laying out the towels and soaps.

  “What happened?” Liza asked.

  “First, the ride to Windsor was awful. People booed the King! Mama and Sir John loved it, of course.” The Princess turned her back so Liza could unbutton her gown. Victoria gingerly stepped into the hot water in her linen chemise. “And when we arrived, Mama insulted Uncle King. Again.”

  “What did she say?” Liza asked, keen for more. This was the kind of detail Will Fulton’s readers would crave.

  “She suggested, very loudly, that my title be changed.” Victoria shrank from the memory, sinking lower in the water.

  “Princess?”

  “Not that one.” The Princess smiled wanly. “No one can take that away. I am the Heiress Presumptive. Mama, in her infinite wisdom, wants me to be the Heiress Apparent.” She sat up and held out her plump white hand for a washcloth. Dipping it into the water, the Princess washed her neck and arms.

  Liza unfolded a linen bath sheet as Victoria finished her bath. “Is there a difference?”

  The Princess’s face became somber. “All the difference to poor Aunt Queen.” She stood up and Liza helped her out of the tub and wrapped her body in the sheet. “‘Presumptive’ means the Queen may still bear an heir. ‘Apparent’ means there’s no hope at all,” the Princess explained.

  “How sad.” Liza had read Queen Adelaide’s babies died young.

  “And tactless. Aunt Adelaide is so kind.” The Princess perched on the edge of the tub and sighed. “Sometimes I wish she would have a child.”

  “Don’t you want to be Queen?” Liza asked, astonished.

  “If I weren’t the heir, then Sir John would leave me alone. I could travel—see Vienna or Paris, even India.” She twisted the water out of her long fair hair. “I could meet young men. Perhaps a man who might be suitable for a simple Princess, who is not destined to be Queen.”

  “Can’t you marry whomever you wish?” Liza asked without thinking.

  “Of course I can’t.” The Princess’s laugh was bitter. “Can you marry a gentleman?” In just five words, the Princess put Liza firmly back in her place.

  Eyes downcast, Liza began rubbing cream on the Princess’s elbows and knees. “What is this?” she asked, noticing a puckered mark on the Princess’s arm for the first time.

  “It’s a vaccination.” The Princess pronounced the word carefully. “Against the smallpox. Mama is very progressive when it comes to matters of my health. Not many people have it yet.”

  Liza remembered the woman at Annie’s house. The pocks on her face meant she had contracted the pox and survived. It was a risk every city dweller feared. But the Princess apparently was immune. Not for the first time, Liza thought it terribly unfair the Princess enjoyed so many privileges while her people suffered.

  “Liza, are you listening to me?” The Princess sounded querulous.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, I was woolgathering.”

  “Try to pay attention, Liza.” The Princess resumed her explanation. “I must marry someone of rank. But it is considered unwise to marry a British nobleman because the others would be jealous. He can’t have a kingdom of his own. And he must be Protestant. And, this is the most difficult one, he must be acceptable to Mama and the King.”

  “That is a difficult combination,” Liza admitted.

  The Princess sighed as Liza towel dried her hair. “I want to marry someone strong, but would a strong man be willing to be my Consort? Without any power of his own, save what I give him?” Her voice was matter of fact; she had carefully considered the difficulties.

  “Who does the King favor for you?” Liza asked.

  “He liked Prince George, one of my British cousins. But then he went blind when he was only fourteen.”

  Liza was taken aback. “Oh my, how sad.”

  “I know. It was the most tragic thing. So now he can’t marry anyone important, least of all me.”

>   The girls were silent while Liza combed the knots out of the Princess’s wet hair.

  “Yesterday,” Liza said, “I overheard your Mother and Sir John discussing the Saxe-Coburg brothers who are coming for your birthday ball. Are they suitable?”

  “Mama’s nephews?” The Princess’s laugh was more like Dash’s bark. “Ernst will inherit a dukedom in Germany, so he won’t do. Albert, who is Mama’s favorite, is supposed to be handsome.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Liza said.

  “But he’s nine months younger than I am.”

  “Maybe you’ll fall in love and it won’t matter.” Liza’s parents’ marriage had been a love match.

  “Only commoners marry for love,” the Princess said. “My father only married Mama to get a suitable heir.” She stared at herself in the mirror. “I was destined to be myself from before I was born.”

  There was a long pause. Liza held out another cream for the Princess to smear on her face.

  “You’ll be Queen of England,” Liza said finally.

  “Oh Liza, you must never say that. I’ll be Queen of Great Britain! Ireland and Scotland and Wales are very put out if you say only England.”

  Liza smiled. “The Queen of Great Britain will be the most important woman in the world.”

  “That’s true.” Princess Victoria looked happier. She dropped her towel and stepped into the luxury of the wool-lined dressing gown. “Perhaps it won’t be so terrible.”

  A tap sounded at the door. Liza started, crushing the pen nib into a blob of ink on the page of her journal. Her caller tried to push open the door. But now that she knew the fate of the room’s previous occupant, Liza was careful to shoot the bolt.

  “Liza, it’s Victoria.”

  Liza glanced longingly at her bed and sighed. She blotted the page, pulled the silk ribbon down the page to mark her place, and closed the journal. She opened the door just wide enough for the Princess to slip in. Victoria wore a turquoise dressing gown Liza had not seen before. “You shouldn’t lock the door, Liza,” she said. “What if I want to come in?”

  “It wasn’t to keep you out,” Liza said. But if the Princess wondered what she meant, she didn’t ask.

  “What a tiresome day!” The Princess shivered. “It’s always so cold in here. Where is your lovely shawl?”

  “I don’t know, Your Highness,” Liza lied. She had retrieved it from Victoria’s room at the first opportunity and hidden it away in her trunk.

  The Princess wrapped Liza’s blanket around her body. “We were having such an interesting conversation earlier I forgot to ask you about your mission. By the time I remembered, Mama was keeping me prisoner in our bedroom. What did you learn today?”

  With the sensation of stepping off a precipice, Liza relayed Will’s business proposition.

  The Princess clapped her hands with delight. “I could finally speak directly to my subjects!”

  “I told Will I wouldn’t do it unless you agreed,” Liza said.

  “Of course you must promise not to write anything without my permission.” A doubt crossed the Princess’s face. “You can write, can’t you?”

  Liza nodded. “Of course. I keep a journal.” She glanced over at the leather book on her table.

  The Princess jumped up and took the two small steps to the table. “You have a journal too? I daresay yours is more interesting than mine.” Paralyzed, Liza watched as the Princess opened the leather-bound book to the first page.

  Her most private thoughts and dreams were in that book. But how do you tell a Princess she has gone too far?

  How do you not?

  “Heavens, your handwriting is hard to read.” Victoria brought the journal over to the candle to read the first page of Liza’s secrets. “Today, I buried my parents.”

  Liza couldn’t help herself; she snatched the journal from Victoria’s hands. She clasped the book to her chest. Trembling, she sought for words to defend her private self from Victoria. But when she dared glance at the Princess, Victoria looked as shaken as she.

  “Liza, dear Liza, I do beg your pardon,” the Princess whispered, kneeling at Liza’s feet and placing her hand over Liza’s. “I should not have read that.”

  Liza’s lungs contracted, as though there wasn’t enough air to breathe. “No,” she said flatly. “It was very wrong.”

  Victoria took her hand away. “You are my subject; you shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

  Liza was too angry to back down. “My heart and mind are my own.” She slid the book under her mattress. “You must promise never to read my journal again.”

  There was silence. Finally, her blue eyes dark with distress, Victoria murmured, “I forget other people are permitted the privacy of their thoughts. I shan’t pry again.”

  “Thank you.” Liza tucked her hair behind her ears and clasped her hands together.

  With an air of making amends, Victoria said, “Read my journal anytime you like.”

  Liza stared at her. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Everyone else does,” the Princess said simply. “I can’t even use ink in my journal until my dear Mama approves what I’ve written.”

  The crisis had passed, the girls were quiet for a time. Liza wondered whether perhaps she and the Princess had moved a little closer to becoming friends.

  Shaking off all that had happened, Victoria said, “What should we write about first?”

  “Let me think on it.”

  “Tomorrow then.” As the Princess put her hand on the doorknob, she glanced back. “Did you see Annie?”

  Liza had dreaded the question. “I did. I gave her your money.”

  “My good deed for the week.” Victoria’s pleasure lit up her face. “I hope she looked well?”

  In her mind’s eye, Liza saw Annie’s thick red hair covering her bruised face and the immodest way she had hiked up her skirt to hide the coins. She couldn’t tell the Princess the truth. “You forget, Your Highness, I’ve never met her before.”

  “True. Goodnight, Liza.” And the Princess was gone.

  Liza lay down on the bed and stared at the wood rot in the ceiling. The Princess hadn’t even asked how or where Annie lived. Absence did not make the Princess’s heart grow fonder.

  I’d do well to remember that.

  Several days passed before Princess Victoria could escape her mother’s watchful eye again. She was eager to begin using the press for her own advantage.

  Victoria lay on her stomach on Liza’s hard bed. “What should we say?”

  “Don’t you have any ideas?” Liza fought to hide her exasperation.

  “Young royal ladies are not encouraged to have ideas.” Victoria tilted her chin up doing an excellent imitation of her mother. Both girls giggled.

  “I thought you wanted to speak to your subjects,” Liza said. “You could discuss issues important to the common people.”

  “Bother the common people. I don’t know any.” The Princess rolled over on her back. “Liza, I’d prefer to tweak Sir John’s nose.”

  “That doesn’t seem…noble.” Liza couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

  “I’m not the Queen yet,” the Princess said. “Liza, I’m sixteen and just want to have some fun.” She smiled winningly at Liza, her head tilted to one side.

  Liza crinkled her forehead. “But next time we should write about something worthwhile.”

  “You’re in no position to dictate terms to me,” the Princess said haughtily.

  “Then forget about using the press, Your Highness. You can’t do it without me!” Liza said, setting her jaw.

  Victoria pursed her lips, but the possibility of harassing Sir John was too tempting. “Agreed. Now what can we write?”

  Liza put her head to one side and brushed her pen’s quill across her cheek. “Do you know anything to his discredit?”

  “He’s cruel and keeps me from my amusements,” answered the Princess, tossing her hair back.

  “The nation will hardly mi
nd he makes you study too much,” Liza said.

  “He’s very devoted to Mama and me,” the Princess admitted reluctantly. “He’s beggared himself to keep us.”

  Liza knew there was never enough money to support even the Duchess’s small household. But Sir John always looked prosperous and fashionable. “I wonder where he gets his money?”

  “Money is boring,” The Princess snorted. “Everyone knows Sir John has waited all these years to get rich when I take the throne.”

  “What if the throne were snatched away from him?” mused Liza. “After all these years, what if Queen Adelaide—”

  “Has an heir!”

  Both girls smiled to think of Sir John’s chagrin. “But she’s not expecting a child,” said Liza, dismissing the idea.

  “How do we know she isn’t? She did look awfully peaked when I saw her last.”

  “Do you think so?” Liza asked doubtfully.

  “Say she was, then we’ll laugh to see Sir John’s face. ‘Sources at court have noticed signs the King is expecting good news.’” The Princess glanced over to the writing table. “Liza, écrivez!”

  Liza caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Princess, I’m not certain this is a good idea.”

  “What harm can it do? Sir John will never suspect me! And even if he did, what can he do?”

  Liza closed her eyes and sought for the right words. “He could destroy me with a word.”

  “Liza, stop worrying.”

  “But—”

  “You’re being difficult, when your job is to help me.” The unspoken threat hung in the room like a London fog.

  Her hand shaking, Liza dipped the quill in ink. “Should I mention the Queen’s physical symptoms?” asked Liza.

  “Heavens, no! How disrespectful—no one should refer to the Queen’s body. It’s far too personal.”

  They toiled over their article during stolen hours for the next week. One night as Liza was putting the finishing touches to their piece, Victoria asked about Will Fulton.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “Who?” asked Liza, distracted by a knotty spelling question: Victoria liked to sprinkle French words wherever she could and Liza couldn’t remember if pregnant was enciente or enceinte.

  “Your newspaper friend.”

  “Oh!” Aside from her brief questions about Annie, Victoria had never asked about Liza’s day out. “A mutual acquaintance led me to Mr. Fulton on Fleet Street.”