Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

Will unleashed more of his charm. “On a lovely summer’s day, business can be transacted out of doors. We shall stay within eyeshot of the Palace. On my word of honor.”

  Liza fought back a giggle. Will Fulton, quarrelsome newspaperman, was swearing an oath on his gentleman’s honor.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Strode spied Liza. The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the Princess’s cast-off dress. “Miss Hastings, I see you have put aside your mourning.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Strode.”

  “You may have one hour. No more.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Strode.” Smoothing her skirt and adjusting the shawl around her shoulders, Liza walked through the door. Will’s eyes widened at the sight of her.

  “Mr. Fulton.” She blinked in the bright light. Will’s chin shone from a recent close shave and he had dressed in a well-cut dark blue velvet coat and vest, topped by a white cravat. His boots were polished to a high shine. A gold watch chain dangled at just the right length from his vest pocket. In his old-fashioned style, he was dressed like a solicitor or a junior banker.

  He offered her his arm. “Miss Hastings.” Liza let him lead her away, grateful to escape from the housekeeper’s prying eyes. They walked through the gate to the public gardens.

  “What a Tartar!” he said, wiping his brow.

  “Mrs. Strode rules below stairs with an iron fist,” Liza confided, stopping to examine an iris just past full bloom. “She terrifies me most of the time.”

  “She didn’t half hate your gown. Jealous cat,” he said. “What did she mean, you’ve put aside your mourning? Who are you mourning for?”

  Staring at the wilted flower, Liza said, “My parents were killed in a carriage accident a few months ago.”

  Will whistled sympathetically. “My parents died when I was very young. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Liza looked up and offered him a small smile.

  “If you abandoned your blacks to wear that dress, I must say, it was a wise choice.”

  Liza murmured her thanks and confided, “It was the Princess’s.”

  He chuckled. “So I’m one step removed from royalty?”

  Liza began to relax and her step grew lighter. “You look very handsome yourself,” she said.

  He grinned. “My uncle who raised me always said to get respect, wear the proper clothing.” He looked at her more closely. “Are you surprised?”

  “Ink stains are hard to scrub off,” Liza said shyly.

  “Miss Hastings, I’d never have embarrassed you.”

  “I see that now. Thank you, Mr. Fulton.”

  “Please, two orphans making our own way in the world needn’t stand on ceremony. I’ve asked you to call me Will.”

  Liza bit her lip. What would Mama say? Would her father approve? She glanced over at Will’s genial face. With a pang, she realized it didn’t matter. She made her own decisions now.

  “Will, call me Elizabeth,” she said.

  “That still seems too formal. Didn’t Inside Boy call you Miss Liza?”

  “My friends call me Liza.”

  “Then I shall certainly do so.”

  Forward he might be, but she could not deny he was charming too. Liza decided to give as good as she was getting and ask the question plaguing her. “Will,” she asked. “How can you afford such clothes?”

  “They were my father’s. He worked for a bank.” He fingered the watch hanging from his vest. “Is that shawl the Princess’s too? The pink complements your eyes to perfection.”

  Blushing in earnest now, Liza said, “This one is mine. It’s from India. My father had it sent to him as a sample. He asked Mama to wear it in town. He said if the Munich ladies were jealous of her, he would buy more.”

  “And were they?”

  “Green with envy.” Tears stung Liza’s eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Will put his callused hand over hers, where it rested on his forearm. His touch was warm. “Now I understand why you are a maid. I couldn’t make it out before.”

  “It was either this or starve.”

  “Or worse,” he said shortly. Without saying her name, Liza knew they were both thinking of Annie Mason. She shook her curls; today she wouldn’t worry about Annie.

  As they walked in companionable silence, passing gentlemen tipped their hats to Liza. For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t a maid or an orphan. She was a well-dressed young lady promenading with a presentable young man.

  They chatted about the news and the weather. Liza told him how her work bored her. Will offered to lend her The Pickwick Papers, a new serial by the writer Boz that was wildly popular. Will told her he knew the writer, a court reporter whose real name was Charles Dickens. He mentioned a new play at the Adelphi and asked if she would like to go. She said her duties at the Palace made it difficult to schedule a social engagement.

  Finally, they turned to professional matters with reluctance. “Inside Boy said you wanted to see me,” Will said.

  “So I did.” Liza sighed and came to business. “I’ve discussed your proposition with Princess Victoria.”

  “I hoped you would,” said Will.

  “She has given me permission—”

  “Capital!”

  Liza gave Will a reproving look. “But she must approve the final article.”

  Will’s sandy eyebrows went up into his hairline. “She must be of more an independent mind than my sources suggest.”

  “Perhaps your informants don’t know the Princess as well as they claim. Who exactly are they?” Liza asked slyly.

  “Now, Liza, I can’t betray a confidence.”

  Will looked in her eyes in a way that challenged her to outwit him. Taking on more authority than Victoria had granted her, she said, “The Princess insists you identify those who have lied about her, else she’ll withdraw her patronage for your little scandal sheet.”

  He burst out laughing. “First, I don’t need the Princess’s patronage. I’ve built up my own business and have a circulation of over twenty-five hundred for my ‘little sheets,’ as you call them. Second, any newspaperman worth his salt will tell any royal to go to hell rather than do their bidding.”

  Good for you, Will.

  “We can discuss it further after we have published our first piece together,” she said tartly.

  “What do you have for me?” Will asked.

  Liza opened her reticule and pulled out a paper folded over three times to fit in the tiny purse. “I’ve written it out.”

  “That makes it easy for Her Highness to approve, doesn’t it?” His eyes glinting with mischief, Will said, “First maid, then messenger, now secretary. How many roles do you play at the Palace?”

  Liza looked toward heaven. “More than you could imagine.”

  He unfolded the paper and began reading. Halfway through, he looked sharply at her, opened his mouth, then changed his mind and read to the end. Liza waited anxiously.

  “The Princess knows the Queen is pregnant?” he asked finally.

  “Isn’t that what it says?” Liza hedged.

  “If it’s true, it’s the story of the year.”

  Liza’s tongue darted over her dry lips. Will was taking their story too seriously. “Why?”

  “If the Queen delivers an heir,” he said, “then everyone’s expectations change. The King is very ill and can’t last much longer. A new regent for the baby would not be as popular as Victoria would be. The country has barely recovered from last year when the King tried to defeat the Reform Bill.”

  Before Liza could ask, Will explained, “The Reform Bill gave more rights to the people. The people didn’t half like the King’s opposition to the bill. Victoria’s become a symbol to the people for change. We’re due. We’ve had drunken reprobates for the past fifty years! George III was mad as a hatter. His son, the Regent, was a spendthrift and a womanizer. And now we’ve got Silly Billy.”

  “Don’t call the King that,” Liza said. “It’s disrespectful.”

>   He smiled at her. “Anyway, if Victoria is pushed aside, the people might take to the streets.”

  “I saw riots in Munich,” Liza said, wincing at the memory.

  “And in the Netherlands, Italy, and Spain. The entire continent is a hotbed of unrest. England has been spared so far, but it wouldn’t take much to light a spark.”

  Surely he was exaggerating. England was the most civilized place on earth. A harmless prank played by two seventeen-year-olds couldn’t possibly cause a revolution!

  Will glanced down at her worried face. “So, is it true?”

  “The Princess dictated the article,” she said at last.

  Will said wryly, “If Her Highness vouches for it, I’ll consider her a reliable source.” He reached into his pocket and brought out some coins. “For you.”

  Liza stared at his hand. “I can’t take it, Will.”

  “Why not? I promised to pay you. If you write other articles, I’ll pay you even more.”

  “I thought we were friends,” she said uncertainly.

  “I’m Inside Boy’s friend too.” Will smiled winningly. “Can you afford to turn down hard cash?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t accept it.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said, replacing the coins in his pocket.

  Liza glanced toward the brick Palace. The Princess’s fair head pressed against a third-floor window, watching Liza’s promenade. She’s a prisoner, Liza thought. This prank was her only way of striking back. But Liza had so few friends. Could any good come from lying to one of them?

  16

  In Which Liza Meets a Royal Personage

  Liza was due to escort the Princess to her piano lesson. As she peered into her tiny mirror to pin up her hair, she heard a scratching at her door. The hall was empty, but a broadsheet, rolled up tight, lay on the floor.

  Thank you, Inside Boy.

  She secreted the paper in the top of her stocking, then ran to fetch the Princess. On their way to the music room, Liza and Victoria were startled by a screech, followed by a crash of breaking glass. Sir John threw open the door to the Duchess’s sitting room, throwing angry remarks inside.

  “You’re right, Madam. We have wasted the past sixteen years. But you would’ve had to raise the brat anyway!”

  He stopped short when he saw Victoria. Swearing roundly, he shouldered past Liza. Before Sir John’s angry steps had faded away, Victoria’s voice was inside the room complaining to her mother.

  “He called me a brat! Mama, he has gone too far.”

  The Duchess was pacing by the windows looking out at the gardens. She twisted a handkerchief in her hands.

  Liza wrinkled her nose; the smell of liquor was thick in the air. Rivulets of fine brandy, kept for the exclusive use of Sir John, still ran down the wall and shards of glass littered the floor.

  “Victoria, we’ve heard terrible news,” the Duchess said peevishly.

  “Enlighten me, Mother. After all, I am seventeen now, practically old enough to rule the country.” Victoria welcomed every opportunity to emphasize her age.

  “Sir John and I have done everything to safeguard your throne, but now all our work is for naught.”

  “What’s happened, Mama?” Victoria could not conceal her anticipation as she settled herself primly on the couch.

  “Queen Adelaide is…expecting a child.” The Duchess could barely form the words.

  Shooting Liza a triumphant glance, Victoria said, “But Mama, how lovely! Queen Adelaide’s been so sad to disappoint Uncle King.” Liza wondered the Duchess didn’t hear the malice in Victoria’s voice.

  The Duchess whirled around and stared at her daughter. “You stupid girl! Our plans are in ruins. You won’t be Queen of anything. I won’t be regent. Sir John won’t get the peerage he deserves. After all this time!”

  The Princess could hardly contain her delight. “Oh Mama, don’t take on so. Perhaps it is not true?”

  Liza’s stomach was roiling.

  The Duchess ran her hands through her elaborate hairdressing. “It’s in the newspaper.”

  “Mama, sometimes the papers print lies. You know that.”

  You minx!

  The Duchess opened her mouth to protest, but then snapped her lips together. “Victoria, you are right. Something might be done. I must talk to Sir John.” The Duchess rushed out of the room, calling his name.

  The Princess glanced at Liza and smiled in triumph. “It worked! Did you see Sir John’s face?”

  “I did.” Liza hesitated, then pulled out the broadsheet. “Do you want to see your handiwork?”

  “You have it?” The Princess ran her eyes down the text. “Oh excellent, Liza! Your friend printed every word.”

  “He’s not my friend. He’s just a business acquaintance,” Liza protested.

  “He’s been a friend to me!”

  “What did your mother mean when she left? Could she really undo what’s been done?” Liza said. “Thousands of people will read this article.”

  “Thousands?” the Princess asked. “Truly?”

  Liza closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s a newspaper. He’ll sell two thousand copies and those papers will be passed on and read by others who can’t afford to buy their own.”

  “I’d almost forgotten real people read the newspaper.” The Princess giggled.

  Liza pressed her fingernails into the palms of her hands. This was all a game to the Princess, but the stakes were life and livelihood for Liza. Somehow Queen and country paled in comparison.

  Ten days later, Liza ran her hands behind the cushions in the Duchess’s sitting room. The Princess had lost her embroidery again. Her finger encountered the Princess’s needle.

  “Ouch!” She sucked on her fingertip. A muffled chuckle could be heard from the wood box.

  “Boy, is that you?” she whispered.

  “Who else?” came a disembodied voice. She heard his latch being drawn back. The lid lifted. “Any body snatchers about?”

  “That’s one I don’t know,” Liza giggled.

  “Anyone about to blow the gab?” he said.

  Liza tiptoed to the door and peered up and down the hall. “There’s no one.”

  Inside Boy emerged and stretched, as if he had just awoken from a nap.

  “Miss Liza,” he said, “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

  “From Will?” The pain in her finger was forgotten.

  “Yeah, it’s a sheet ‘bout the Queen.”

  Liza put her hands on her hips. “You already gave it to me.”

  “Not both sides, I didn’t.”

  “Sides?” Liza wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.

  “Sides of the story. There’s usually two.”

  “Not this story,” Liza said with decision.

  “Will found ‘imself a new source and put out a second edition with two pages. The first page is about the Queen increasin’.”

  “That’s ours,” said Liza without thinking.

  Inside Boy nodded as if a suspicion had been confirmed.

  “But what’s this about a second story?” Liza asked.

  “Read for yerself.” He handed her a rolled broadsheet, grimy with his fingerprints. “All ‘ell’s goin’ to break loose.” He heard a noise. “Someone’s coming. Hop the twig!” With a thump, he pulled the door closed.

  Boy’s panic was contagious. Liza hid the pages in her stocking.

  Two stories?

  She had no time to worry about it now. She started for the far door. Despite her sensible shoes, she tripped over a buckled square of parquet and lost her head start.

  “Miss!” Nell’s voice brought Liza to a halt.

  “Nell, you frightened me,” said Liza, her heart beating frantically. Her constitution wasn’t strong enough for all this sneaking around. “What is it?”

  “It’s Miss Frenchy’s day out, so Mrs. Strode says you’re to fetch the Duchess to the visitor’s parlor,” Nell said, breathing quickly. “Queen Adelaide is here.”

&nbs
p; “The Queen!” Liza gathered her skirts together, checking the newspaper was secure. The Queen hadn’t visited in all the time Liza had been at the Palace. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “I’ll go at once.”

  Her stomach sinking, Liza climbed the narrow flight of stairs to the Duchess’s bedroom. She opened the bedroom door without knocking. The Duchess was reclining on her large mahogany bed, shoving toffees in her mouth. Victoria lay on her smaller bed, staring rebelliously at the ceiling.

  “Yes?” The Duchess sounded bored.

  “What’s happened, Liza?” said Victoria.

  “The Queen’s here,” Liza blurted out, not daring to look at Victoria. “She’s waiting for you, Your Grace.”

  A sharp rat-a-tat came at the door, and without waiting for an invitation, Sir John came in. Liza stepped back into the shadow of the wardrobe. The Duchess sat up quickly, tugging the front of her lacy peignoir over her ample bosom.

  “Sir John, I’m déshabillée,” she said, with a quick look at Victoria.

  “The Queen is here,” he said.

  “I know. I’ll go to her as soon as I dress.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Wise?” The Duchess, Victoria, and Liza stared at him.

  “The Queen wants to curry favor. With you. After the latest news reports, she needs all the friends she can get.” He glanced over at Victoria, who was hanging on every word.

  “I’ve heard the rumors about the Queen’s baby,” Victoria said pointedly.

  “You know what we permit you to know,” Sir John said. “The latest scandal is not suitable for your ears.”

  “What scandal?” Victoria was dying to know. So was Liza. Inside Boy had tried to tell her, but the warning had come too late.

  “It’s not for your ears, Little Woman,” said Sir John.

  “I insist you tell me.” Victoria’s voice pitched high, a sure sign she was losing her temper.

  “Not now, Victoria,” said her mother. Remembering Liza, the Duchess switched to German. “Sir John, what must I do?”

  “Refuse to see her,” he said with decision. “It’s presumptuous for her to come without an invitation.” The Duchess began to nod, like a puppet responding to Sir John’s masterful pulling of strings.

  “The Queen requires no invitation to our home.” Victoria glared at Sir John.