“It was a legitimate rumor.” Will shrugged. “The people may not like Adelaide, but they want to read about her. I sold out of three print runs. The second sheet sold twice as many as the first.”
“We’re back where we started. That awful story about the Queen and her Lord Chamberlain.” She watched him closely over her teacup. “Will, who gave you that story?”
“Liza, I’ve sworn not to reveal my source.”
“It’s Sir John Conroy, isn’t it?”
“I cannot say.”
“Will, it must be!” Liza insisted. “Who has more to lose if the Queen bears a child? And accusing the Queen of adultery is the quickest way to discredit a new heir.”
“What about Victoria?” said Will with a mischievous smile. “She would lose everything.”
“She knew none of it was true.”
“What about her mother?”
Liza’s eyes grew wide. “The Duchess gave you the story?”
“I didn’t say so.”
“Will!”
He relented. “Liza, I’ve never met Sir John.” Liza started to protest, but Will held up his hand. “I receive the information under my print shop door in the night.” He saw her face and chuckled ruefully. “It sounds ridiculous, but until now the stories have been accurate enough.”
“The Princess can’t trust anyone in that house.”
“Liza, nor can you.” He put his hand over Liza’s. “And you should not trust the Princess either. You are dependent on the royals for your living. It’s different for me. If Sir John, or someone else close to the Princess, wants to tell tales out of school, then I’ll publish them and make my fortune.”
“That story about the Princess throwing her books could only come from Sir John.”
“Then, it’s Sir John. It matters not a whit to me.”
“But he’s using you!”
Will lifted his eyebrows. Liza had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Liza, we all use each other. Sir John sends me a story for his own reasons, and I sell broadsheets. Many, many broadsheets.”
“You print his lies for money. You work for him.” Liza’s distress wiped the smile from his face.
“Victoria pays you,” he said reasonably. “What’s the difference?”
“She’s my future Queen for one thing,” Liza pointed out. “And I won’t let her use me to do something despicable again. But you spread Sir John’s lies to hundreds of people through your paper!”
“Thousands,” he corrected her with pride.
“Thousands then. He’s evil. I couldn’t bear to be your friend if you work for him.”
Will was staring at her, his brow furrowed, as though he didn’t believe what he had heard. “You’d end our…association because I print Conroy’s stories?”
Liza nodded. Will picked up one of the coins and rubbed his fingers across the engraving. Liza forced herself to keep still, while Will made his decision. Would he choose Liza or profit? She blinked against more tears. Until she had risked losing his friendship, Liza hadn’t admitted to herself how much she valued it. Will was decent and kind, and her only friend outside the Palace. Oh, why had she issued that ultimatum?
Will drained his tea cup. “Liza, give me some time to think on it. I’ve my livelihood to consider. And my employees. Sir John’s stories sell a lot of papers. I told you before; I’m not rich enough to be high-minded.”
Liza considered how to reconcile her needs with Will’s. A scrap of a conversation and a fragment of a letter came to her mind. She weighed the sovereigns in her hand and thought about Annie Mason. “What if we could sell just as many papers and hurt Sir John at the same time?” she asked slowly.
Warily, Will asked, “How?”
Liza didn’t know how Will kept his bearings in the maze of filthy streets. “Thank you for taking me to Annie’s house,” she said.
“First, you don’t know how to get there on your own,” he said.
“And second?”
“A pretty girl like you wouldn’t last five minutes out here alone.”
Liza might have protested, if she could have caught her breath. Will thought she was pretty.
She looked around, her eyes widening at the number of dirty children swarming the streets. “Don’t they go to school?” she asked.
“Education costs,” Will said over his shoulder. “Who would pay?”
“You managed.”
“I was lucky. My uncle thought it worthwhile to invest in me. He was right, I’ve paid him back every penny.” Will drew his back straight and his chest puffed out.
“Will, you’ve been successful. Tell me how can I earn a lot of money?” Liza asked.
Will stopped short. Ignoring the passersby trying to maneuver past them, he asked, “Are you in trouble, because I—”
“My father left me nothing but debts.” She tugged on his arm, and they began to walk again.
“A daughter isn’t responsible for her father’s obligations,” he said.
“Daughter or not, I’ll pay what’s owed,” Liza said with determination, but then the grim reality returned. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do it. I’ve nothing but my clothes and some jewelry. And Claridge’s is holding them until I pay forty-three pounds and two pence.”
Will whistled. “Your parents’ things must be worth more than that. Why don’t you sell them and pay Claridge’s with the proceeds?”
“It’s all I have of my family.”
“You really have nothing else?” asked Will.
“Papa’s solicitors told me there was nothing.”
“Did your father have a man of business?” He lifted her by the elbows over a noxious puddle, and steered her down a narrow street. “Maybe he embezzled your money.”
“Mr. Ripley was practically a member of the family. But he’s in India and I’ve no way to reach him.”
He tried another tack. “What about back home, in Munich?”
“The lawyer told me there was nothing,” Liza said. “I’m resigned to making my own way.”
“Liza, that’s all fine and well, but how? What does a maid earn?”
Staring at the cobblestones, Liza said, “Thirty pounds a year, but I owe almost four hundred and fifty.”
Will whistled again. “You might want to start by keeping those sovereigns I gave you.”
“Not if I earned them with a lie.” Liza was certain. “I’d rather spend it to buy the truth about Sir John Conroy. Annie wouldn’t tell me what she knew, but perhaps she’ll sell it to me.” They had arrived at Annie’s building.
“What if she doesn’t know anything?”
“She must,” Liza said. “In any case, she needs the money more than I do.”
Will lifted one foot and examined something slick and yellow on the sole. He scraped it off on the doorstep. “What’s Annie to you?”
“I have her position. I sleep in her room.”
“You’re nothing like Annie,” Will said with warmth in his voice. “You’re a lady.”
“I was a lady,” Liza corrected him. “Now I’m a maid like she was. She belonged to no one; I have no family. Am I so different? What wouldn’t I do to survive?”
Will took her hands in his and said fiercely, “Liza, you have friends. I’d never let anything happen to you.”
Marveling that Will didn’t hear her heart beating so loudly, Liza said, “Thank you, Will.”
She knocked on the door to the ramshackle house.
The same pock-faced woman opened the door. When she recognized them, she scowled. “Annie Mason don’t live ‘ere no more.” She smelled of cheap gin. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” She began to slam the door, but Will pushed it back open with the heel of his hand.
“We’ll make it worth your while.” He jingled some coins in his pocket and brought out ten shillings. “Just tell us how to find her.”
Staring at the coin, the landlady said, “I don’t rightly know. ‘er fancy man, Barnabas, ‘e threw ‘er out.”
>
Liza asked, “Did they quarrel?”
“Never did anything but. She kept shouting she wouldn’t do it, whatever it was. ‘e roughed ‘er about some, then told ‘er to get out. Gave me ‘er clothes in exchange for rent.”
“That’s despicable!” Liza exclaimed.
“‘e paid for ‘em, didn’t he?”
Will flipped the coin in the air with his thumb. “Surely you have some idea where she is?”
Her eyes fixed on the glint of metal, the old woman said, “You might try the Mary Magdalene ‘ouse.”
Will handed the woman the coin. She snatched it away and shut the door. Without a word, Will led Liza back through the warren of streets. Waste floated in the grooves of the street that served for sewers. Liza began to cough and gag from the vile smells. She pulled out Will’s handkerchief to cover her mouth.
They were jostled by filthy children, but larger, more adult menaces stood in doorways. Mindful of Inside Boy’s warnings about pickpockets, Liza held her reticule in front her, clasping it tightly with both hands. Will stayed comfortingly close.
A group of large boys chased an undersized boy in front of them. He tried to escape by darting around Liza and running off in the other direction. He slipped on the uneven cobblestones, slicing his knee open. The boy howled when he saw his blood dripping onto the street.
“Oh, poor boy!” Liza exclaimed, leaning down to place Will’s handkerchief over the wound. The boy was struck dumb and his eyes widened as he took in Liza’s dress. The other children backed away, just as silently.
“Liza, that’s my handkerchief,” Will protested, glancing around warily. There were eyes everywhere.
“Will, if the wound isn’t bandaged, it will fester.” She tied the cloth round the child’s knee, then stood up and examined her handiwork.
Will shook his head. “He’ll sell it as soon as we’re gone.”
“Covered in blood?”
“In this neighborhood, it wouldn’t matter.”
She opened her reticule and handed a coin to the boy. “Buy a sweet.”
“Ta, Miss.” Her patient ran off without even a limp, Liza watched dismayed. The other children stared and then began to clamor for a coin for themselves.
“Liza, put your money away!” Will whispered fiercely. He stepped closer and took her arm. “Let’s go. It’s not safe.”
He piloted her deftly down a twisting street ending in a small cul-de-sac. Liza shivered as she looked up at the brick house with black wooden trim. A plain bronze plaque next to the door read Mary Magdalene House for the Reformation of Prostitutes. Liza tightened her grip on Will’s arm.
“We don’t have to go in.” His tone did not sound hopeful.
Liza shook her head. She lifted the huge knocker. A panel of wood on the door, just above eye level, slid back to reveal a small peephole.
“Who is it?” A voice filled with suspicion asked.
“My name is Elizabeth Hastings. I am here to visit Annie Mason, one of your…“ She glanced at Will. “What do I call them?”
“The penitents are not allowed visitors,” the voice answered.
“But I must see her,” said Liza.
The panel began to close.
“Wait!” Liza cried. “Her Royal Highness Princess Victoria sent me!” Will inhaled sharply. The door swung open. The doorkeeper was a shrunken old man, whose few wisps of black hair lay pasted across his otherwise bald head. He looked them up and down and grudgingly let them into a dark hallway, bare of any decoration except an oil painting of Mary Magdalene receiving blessings from Jesus Christ.
“This way.” He showed them to a parlor with two lumpy armchairs, which sat side by side, and no other furniture. “Someone will come.”
Liza sat at the edge of her chair, reluctant to let her dress encounter the moth-eaten upholstery. “Why would Annie come here?” she whispered.
Will’s face was severe. “The poorhouse is worse.”
A tall, gaunt woman dressed in black appeared in the doorway. Her voice was unexpectedly deep. “I’m Mrs. Russell. You’re here from the Princess?”
Liza hesitated, knowing she mustn’t implicate Victoria further. “I’ve come from Kensington Palace,” she said. “I have a message for Annie Mason.”
“So, Annie was telling the truth about her friends in high places.” Mrs. Russell’s face twitched. “Give me your message.”
“I must deliver it personally,” said Liza firmly.
For a moment, she thought Mrs. Russell was going to deny her, but then with a little sigh, the woman said, “I’ll take you to her. Sir, you have to wait here.”
Will got out of his chair and stood behind Liza. “No, I’ll go with Miss Hastings.”
“It’s not allowed.” Mrs. Russell’s tone allowed no argument. “We offer the penitents refuge from men here.”
Liza murmured, “I’ll be fine, Will.”
Mrs. Russell led Liza into the hall and up a flight of steep stairs. At the landing, she paused and pointed to a door. “Annie Mason is working in there. Don’t take up too much of her time.”
Liza thanked her. Smoothing her hair back, she opened the door.
Annie was seated at a table alone next to a window, a length of pink silk cloth draped in front of her, across a table. She glanced up at Liza’s entrance, but then bent her head to her sewing. Her magnificent hair was bound up in a bleached handkerchief.
Steeling herself, Liza stepped closer.
“Hello, Annie,” she said softly. “Do you remember me?” Annie was sewing a seam for a wide skirt.
“I remember you, Liza Hastings,” Annie replied sourly.
Liza licked her lips, wondering what to say. She fingered the fabric Annie was working on. “This is good quality.”
Annie looked up. “There’s not many here with enough skill to work on cloth this fine.” She added with a quick, lopsided grin, “And I miss the first two hours of Bible reading.”
“If you can sew, why didn’t you get work doing that?” Liza asked.
“After I left the Palace, I got plenty of sewing for hire. But it nearly killed me. I’d work from dawn ‘til dark sewing a pair of pants to sell for a pound and I’d get tuppence.”
“It’s honest work, though,” said Liza uncertainly.
“Honest?” Annie finally looked up. The words tumbled out of her mouth as though they had been trapped for months. “When you are starving, honest don’t matter much.” Annie carefully slid the needle into the finished seam and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “I was desperate. I met Barnabas, and he offered me a room, for a percentage of the takings. I hated what Barnabas wanted me to do, but I did it.”
And I whine I might lose my fancy dresses and baubles.
“What happened then?”
Indignation had raised Annie’s color. Her skin was still beautiful, despite the yellow bruises across her cheek and half-healed cut over her eye. “He wanted me to do something I wouldn’t do.”
“After all you’d done, what could be so awful?”
Annie shot her a hostile glance. “Something against God.”
“And prostitution isn’t?”
“Mary Magdalene was redeemed in the end—but God wouldn’t have forgiven me what Barnabas wanted.” She shoved back the wooden chair and stood up. Liza gasped when she saw the unmistakable bulge. Annie placed her hand on the top of the swelling in her abdomen. “‘e wanted me to abort my babe. I couldn’t do it.”
“Why would he want you to—” Liza broke off as the answer came to her. “Oh.”
Annie rubbed her back with one hand. “Yes, Miss High and Mighty—I cannot be takin’ clients in my condition. Barnabas gave me a choice. Get rid of the baby or get out. I couldn’t do it, so I left.”
“Who is the father?” Liza didn’t know how to ask the question with any delicacy.
“What’s it to you?” Annie snapped.
“I live in your old room.”
Annie’s eyes grew bleak. “Stay aw
ay from Conroy.”
Liza felt her stomach sink. “He’s the father?” she asked faintly.
Bitterness twisted Annie’s face. “I asked Mrs. Strode for a lock, but she said servants weren’t permitted privacy.”
A picture of the shiny, new bolt on her bedroom door came into Liza’s mind. Mrs. Strode had learned her lesson.
Liza glanced around the bare room. The walls were solid and the house was quiet. “What’s it like here?”
“They read the scripture too much and keep poor fires—but I’ve got a bed, food, and they’ll help me when the baby is born.”
“I’m glad.”
As though she had just remembered she didn’t like Liza, Annie burst out, “Why did you come? You didn’t get enough of my shame before? Victoria didn’t send you, I’m sure of that.”
“The first time we met,” Liza said. “You hinted you knew something about Sir John. Something that could hurt him. I have a way to use such a weapon. Will you tell me what it is?”
Glancing down at her stomach, Annie shook her head. “No. Before, I thought he might punish me. And now, I’ve got something even more precious to lose.”
“I have money.”
She pulled out the five sovereigns and held them in her hand where Annie could see, much as Will had tried to convince Annie’s former landlady.
This time Annie did not grab the coins. She stared. “So much?” she asked.
“It’s yours,” said Liza.
“No. ‘e’d come after us for sure.”
Annie’s jaw was set and Liza saw there was no budging her. Nor could Liza blame her. She handed Annie the money. “Take it anyway,” she said. “For the baby.”
“For the baby.” Annie tucked the coins in a pocket at her skirt.
“When will the baby arrive?” Liza asked.
“In the autumn. You’ll be away; the Princess always goes to Ramsgate.” Annie looked out the narrow window.
“Will you stay here afterwards?” Liza asked.
“I’ve got kin in Wales. They don’t look down on a bastard child as they do in London. It’ll be a better life for my baby.”
Mrs. Russell appeared at the door and tapped her foot with impatience.
“Miss, I don’t think we should meet again,” Annie said. She sat back down and picked up the needle. “Goodbye.”
Prisoners in the Palace Page 17
