Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

  “Halt.” A sentry stepped in front of Rosa and held up his hand. “What is your business?”

  Dressed in the Duchess’s livery, it would be simpler if the guard assumed she was a boy. Liza kept her voice low and rough. “I’ve a message for the Queen from Kensington Palace.”

  “She’s praying for the King. You’ll have to wait until morning,” said the guard. “Move on, boy.”

  Liza pulled out the garter from inside her coat and held it out to the guard. “I’ve a token from the Princess Victoria,” she announced. “It is vital I see Her Majesty.”

  His eyes widened and he stood at attention. “You can go into the chapel.”

  That’s some token.

  Outside, the courtyard glowed with the light of gas lanterns. But when she entered the church, Liza’s eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dimness. The only light came from iron candelabrum illuminating the nave at intervals. Liza made her way into the center of the nave and despite her worries for the Princess, she couldn’t help but stare upward into the space above her. There were no pillars to support the wide roof—just an intricate system of stone vaulting, as if only God’s grace held it up. There was no sign of Queen Adelaide.

  Suddenly, by a trick of sound or architecture, she could hear a murmuring. Then it was gone. She moved past the huge organ in the center of the nave and found herself in a doorway between two great, throne-like chairs. Along the walls were rows of wooden seats. A crest and a pole hung above each seat, and armored helmets perched on each pole. Liza read the motto, Honi soit qui mal y pense, on the chapel’s walls, chairs, tapestries—no one could mistake this room for anything but the chapel of the Knights of Garter.

  Tonight I’m a Knight too.

  The Queen knelt on a wooden prie-dieu in front of the altar. Her silhouette against the colored stained glass was a portrait of quiet tragedy. Statues of angels peered down from the upper windows, chiding Liza for disturbing the Queen’s prayers.

  Poor Queen hausfrau. Away from her homeland, no children, and now her husband lay dying. She was alone.

  Not even for Victoria would Liza interrupt Queen Adelaide at such a moment.

  While she waited, Liza let the serenity of the chapel wash over her. She wished her mother could see this place. When they visited a new city, the first two places they went were the cathedral and the opera. Mama had said one could worship God in both places. Liza closed her eyes and sent a prayer heavenward to her parents.

  “Young man, why are you intruding on my prayers?” A forbidding voice at her elbow said.

  Liza’s eyes flew open. “Your Majesty.” She quickly curtsied. Then realizing her mistake, she bowed like the page she was dressed to be. She was lucky not to trip over her feet.

  The Queen, dressed in a blue silk dress, a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders, was scowling. But then she looked a little closer at Liza’s face under her page’s cap and smiled.

  “Aren’t you Victoria’s girl?” The Queen stressed the word ‘girl.’

  Liza nodded.

  “You look adorable, my dear.” Her rabbit eyes, soft and brown, blinked at Liza’s ensemble. “Are you helping the Princess with a theatrical?”

  “The Princess is in trouble. She needs your help.”

  Queen Adelaide seemed to shrink. “Come into the Palace.” She led Liza through a private door, into a passageway that led into a long paneled hallway within the castle. Waiting at the door were two ladies. Their eyes were full of curiosity about Liza, but they fell in behind the Queen without saying a word. The procession wound up an imposing staircase which led to a long gallery hung with large portraits of Napoleonic War heroes. Except for their own muffled footsteps, Liza did not hear another sound in the castle. After many more twists and turns, through doors opened and closed behind them by royal guards, Liza, the Queen, and the ladies in waiting came to a sumptuous sitting room. Liza glanced around curiously. The carpet was a rich silk oriental in muted shades of green and blue. There were overstuffed velvet chairs scattered about the room. The turquoise curtains at the windows completed the color scheme.

  So this is what a royal palace should look like.

  Although Liza was fidgeting with impatience, the Queen insisted on ordering tea.

  “Now, tell me all about it,” the Queen spoke in German, reminding Liza of their first meeting.

  In a cocoon of soft green velvet, sipping fine China tea, Liza told the Queen everything. “Oh my goodness,” said the Queen when Liza was finished. “This is appalling. I never thought Sir John would dare lay hands on the Princess, nor that her mother would permit it.”

  “He’s not lost to all reason,” Liza admitted. “Even when Sir John was most angry, he hurt me instead.” The cut on her cheek still throbbed.

  “You are not there to be her whipping boy, I mean girl, now,” the Queen pointed out.

  “No, I’m not,” Liza said ruefully.

  “Are you sure she is safe?”

  Thinking of Victoria tucked away in a wood box, Liza half-smiled, “She’s well hidden.”

  Queen Adelaide spoke. “This will put the King in such a temper, and he’s not at all well tonight.” She lifted herself out of her comfortable chair. Liza leapt to her feet. The Queen paused at the door. “Liza, I know you have had a long and frightening day. I’ll order your horse fed and I’ll send my ladies to attend you.”

  Liza curtsied gratefully until the Queen’s steps faded. As she rose, the weight of her fear and fatigue pressed heavy on her body. One of the Queen’s ladies bustled in, flanked by two maids. Liza happily let them lead her to a bathroom. She wriggled in delight when she saw the deep tub filled with steaming water, destined only for her. Liza lingered in the lavender-scented hot water as long as she dared, surrendering herself to the expert hands of the Queen’s attendants as they washed her dusty hair. Clad in a fur-lined dressing gown, the maids combed and set her hair in a simple chignon. Then they helped her into a dark red silk gown with pale yellow trim. Looking in the mirror, Liza barely recognized herself. This was Miss Elizabeth Hastings, daughter of a knight, however minor.

  What would Will think? Might he miss Liza the maid?

  One of the Queen’s ladies led her back to Her Majesty’s boudoir to wait. After her exertions, the quiet and warmth proved irresistible. She was awakened by the Queen’s hand at her shoulder.

  Rubbing her eyes, Liza said, “Your Majesty. I do beg your pardon. What time is it?”

  “It’s almost three in the morning. I’ve spoken with the King. He and the Lord Chamberlain are drafting a letter for you to deliver to the Princess.”

  “You want me to go back there?” Liza swallowed hard. “Alone?”

  “Lord Conyngham and a full complement of guards will accompany you. We’ve been sorely tried by that man.” The Queen clucked in disapproval. “It ends today.”

  “But why me?”

  “The King does not want the Princess’s situation to be a subject of gossip. He wants to involve as few people as possible. Lord Conyngham will explain the details to you.”

  The Queen pulled a silky rope attached to the wall. Liza heard chimes ringing faintly elsewhere in the Castle. “The King’s business will take some time. While we wait, tell me about yourself.”

  No matter how Liza wanted to rush back to Victoria, there was no hurrying the King. So she sat back and told Queen Adelaide the story of her life. About her parents’ death. How she had to leave Claridge’s and find a job. Even about spying for Victoria.

  “I’m glad Victoria has a friend in her time of need.” The Queen sighed. “She is like the child we never had.”

  With a thump in her chest, Liza remembered all the pain she and Victoria had caused. Queen Adelaide’s kindness was too much for Liza’s conscience. “Your Highness, I must confess something.” Smoothing her new silk skirt, she told her story. “We tried to use the press against Sir John. My friend, Mr. Fulton, publishes broadsheets. We wrote a story Victoria might not inherit the crown.”
r />   The Queen became very still. “Because I might have a child?”

  “Yes.” Liza rushed on, “We’re so sorry. We didn’t think how it might hurt you. And we never expected Sir John to spread that awful story about your Lord Chamberlain.” Feeling as though a heavy load had been lifted off her chest, Liza covered her face with her hands, afraid to look at the good Queen.

  To her great surprise, she heard a gurgle. Peeping through her fingers, she saw the Queen was laughing, her mouth open and her head thrown back.

  “To think, all this fuss was a prank of Victoria’s!”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Of course it was very naughty,” the Queen said, wagging a finger at Liza. “But it’s good to know Victoria is not all milquetoast and spun sugar.”

  “We never intended to cause you pain.”

  Adelaide patted her knee again. “I know. In the long run, there was no harm done.” The Queen looked closer at Liza. “Don’t look so stricken. You’ve confessed, which is good for your soul. I’ve forgiven you, which is good for mine. Victoria has learnt a lesson, which is good for the nation.” A thought struck her. “Was Victoria also responsible for the tragic story about Sir John and the maid?”

  “That was mine.” Liza looked at the fine portrait above the fireplace, at the chandelier, at anything but the Queen. “And every word was true.”

  “I can’t tell you how the King relished that one.” The Queen’s hand flew to her mouth. “Not the fate of the poor girl, of course, but Sir John’s humiliation.”

  The maid arrived with a large tray and began to arrange the food on a small table.

  “Now, eat something.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.” Liza’s wits were befuddled. A few hours ago, she had feared for her life and virtue. Now, she was dining with the Queen!

  Just as they finished their meal, Lord Conyngham, the King’s Lord Chamberlain, appeared in the doorway. “Your Majesty, we are ready to go.”

  “Thank you, Lord Conyngham.” The Queen rose. She held out her hand to Liza, a mark of favor. “The Princess is very dear to me. Take care of her.”

  Liza sank down in a curtsy and kissed the Queen’s fingers.

  “Good luck, Miss Hastings.”

  Lord Conyngham explained the King’s instructions to Liza, then promptly fell asleep in the stifling carriage. Liza looked through the velvet curtains, wondering if she was brave enough to play the part the King had assigned to her.

  The clock tower chimed six o’clock when the carriage wheels crunched the gravel in front of Kensington Palace. The sun’s first rays were beginning to chase away the darkness. It was going to be a beautiful morning. Liza took note of the candles burning in every window of the Duchess’s apartments. She imagined Sir John’s frantic searching for Victoria and smiled.

  Flanked by Lord Conyngham, Liza lifted the knocker. The door was opened by Simon, looking bedraggled with a bandage on his head. He glared at Liza, then silently led them to the vestibule, where Sir John awaited them. The Duchess of Kent, wearing the same dress from the day before, stood behind him, wringing her hands.

  Lord Conyngham didn’t waste time on civilities. “Conroy, I’ve heard about unpleasant goings-on here.”

  “Conyngham, I’ve no idea what you mean. We have been searching for this girl.” With a dismissive gesture he indicated Liza. “She’s been upsetting the Princess with her hysterics.”

  “Is that so?” Lord Conyngham drawled. “Where is Her Royal Highness?” He was enjoying Sir John’s predicament.

  “She’s asleep, of course.” Sir John gestured behind him. “Ask her mother.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had returned home, Your Grace.”

  Liza watched the Duchess closely. She was Sir John’s last line of defense.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Lord Conyngham,” the Duchess said, “I’d never leave Victoria alone.”

  “Who’s with her now?” Lord Conyngham asked pointedly.

  “Baroness Lehzen, of course. What is this about?”

  “I’d like to see Her Royal Highness. At once.”

  “She can’t be disturbed,” said the Duchess, a tremor in her voice. Seeing her distress, Liza felt a twinge of pity. It must be terrible for a mother to lose her child. But then she remembered the Duchess had willingly placed Victoria in danger.

  “His Majesty has given me a letter for her.” Lord Conyngham pulled a long envelope out of his coat pocket. The King’s wax seal lay crimson like a drop of blood on the white paper.

  The Duchess, looked over to Sir John in a panic, then held out her hand. “I’ll take it to her.”

  Lord Conyngham shook his head slightly. “My instructions are to deliver it to her in person.”

  “That’s absurd. I’m her mother,” declared the Duchess. “All her correspondence is read by me.”

  “The King has given a direct order,” said Lord Conyngham implacably. “Duchess, while you wake the Princess, I have private business to discuss with Sir John.”

  Sir John gave the Duchess a curt nod, “Fetch the Princess while I talk with our visitors,” he ordered. The Duchess’s eyes widened as she tried to decipher his meaning.

  “You may wait in the red drawing room,” she said before hurrying off. Liza wondered what she planned to do. If they hadn’t already found Victoria, the Duchess was not going to be able to produce the Princess now.

  Sir John gestured to Lord Conyngham to precede him. The Lord held out his arm to Liza. Sir John’s face reddened, but he held his tongue. Nell met them in the red drawing room with a hastily assembled tray of tea. She caught Liza’s eye and winked.

  The rarely used room’s uncomfortable chairs and Grecian sofas smelled of damp. Lord Conyngham’s guards stood with their backs to the doorway. Simon took up a post just inside the room, his face impassive. Sir John settled himself on a gold brocade settee.

  “Miss Hastings, will you pour?” Lord Conyngham said, deferring to Liza as if she were the young lady of the house. Glancing over at Sir John, he said, “Conroy, let’s not mince words. The King is unhappy with your mistreatment of his niece.”

  “Has this lying maid been telling wild tales?” Sir John stretched out his legs, admiring the reflective polish on his boots.

  Lord Conyngham sipped his tea. “We found her tales very credible,” he said. “It’s over, Conroy. His Majesty will not leave Victoria defenseless again.”

  “The Princess has named me the keeper of the privy purse. I have it in writing.” Sir John patted his jacket pocket. “You can’t do anything about it.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, Lord Conyngham said, “On that subject, this young lady has business with you, Conroy.”

  Sir John’s face twisted. “I won’t deal with a servant.”

  “Don’t think of her as a servant,” said Lord Conyngham. “Rather, think of her as the King’s envoy.” He couldn’t contain his glee. Part of the King’s plan to humiliate Sir John was to force him to negotiate with Victoria’s maid.

  Liza wasted no time. She reached into her reticule and pulled out a stiff piece of paper. “I have a warrant for your arrest, signed by the King.”

  Sir John said, “Silly Billy roused himself from the death bed?” Lord Conyngham stiffened, but Sir John paid no attention to him. “A warrant? Why? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You assaulted the Princess, for a start,” Liza said. “And you committed bodily injury upon my person. I’m a witness.”

  “It’s my word against yours.”

  “Victoria was a witness too,” Liza reminded him.

  “Not one, but two, hysterical girls,” he sneered. “No one will credit your story.”

  Liza made a tut-tutting sound. “Sir John, the King already does. And I am sure there are others in this household who would be more than happy to tell their story to the courts.”

  Sir John tapped his fingers against his impeccably tailored trousers; the only sign he was not sure of the outcome of this conversation. “How unseemly to
drag the Princess into the courts…just as she is poised to start her reign.”

  “As it happens, the King agrees with you,” Liza said.

  Sir John raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Lord Conyngham, who studiously stared at the dregs in his teacup.

  “I’ll tear up the warrant, if you give me the letter you forced Victoria to sign.” Liza’s voice was firm, even though the hand holding the warrant trembled.

  Sir John’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s not much of a bargain. My letter is exceedingly valuable.”

  “It would be difficult for you to claim your appointment from Newgate Prison.” Liza made a show of thinking hard. “I don’t think you rate the Tower of London. That’s only for noble criminals.” She was beginning to enjoy herself.

  Sir John’s eyes rested on the warrant in Liza’s hand. His tongue darted out and he licked his lips. Whether or not he was prosecuted, a stint in prison would finish his ambitions forever.

  “I need more,” he said finally.

  This was Lord Conyngham’s cue. “Miss Hastings, the negotiations have reached a point where I may be of service.”

  Liza nodded. She gratefully leaned back in her hard chair.

  Lord Conyngham faced Sir John, not hiding his disdain, “How much, Conroy?”

  Sir John said, “Ten thousand a year.”

  Liza gasped.

  Lord Conyngham didn’t turn a hair. “Absolutely not. One thousand. It’s a handsome income—it more than compensates you for your years of service.”

  “I have expenses. Seven thousand.”

  “Two thousand. You can supplement that with what you have stolen from the Duchess over the years.” Sir John started. Lord Conyngham chuckled. “You thought the King didn’t know? His accountants surmise you have robbed her of at least forty, perhaps fifty thousand pounds.”

  Liza’s jaw dropped.

  Annie must have discovered proof of his embezzling.