Prisoners in the Palace

by Michaela MacColl

  Poor Annie.

  Lord Conyngham continued, “Since His Majesty cannot abide the Duchess, he did not interfere.”

  “Five thousand,” said Sir John.

  “Three. My final offer.”

  Sir John calculated. Three thousand was an enormous amount, but he wanted more. “I want a peerage.”

  “Perhaps an Irish one,” Lord Conyngham countered. “There are none available, at the moment. But if one becomes vacant—”

  “Agreed.”

  Lord Conyngham extended his palm, and Sir John reluctantly handed over his letter appointing him as keeper of the privy purse. Lord Conyngham checked it through, scowling, then gave it to Liza. She ceremoniously tore it into two pieces, relishing the wince on Sir John’s face.

  “The warrant,” Sir John said.

  Without a word, Liza gave it to him.

  “Just a moment,” she said. She pulled out another official piece of paper. “Lord Conyngham, perhaps you could call the guards to make an arrest.”

  “We had an agreement!” said Sir John coldly.

  “So we did,” said Liza. She handed the warrant to the guard. “This is for the arrest of Simon Gooding, Footman, for the unlawful restraint of Elizabeth Hastings, and on suspicion of the murder of Miss Annie Mason.”

  Simon began to back out of the room.

  “He’s right there!” Liza cried, pointing.

  The guards seized him.

  The mood in the drawing room varied among the inhabitants. Lord Conyngham dozed on the least uncomfortable sofa. Sir John sulked in the corner. Liza hugged herself with the knowledge she had done what she had set out to do: Sir John wasn’t a threat to Victoria any longer, Annie was avenged, and best of all, the Duchess and Sir John still didn’t know where Victoria was.

  Half an hour later, a miserable Duchess click-clacked in. An exhausted and anxious Baroness Lehzen followed. A wave of guilt washed over Liza; how could she have forgotten Lehzen? She must be sick with worry. Liza smiled at Lehzen hoping to reassure her, but Lehzen looked too frantic to understand the message.

  “The Princess is ill,” the Duchess said flatly. “She cannot see anyone.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Lord Conyngham.

  “Of course. I’m her mother.”

  “Madam, that is odd indeed,” he said, with a wink at Liza. “Because my sources tell me the Princess has been missing since yesterday afternoon.”

  The Duchess’s face went pale and a snarl came from Sir John’s direction.

  Lord Conyngham continued scolding Victoria’s mother. “You have one job, madam, for which you receive an allowance and a home. How difficult is it to keep track of one seventeen-year-old girl?”

  The Duchess began to weep, while the distraught Baroness sank down into an armless chair.

  Lord Conyngham turned to Liza. “Miss Hastings, if you would be so kind…”

  A broad smile on her face, Liza jumped up and ran out of the room. She flew to the Duchess’s sitting room and knocked on the lid of the wood box.

  “Victoria, wake up,” Liza said.

  There was silence, then a sleepy voice, “Liza, just a minute more.”

  “Now, Victoria!”

  “Very well.” The bolt was slid back and the Princess unfolded herself from the box. “This hidey-hole is very snug but rather confining.” She stretched and yawned. “Liza! Look at you! What a lovely dress.”

  “The Queen gave it to me, Your Highness. And Sir John, none too happily, gave me this,” Liza said, holding up the pieces of Sir John’s letter.

  Victoria was very still, then she reached out and hugged Liza. “Thank you, Liza. I owe you an enormous debt. And Inside Boy too. You know his lair is quite comfortable. I don’t blame him for living there.”

  “You can thank us later. Right now you have guests.” Liza quickly explained Lord Conyngham’s mission and her negotiations on behalf of the King. She ended with the King’s letter.

  “I’m tempted to make Mama wait even longer; it would serve her right for leaving me in Sir John’s clutches,” Victoria said spitefully. “But I can’t wait to read Uncle King’s letter. It’s high time I opened my own mail.”

  Stopping only to make a much needed visit to the water closet and to wash her face, Victoria led the way back to the drawing room. When she swept in, the Duchess’s face was filled with relief, which was quickly chased away by anger. Baroness Lehzen began to fuss over Victoria’s dusty dress. Sir John’s face hardened like granite and the glare he threw at Liza was murderous.

  “What a naughty girl you are to hide from us,” the Duchess said. “You have kept all of us waiting with your childish game.” Her voice trailed off as she realized no one in the room was fooled. “Victoria, my brother-in-law, the King, has written you a letter.”

  Victoria broke the seal, dropping bits of red wax to the carpet. She read the letter quickly, her lips parted and her breathing grew rapid. She read it again more slowly. “Uncle King proposes to give me an income of ten thousand pounds! And my own household!”

  The Duchess flinched. “She is too young,” she said to Lord Conyngham. “She refuses.”

  “Mama, I think I should consider his kind offer.”

  “It is for Her Highness to decide,” Conyngham said. “Without coercion.”

  The Duchess put her hand to her ample chest. “Lord Conyngham, what are you accusing us of?”

  “Your Grace, I think you know.”

  Victoria spoke up, startling them out of their battle. “How is the King’s health, Lord Conyngham?”

  “Very poor, Your Highness. The end will come in days, not weeks.”

  Victoria shook her head sadly. “Then I think it would be more suitable to remain in my mother’s house for the time being.”

  “You see!” said the Duchess triumphantly. “Tell the King Victoria prefers to stay with me.” She looked toward Sir John for his approval, but he had lost too much this evening to cater to her feelings.

  Lord Conyngham said, “I am also instructed to say the King deeply regrets the Princess has had difficulty communicating with him. To remedy the situation, Lord Liverpool will visit the Princess daily and speak with her. Privately.”

  “That is completely unnecessary,” protested the Duchess.

  “Be that as it may, Your Grace, the King has ordered it.” Lord Conyngham’s manner did not brook any argument.

  “Lord Conyngham, let me show you to your carriage,” Victoria offered prettily.

  “Victoria, don’t be common,” the Duchess scolded. “It’s not appropriate to escort a gentleman outside.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Victoria. “I shall.” Taking Lord Conyngham’s arm, she beckoned to Liza and the Baroness Lehzen to attend them. Outside the sun had just risen and the park was fresh and new.

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you look a trifle peaked, Your Highness,” Lord Conyngham said quietly.

  “I’ve been worrying so about Uncle King.” She sighed. “Tell Uncle I meant no disrespect by refusing his kind offer. I just think it is more fitting to stay here.”

  “If I may be so bold, Your Highness,” Lord Conyngham took Victoria’s hand and bowed respectfully over it. “The King understands completely. His offer was a gesture of his affection.”

  Victoria squeezed his hand. “And perhaps to irk Mama and Sir John as well?”

  With a twinkle in his eyes, Lord Conyngham said, “Perhaps.”

  “Please assure Queen Adelaide I am praying for her and Uncle King.” Victoria dashed a tear from her cheek.

  Lord Conyngham bowed and climbed into his carriage.

  Victoria, flanked by Liza and the Baroness Lehzen, stood in the doorway until his carriage disappeared into the park.

  “Go inside, Victoria,” said the Baroness. “We wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

  Victoria smiled at Liza. “No, Lehzen, that wouldn’t be amusing at all.”

  20 May 1837 Excerpt from the Journal of Miss Elizabeth Hastings

&nbs
p; Will is furious! He couldn’t even get the words out, he was so angry. Finally, I think I made sense of his complaints.

  Firstly, I should not put myself between the Princess and bodily harm. (Fortunately, the bruise on my cheek was cunningly hidden by powder, else he might have exploded.) Secondly, I don’t appreciate the dangers of riding alone to Windsor in the middle of the night.

  Thirdly, how could I neglect to go to him for help?

  And finally, how could I be so cruel as to tell him, in strictest confidence, the story of the century? Don’t I understand how exasperating it is to know the intimate details of a scandal so close to the throne and not be able to print a word?

  What I love about Will is that his concern for me and his regret at missing the story of the century are equivalent in his mind. He does me the inestimable honor of treating me as an equal.

  From Her Majesty, Queen Adelaide,

  to Miss Elizabeth Hastings

  2 June 1837

  Windsor Castle

  Dear Miss Hastings,

  His Majesty and I are very grateful for your services to our niece. The Princess is very dear to us and we are not unaware of the risks you took to ensure her message reached us. The enclosure is a small token of our appreciation for your bravery and your discretion, upon which we know we can rely.

  With Sincere Affection,

  Her Royal Majesty

  Adelaide R

  Enclosure: £ 500

  24 May 1837 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria

  Today is my 18th birthday! How old! And yet how far am I from being what I should be. I shall from this day take the firm resolution to study with renewed assiduity, to keep my attention always well fixed on whatever I am about, and to strive to become every day less trifling and more fit for what, if Heaven wills it, I’m someday to be!

  The demonstrations of loyalty and affection from all the people were highly gratifying. The parks and streets were thronged. Numbers of people put down their names and amongst others good old Lablache inscribed his…The Courtyard and the streets were crammed…and the anxiety of the people to see poor stupid me was very great, and I must say I am quite touched by it.

  From the Duchess of Kent

  to Her Royal Highness Victoria

  24 May 1837

  Kensington Palace

  …But as there is no joy without pain in this world, so even between us, for moments only, have these feelings been blended, I advert to the grief I experienced from some little misunderstandings which clouded our happy intercourses and which never should occur between a beloved child and Her only parent.

  Enclosed is a keepsake for your birthday, a lock of my hair, the last perhaps of its natural color.

  Mama

  From the Firm of Ratisbon and Ratisbon, Esq.

  to Miss Elizabeth Hastings

  9 June 1837

  Temple Inn

  Dear Miss Hastings,

  We trust this letter finds you well.

  We are delighted to report the clipper ship Fortuity has docked at Portsmouth. The manifest indicates a container of shawls from Kashmir. Your father’s man of business, Mr. Ripley, has been in Kashmir for two years, supervising the native production of the clothing. Mr. Ripley was grieved to learn of the death of your parents. He hopes you will meet him at our offices so he can make suitable arrangements to handle the sale of the apparel on your behalf. According to Mr. Ripley, the sale should realize several thousand pounds. His Royal Majesty’s Custom Board agrees with this generous appraisal.

  Mr. Ripley is prepared to make arrangements to retrieve your family’s belongings from storage in Munich once you decide where you wish to live.

  Ratisbon and Ratisbon will be happy to act for you in this matter. We look forward to seeing you at your convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Gerald Ratisbon, Esq.

  15 June 1837 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria Kent

  The news of the King is so very bad that all my lessons are put off, including Lablache’s…and we see nobody. I regret rather my singing lesson, though it is only for a short period, but duty and proper feeling go before all pleasures. 10 minutes to 1, I just heard the doctors think my poor Uncle the King cannot last more than 48 hours! Poor man! He was always kind to me, and he meant it well, I know; I am grateful for it, and shall ever remember his kindness with gratitude.

  At about ½ past 2 came Lord Liverpool, and I had a highly important conversation with him—alone.

  26

  In Which Liza Curtsies to the New Queen of England

  The ormolu clock on the Duchess’s mantle chimed five o’clock in the morning. The sitting room had a view of the main gate and Liza had been keeping watch with Inside Boy. He had grown bolder since Victoria had agreed to let him stay in his hidey hole. She relished having a secret friend in the walls.

  “When will we hear?” Liza asked him. “The messenger from Windsor came at seven o’clock last night to say it would happen at any moment.”

  Boy shrugged. He poured her a glass of the Duchess’s sherry from the side table. “‘e’ll kick off when ‘e’s ready.”

  Liza yawned. “Victoria is worn out with the waiting. First the King was alarmingly ill. The next morning he was at death’s door. And that was a week ago!” Liza sipped gratefully. “I don’t think she has slept in days.”

  By the pearly predawn light, Liza saw dozens of people on the great lawn in Kensington Gardens. They had been there for the past week. “What are they waiting for?”

  Inside Boy lay down on the Duchess’s settee and rubbed his eyes with the back of his grimy fist. “Dunno. It’s not often the King pegs out and we get a new Queen. Some people likes to say they was there.”

  “Boy, something’s happening!”

  Four gray horses drew a large carriage lit by two hanging lanterns. The crowd of commoners moved to the road like a swarm of bees. The carriage didn’t slow until it drew up to the iron gates of Kensington Palace. The gatepost lamps flickered in the early morning light. A footman dismounted and rang for the porter.

  “For once in your lazy life, be awake, you old git,” muttered Boy.

  “That porter is practically a myth,” said Liza. “But today of all days!”

  The footman knocked again. He returned to the carriage and delivered a message to the passengers. The carriage door slammed open and an imposing figure stumbled out. Swearing loudly, he stomped over to the pedestrian gate and rang the bell. “Open up, we’re on state business!”

  “This is absurd,” said Liza. Wrapping her shawl around her dressing gown, she hurried down the stairs and opened the front door. The man spied the pool of light from the house and Liza in the doorway.

  “Girl, where is the bloody porter? Is everyone asleep?”

  Liza recognized the voice. “Lord Conyngham?”

  “Miss Hastings! Thank goodness someone sensible is awake.”

  “I’ll find the keys.”

  “The porter’s sleeping, is he?”

  “More likely drunk, sir.” She opened the door to the porter’s little box. He was slumped in his chair, snoring and reeking of gin. Liza held her nose and plucked the keys off his belt. She opened the gate and the carriage rolled in.

  “A thousand thanks, my dear.” Lord Conyngham gave her an approving nod.

  “Is the King—” Liza started to ask.

  He held up his hand. “I cannot say, Miss Hastings.” But his face was solemn and his voice heavy.

  Another man climbed down from the carriage. He was short and stout, wearing a greatcoat of even finer quality than Lord Conyngham’s. “Miss Hastings, the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  Liza curtsied to the highest priest in the land.

  “Let us in, young lady,” he said in low voice. “We have urgent news for Her Royal Highness.”

  “Yes, sir.” Liza led them into the house to the red drawing room. Sir John waited there, immaculately attired despite the hour. Liza wouldn
’t have been surprised if he had never gone to bed.

  Lord Conyngham made a strangled noise in his throat. “Conroy. You’re still here.”

  “Conyngham.” Sir John nodded. “I shall remain until the Duchess no longer requires my services.” Then he caught sight of the other man. “Your Excellency.”

  “We need to see the Princess,” said Lord Conyngham.

  “She’s asleep.”

  “I hope for your sake she’s truly in her bed this time. Wake her.”

  The Duchess’s arrival in soft, silent slippers surprised them all. She wore a shimmering turquoise dressing gown Liza had never seen before. Liza wondered if the Duchess had purchased it specifically for this occasion.

  “Lord Conyngham, Archbishop,” she said in a high voice, as though she were surprised.

  The visitors stifled their impatience and formally greeted the Duchess. Lord Conyngham repeated his demand to see Victoria.

  “It’s too early. You’ll have to wait,” said the Duchess, after a quick glance at Conroy.

  “You refuse to wake her?” asked the Archbishop, his bushy eyebrows lifting high above his tired eyes.

  “If the Duchess says you have to wait, then you wait,” said Sir John.

  “For God’s sake, Conroy,” snapped the Archbishop. “We have news for the Queen!”

  The Duchess gasped and Sir John’s face grew sterner. The King’s death, long anticipated, had finally happened.

  Lord Conyngham continued. “Take your losses like a man, Conroy. Send the girl down.”

  Liza had heard enough. She backed out of the drawing room and ran up the narrow back stairs to the Princess’s chamber. She burst in. Victoria was sitting on her bed, whispering with the Baroness.

  “Has it happened?” asked the Baroness.

  “Is Uncle King gone?” asked Victoria at the same moment.

  One word answered them both. “Yes.”

  The Baroness Lehzen jumped up and clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from exclaiming. Victoria sat perfectly still, her eyes brimming with tears.