by Bodie Thoene
“Fond is too light a word for such an experience as this. He gave it to me personally. It is inscribed. My greatest treasure.”
“You know him, then. He is a great friend of Princess Kaiulani. They spent many hours together at our home—discussing literature, and Scotland, and whatnot.”
Andrew rose awkwardly from the low seat and bowed. Snagging the toe of his boot in the chair leg exaggerated the movement. “Pardon me,” Andrew said, as much for his clumsiness as for his lack of decorum. “I have forgotten my manners. A great story will sometimes do that to one. And you are, forgive me, you are the sister…Annie?”
“Annie Cleghorn.” She extended her hand with a limp wrist.
“Sister, uh, to the Princess Kaiulani?”
“That is correct. Half sister. Elder sister. My father is Archibald Cleghorn.”
Andrew scratched his cheek nervously. “I spoke to your sister’s friend, Hannah. Hannah…oh, well. She said she might be able to arrange an interview for me with the Princess. But I have not seen either Hannah or the princess, and we have been on our journey now two full days. Are they unwell?”
At that moment Umatilla saluted a freighter passing on the reverse course with a loud blast of her steam whistle, completing obliterating Annie’s response.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew ventured. “What did you say?”
Annie shook her head from side to side as she recollected her memorized script. “The seas, when in upheaval, can be very discommodious for the delicate stomachs of royal personages.”
Andrew pressed his lips together as if concentrating on deciphering a foreign language. Annie’s phrasing sounded like a line from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, but of course he was too polite to voice such a comparison. Then, too, the Pacific was nearly flat calm this morning, but how could one argue with such an elegant description of seasickness? “Of course. Please express my best wishes to the princess for a speedy recovery.”
Annie hesitated and gazed intently at the volume in Andrew’s hand. “The princess loves to read. A good book is so difficult to find on a sea voyage. Perhaps a good story would distract her from the illness.”
He was trapped. Removing his thumb reluctantly from the place it marked near the end of the book, he held The Black Arrow chest high, title outward. “Might the princess like to read…this? My father is Mister Stevenson’s publisher.”
Annie’s brows rose with satisfaction. “Perfect. Princess Kaiulani loves a great story.” Her right hand was extended, broad palm open.
Andrew’s expression was one of instant regret as he surrendered the half-read masterpiece. “She’ll have to tell me how it turns out,” he said as he passed over the volume.
Annie accepted the novel, folding it in a two-armed embrace as if challenging Andrew to try and renege on the offer. “Thank you. Mr. Adams, is it?”
“Andrew.” He did not seem capable of tearing his eyes away from the book. “Please give the princess my regards.”
“I have no doubt that with such a fine gift she will forget her troubles and come out soon to thank you herself. Will you wait here?”
With an expression betraying misery, Andrew nodded. “I have little else to do.”
Annie bustled back to the stateroom. Closing the door, she exploded with laughter and collapsed on the bed. As Kaiulani and Hannah hovered above her, she told of her encounter.
“…and he was fairly irritated, I would say, that I interrupted his glorious read. On top of that, when he offered it to me, I don’t think he expected me to take it!”
Kaiulani clasped the leather-bound edition. “Identical to mine, which is also inscribed by Mr. Stevenson. Poor Andrew must feel he has lost his most beloved possession.”
Hannah grinned and rubbed her hands together. “Our hostage!”
Kaiulani kissed the book and passed it to Hannah. “I’ve read it. And Annie read it as a serial years ago.”
Annie recalled, “Papa sent old Chang to the docks to meet the mail ship every week. Then he galloped like a Chinese paniolo to bring us each installment.”
Kaiulani’s dark eyes shone with mischief. “The Black Arrow seems to me a divinely appointed plot to match our plot. The hero, Dick Shelton, rescues a boy from grave danger, only to discover that the boy is, in truth, a beautiful woman in disguise.”
Hannah exclaimed, “As You Like It!”
Annie echoed, “I like it fine!”
Kaiulani tapped the book cover. “Hannah. You will pretend that you, playing the role of Kaiulani, have already read the volume. And so you will tell Andrew Adams that you gave his book to Hannah, as a gift.”
Hannah clapped her hands. “He’ll have no way to get it back except to cozy up to you, even though he thinks you are a commoner.”
Kaiulani planted a kiss on Annie’s head. “Shakespeare would be proud of you, dear sister.”
“Heaven was smiling.” Annie crossed her ample arms in satisfaction.
Kaiulani thumbed through the pages. “I’ll re-read a portion of The Black Arrow every day. It will give me some topic to speak with him about.”
Annie added, “To thank him.”
Kaiulani interjected, “I can feed him the plot of it, bit by bit. Keep him alive in this cage of boredom with morsels of Robert Louis Stevenson.”
Hannah howled with delight. “And can you imagine any greater torture than a great novel given up at its very climax? Seeing the story read and enjoyed by someone else, without any hope of discovering the end of the story?”
“Torment.” Kaiulani sighed with contentment. “Greater than the torment of unrequited love.”
Annie urged them on. “Go quickly, Hannah. I told him the Princess Kaiulani would no doubt be strolling past and might stop to thank him.”
“This is better than a Jane Austen novel!” Hannah wrapped herself in Kaiulani’s coat. “The plot thickens.”
Kaiulani stopped Hannah with her hand on the latch. “Here, Princess. By way of thanks, present him with my Louisa May Alcott novel as a substitute. Little Women!”
Chapter Three
The second wave of the attack on Andrew Adams was launched when Hannah emerged from the portal of the stateroom. Drawing herself erect, she strolled regally forward as she imagined a princess from a fairy tale might process.
The wind tugged at Hannah’s shawl, uncovering her thick mane. Her hair burst into a wild tangle of curls.
Andrew leapt to his feet and almost stood at attention when she approached. His eyes were wide and apprehensive. He stepped forward too eagerly in order to properly address the teenage girl he believed was a royal princess.
“Your Highness? Kaiulani?” He bowed deeply, doffing his deer-stalker hunting cap. The earflaps, freed from their restraining cord, pulsed in the breeze.
“You know my name, do you?” Hannah asked. She struggled to restrain a giggle at the sudden image of a long-eared hound.
“I would know you anywhere.”
Hannah suppressed her impulse to grin. “How do you do? And you are Andrew Adams?” She nodded only slightly, as if Andrew were a fly buzzing near her face that she wished to avoid. She extended her hand, palm downward.
“I am. Andrew…Adams. Just Andrew, Your Highness,” the young man stammered as he took her hand.
“As you like it.”
He pulled over a chair for her, but she did not sit. The two remained standing as the wind increased. “Are you well, Princess Kaiulani?”
Hannah decided that the best way to answer was with a question. “Well?”
“We heard you were quite ill from the wallowing of the ship.”
Hannah gazed at him with what she hoped was dignity. It was, in fact, an icy stare conveying the sense she was profoundly offended.
Andrew squirmed. While Hannah stood inboard and sheltered, his cheeks were exposed to the spray blowing in from the sea. He wiped his cheeks and waited.
Hannah considered the proper way to reply to a query about the galloping nausea that had confined t
he girls to their cabin the first day out. The memorized reply about seasickness that they had rehearsed at length with Annie suddenly leapt to Hannah’s mind and out of her mouth. “The seas, when in upheaval, can be very discommodious for the delicate stomachs of royal personages.”
Andrew frowned and stared at her with a quizzical expression. “So I’ve heard. It must be true.”
Hearing her own voice pronounce discommodious aloud, Hannah instantly regretted speaking. The word uttered in the open air sounded too much like commode. The vision of a toilet was vivid in her imagination. Had Andrew understood? She blushed. “I said, most DIScommodious.” Saying it again did not help. The blush deepened.
“I am sorry for the inconvenience to Your Highness.” Andrew seemed at a loss. He flicked drips of salt water from his brows before they could get into his eyes.
“Never mind. Never…mind.” Hannah regrouped. “The air is most invigorating. I came out to thank you personally for your kind gift. Robert Louis Stevenson. Mister Stevenson is a friend of ours and a frequent visitor at our home.”
Andrew seemed pleased and relieved. “I hope you enjoy The Black Arrow. It is the most—”
Hannah nodded. “A stunning adventure. I previously devoured The Black Arrow. Therefore, I have given the volume to my dear friend Hannah as a gift.”
Andrew’s smile froze on his face. “You gave? You gave The Black Arrow—to Hannah. Of course. Logical.”
Hannah exuded good cheer. The wind from astern stretched twin banners of white steam and black smoke overhead. “To repay your kindness, I brought you a gift. It should keep you entertained during the many days of our passage.” Hannah kept the title of the volume concealed beneath the fringe of the shawl.
“Very kind of you, Princess. I am certain I will enjoy it.”
“I must ask: have you read the works of this American author? Alcott is the name.”
Andrew cleared his throat and took a deep breath before he exhaled slowly. “No. No, I don’t think…Alcott?”
“Alcott has written a tale taking place during the American Civil War.”
Andrew perked up. “Civil war?” Perhaps it would take the place of the unfinished story of the English War of the Roses. “Ah. Yes. America. The war between the states.”
“I enjoyed the novel very much. I learned an immense amount about the Civil War, as experienced on the home front.”
“Sounds promising. The voyage is many days before us.”
“Many hours to fill.” Hannah smiled and stretched forth the thick volume. Sunlight glinted on the gilt lettering stamped on the cover: Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott.
Andrew swallowed hard. The color drained from his handsome face. He tilted his head from one side to the other as if by reading the title and the author’s name from a slightly different angle he might change the words. No matter how he turned his head or squinted his eyes, the sentence remained unchanged.
“Little Women.” Andrew gallantly attempted to appear appreciative. “Your Highness is…too kind.”
Hannah set the hook. “A trifle. I enjoyed Little Women very, very much. One might even say it is among my favorite novels, except, of course, for Jane Austen’s works, and, of course, the latest by Mister Stevenson. The Black Arrow was the most thrilling story I have yet read. But I would be most delighted to discuss Little Women from a male perspective; talk about an American novel with an English gentleman.”
Andrew accepted the volume but quickly tucked it inside the breast of his frock coat as if it were contraband. “A pleasure. I had hoped we might become acquainted, possibly. I am most interested in discussing your opinions of the politics of the Hawaiian monarchy.”
Hannah cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You are too forward, Mister Adams.”
“Andrew. Please call me Andrew.”
Hannah ignored the plea. Coolly, she responded, “Politics requires thought that is often unpleasant. We must meet more formally for such a discussion. Such an interview must be arranged through the proper channels. As I was saying, literature is a much more pleasant place to begin an informal dialogue.”
“Of course, Princess. But literature will not be a topic the world wants to read about. They rather wait to hear what Princess Kaiulani thinks about the conflict in her own government and nation.”
“Politics. Perhaps Hannah can arrange a convenient time for us to speak on official topics?”
“Hannah?”
“She is my companion. You met her. She serves as my social engagement secretary.”
Wheels seemed to be turning in Andrew’s mind. “Well, then, yes, if that is the protocol. I will speak with Hannah about an appointment with you to discuss politics.”
“I’ll send Hannah out shortly to speak with you. She has my appointment book.”
And so the stage was set.
* * * *
Kaiulani pulled on Hannah’s plain black coat and planted her delicate hands in a muff. “How do I look?” She glanced at her reflection in the oval mirror.
Annie scrutinized her. “Like a girl who should be named Hannah.”
Hannah rubbed the tip of her nose. “It’s cold out there, Kaiulani. Wind whipping the spray. He was already soaked when I finished with him.”
Kaiulani tucked an errant curl beneath her cap. “I’ll throw a little more cold water on him.”
Hannah opened the copy of The Black Arrow and studied the inscription. “Tell him the princess is worried that the copy of Little Women might get damp. Tell him my social calendar is all filled up.”
Kaiulani laughed over her shoulder as she slipped out. “We’re being cruel to this poor fellow.”
If there was a twinge of guilt in Kaiulani, it was soon enhanced when she saw Andrew huddled against the vent shaft for warmth. The long ears of his cap flapped in the breeze. He raised his eyes miserably and gave her a half-hearted wave with the volume of Miss Alcott’s work.
“Ah, Hannah!” he said to Kaiulani. “I am glad to see it is you coming.”
“Good day.”
“Miserable day,” he replied.
“Cold winds, like something from a Gilbert and Sullivan play.”
He answered, “A Mikado day, eh?”
She quoted the well-known lyrics, “ ‘To lay aloft in a howling breeze.’ ”
His full lips curved up on the left in a crooked smile. “You’ve seen it?”
“A touring company passed through Honolulu. I was seated with the princess in the royal box.”
Andrew saluted like a sailor in the play. “I saw it at the Savoy in London. Bought the sheet music and memorized the lyrics.”
Kaiulani raised her hand in a cheer. “ ‘Hurrah for the homeward bound!’ ”
He sang, “ ‘Hurrah for the homeward bound.’ ”
The two began to laugh as if the play, performed worlds apart, was a shared memory.
Andrew grew bolder. “I imagined your home in Honolulu was a backwater.”
“Do you know you are arrogant and rude?” she asked with a smile.
“I am not. I am honest and outspoken.”
Amused by his answer, Kaiulani considered him for a long moment. “And careless with your words. Do you not fear losing our good opinion of your character?”
He scoffed, “Me? Fear three little maids from school?”
“We three are much more than characters in a Gilbert and Sullivan play.”
Andrew scrutinized her as if he were looking at a costumed actress. “I know one thing. Since The Mikado was performed, all of London society has gone wild for things Oriental. They will be mad for Royal Princess Kaiulani.”
“We are far from the Orient.”
“It is more a fascination with exotic beauty. Three beautiful young women. Dark eyes. Thick black tresses. Laughter like a mountain stream. And an appreciation of British theatre.”
“You are surprised.”
“I confess: I am. You are not at all what I expected.”
“What do you hope to
uncover?”
“Something more exotic.”
Kaiulani turned away from his probing eyes. “The plumage of a peacock rather than a sparrow?”
“I am surprised that you, Hannah, companion of Kaiulani, seem more the peacock than the princess. What can you tell me about her?”
“Kaiulani was raised in captivity, though her soul longs to be free.” Kaiulani felt color climb to her cheek as Andrew lifted her chin and searched her eyes for a long moment.
