Prisoners in the Palace (14 page)

I’ve stayed away from Albert as much as I can. How dare he threaten my livelihood? He’s here to marry into Victoria’s rank and fortune, and he can’t even pretend to enjoy her company. At least with me, Victoria gets what she pays for.

Yesterday, I followed the Princes during their promenade in the garden. I admit my intent was to eavesdrop; my strongest currency with Victoria is information.

Ernst, the elder (and a bit of a rogue), had little patience with the unending list of Albert’s priggish complaints. His room was too small. Dinner was too rich. The evenings are too late.

Ernst said, “Brother, you must admit we’ve been warmly welcomed by our aunt and Cousin Victoria.”

Albert grumbled he supposed so.

Then Ernst, with an intensity I particularly noted, asked, “What do you think of Victoria?”

I strained to hear the answer.

Albert said, “She is amiable enough.”

Amiable! What a stuffed shirt! Victoria’s journal is full of praise for him. And the best he can do is “amiable”!

Ernst warned him against offending Victoria. “The family fortunes rest on you, little brother.”

I was trailing behind, ducking behind the shrubbery—very spylike!

Albert sulked in silence, then he burst out, “Ernst, she always expects me to compliment her. And she never stops talking.”

“I find her prattle charming,” his brother answered.

“It’s all very well for you. You aren’t expected to…to…you know.”

“I know my duty very well. It’s time you do yours.”

“What kind of life will I have with her?” Albert asked. “She’ll be suspicious all the time—do you know she uses her maid to spy on her good mother? I think I should tell our aunt.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Every nerve on edge, I waited for his brother’s response.

“Absolutely not!” Ernst said. “Nothing could offend Victoria more.”

“But—”

“You would risk an alliance with the throne of England to gossip about an insignificant maid?”

“The ethics—”

“Enough!” Ernst commanded. “Albert, I forbid it. Father will second me in this. This match is too important for you to botch with your infernal rectitude.”

“Very well,” said Albert, like a churlish schoolboy.

I breathed again, relieved beyond measure. But has my safety been purchased at the expense of Victoria’s future happiness? Ah well, there are greater forces at work here than I can tackle. First, look after myself, then I can afford to think about Victoria.

24 May 1836 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria

No one could be more enchanted than I was. I shall never forget it. It was Mama’s birthday present for me.

24 May 1836 Excerpt from the Private Journal of Miss Elizabeth Hastings

Today is Victoria’s seventeenth birthday. The Duchess arranged for an entire opera company to come to Kensington Palace. Giulia Grisi, the finest soprano in London, sang the Princess’s favorite arias. It was ostentatious, but Victoria loved every minute of it. She has been pleased with her mother all day. They are happily preparing for Victoria’s ball this evening. She’s so excited that she will get a chance to dance the waltz. Her mother has an old-fashioned idea that a Princess can only waltz with a member of the family. Albert had better be prepared to dance all night! The Duchess can’t stop beaming. It’s a nice change from their usual arguments.

I’ve been here almost two months now, but I am still not reconciled to my change in circumstances. I cannot help but think if Mama had lived, we would be planning my coming out ball. But instead I will dress Victoria (in the dress that should have been mine!) and wait on her convenience. The difference between what is and what might have been…

It was already midnight, but the party looked to go on for hours. Liza had watched the notables arrive since ten o’clock. The ball was held in the rarely used state apartments on the first floor. Laughter and music wafted up to Liza waiting in the Princess’s bedroom.

Liza paced the room, her patience frayed. She fingered the Duchess’s tortoiseshell combs. She tweaked the corner of Victoria’s blanket. She studied the portrait of the Duchess holding the infant Victoria.

Why can’t I go to a ball?

Then the orchestra below struck up a waltz, and Liza’s heart constricted. She closed her eyes to listen. How often had her mother played this tune while Papa had taught Liza the dance?

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Twirling her around in his strong arms, he warned Liza she wouldn’t be permitted to perform it in public until she married. They had had to stop dancing, she was laughing so hard. Then he had turned to Mama, his voice full of love, “Mathilde, may I have the honor of this dance?” Mama, not taking her eyes from his, rose from the piano and moved into his embrace. Liza had taken her place at the piano and begun to play. They swirled about the room, exquisitely matched. Perfect partners.

That was only six months ago.

Tears streaked her cheeks, but Liza didn’t open her eyes until the orchestra played the last note. Dabbing her face with a handkerchief, she saw her mother’s eyes reflected in the mirror and all her good sense flew out the window.

“Mama,” she whispered to her reflection. “We came to England so I could go to balls. So I will.” Without pausing to consider her folly, she went to Victoria’s closet. The Princess had stolen Liza’s gown; Liza would not hesitate to borrow one of the Princess’s.

A bust of Victoria’s long dead father presided over the ball. Slipping past his marble gaze, Liza kept a watchful eye all around her, nervous of meeting the Baroness—or anyone who knew her. She felt certain she had chosen her dress wisely. It was elegant but not distinctive. The Princess had worn the mauve dress gathered just below the bodice with silk flowers trimming the skirt when she met the Queen of Portugal a few months earlier. The dress had also had a belt of gold brocade, which marked it as a Princess’s gown, so Liza had simply torn the belt off and replaced it with a length of twisted silk. A few pins at the waist tightened the dress sufficiently. She
would have preferred to avoid notice, but already, several gentlemen in the crowd cast admiring glances in her direction.

The Duchess had ordered the dark-paneled rooms decorated with elaborate arrangements of pineapples and orchids. Liza glided through the cupola room with its clever ceiling that made the room seem impossibly tall. A clock standing on a pedestal in the center of the room chimed the hour: it was one o’clock. Liza arrived in the drawing room overlooking Round Pond, where the most important guests danced. She darted behind a pillar near an open window to watch.

Victoria sparkled as she danced the quadrille. Even with the Duchess’s fussy alterations, the dress looked well on her. Liza had helped Victoria adjust the bodice to show her bosom to best advantage, despite the higher neckline. Victoria had also preferred Liza’s choice of more flattering sleeves. Liza smiled now, watching Victoria’s arms move freely as she danced. The Princess’s partners were mostly old men, indistinguishable from one another. They spoke too loudly and wiped their red, perspiring foreheads as they stepped on Victoria’s beleaguered toes. Fortunately for her, the quadrille demanded a frequent change of partners, so she escaped the worst bores for part of the dance at least.

For the next dance, the orchestra struck up another waltz. The Duchess had been very particular: Victoria could not dance the intimate dance with anyone of lesser rank, unless the boy was family. Victoria scanned the crowd, but Albert was nowhere to be seen. A pout crinkled her face, until Prince Ernst swept her onto the dance floor. He must have paid her very pretty compliments, because Victoria blushed a most becoming shade of pink that matched the border on her gown. But still the Princess’s eyes fluttered about the room, searching for Albert.

Liza caught a glimpse of the Baroness Lehzen, her back ramrod straight, with eyes for no one but Victoria. Then Liza spied Albert studying a painting on the opposite side of the room, as far from the musicians as possible. Not once, that Liza noticed, did his eyes go to Victoria. A serving man, hired for the evening, offered him a glass of champagne from a silver tray. Scowling, Albert refused. The server turned away, bumping into a portly general. Several glasses crashed to the floor, and Albert laughed. Liza sighed for Victoria’s hopes.

As the waltz ended, the Duchess, resplendent in feathers and satin, signaled the musicians. They played a flourish of notes, spreading silence among the guests. She introduced her brother, Ernst, Duke of Saxe-Coburg, Albert’s father. He raised his glass and saluted the Princess’s health. Outside, Liza heard cheers from Victoria’s future subjects as the fireworks began. Liza remained inside while the guests began to move to the terrace to watch. From the window, Liza marveled at the beauty of the colorful explosions reflected in the water of Round Pond.

Large hands suddenly encircled Liza’s tiny waist. The pins pricked her skin. Liza opened her mouth to protest, when Simon, in full formal livery, spun her around to face him.

“You look lovely tonight, Liza,” he said. “Isn’t that one of the Princess’s gowns?”

“Take your hands off me,” Liza said, but she half-smiled. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Simon’s easy confidence unnerved her, but it was a night for acting out of character.

“I won’t tell.” Grinning, he snagged two flutes of champagne from a server who was gaping at the fireworks. He handed her one.

“I shouldn’t.” But Liza’s fingers gripped the stem of the tall glass.

“The Princess’s maid should drink to her mistress’s health.”

Quelling her guilty conscience, she sipped. Her father had taught her to appreciate a good vintage. The Duchess had not stinted this evening. She turned back to watch the fireworks.

Simon stepped in close behind her, his breath warm on her bare shoulder. “The Princess won’t leave until the musicians’ fingers fall off and her last partner passes out from exhaustion. Why don’t we go for a walk in the garden?”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “I have to go. Mrs. Strode will have a fit if she sees me here.”

“She’s blind as a bat. Annie Mason and I walked out once or twice and Mrs. Strode never cottoned to it,” Simon said.

“Annie Mason lost her position!” Liza snapped. “I’ll not make the same mistakes.”

“So, you’re better than Annie, are you?” Simon’s whispers turned sharp. “Are you too good for me then?”

“Of course not,” Liza lied.

“Not all of us lived at Claridge’s, your ladyship,” he sneered.

Liza felt heat flare up her face. “That’s not fair. I had to leave the hotel because I lost everything.”

Simon looked down on her, the muscles in his face tight across his cheekbones. “You had more than any of us—but you don’t need to rub our faces in it.”

“I’ve never done that!”

“You’re just a maid when all’s said and done. Don’t you forget it.” Simon drained his glass in one gulp, turned on his heel and left the room.

Liza lifted her glass and saw that her hand shook. The truth was Elizabeth Hastings was impossibly above a footman, even if Liza, the maid, was not. She finished her champagne and left the glass on
a table, staring at the last remnants of the fireworks. Thick smoke from the explosions billowed in the wind, streaking soot across the full moon.

The band started to play a waltz. A hand touched her elbow, she whirled around.

“Simon, I said no!” Her eyes widened. It was the prince from Saxe-Coburg—not Albert, but his handsome brother.

“I don’t know who Simon is, but perhaps his loss is my gain?” he asked with a roguish wink.

Liza sank into a curtsy, her face burning with embarrassment. “Excuse me, Your Highness.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, you know who I am, but I don’t know your name.”

“Elizabeth Hasti…Hastinger, Your Highness.”

How could I be so stupid as to think of telling him my real name?

“Miss Hastinger, may I have this dance?”

Liza glanced around the room. All the guests were tipsy from champagne and fireworks. There was no one to notice her.

Who could resist a dance with a charming prince?

Not trusting her voice, she nodded. He swept her onto the floor. One, two, three. One, two, three. Prince Ernst’s arms were strong about her waist; he was a superb dancer. For a few fleeting moments, Liza forgot who she was. Just for this little while, she was a girl dancing her very first dance at a ball, with a prince at that.

The music rose to a graceful crescendo and reluctantly, the dancers stopped. The Prince bowed.

“Thank you, Miss Hastinger, that was delightful.”

Liza curtsied, not daring to look the prince in the eye.

What on earth do I say to him?

“Ernst, Ernst—there you are!” The Duchess’s shrill voice broke the spell. “Where is Albert? Victoria wants to dance.”

The Prince turned toward his aunt. Liza took advantage of his distraction to slip behind a pillar.

“I haven’t seen him,” Ernst said. He chuckled, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The Duchess didn’t smile. “Who were you dancing with? I don’t know her.”

Ernst turned to where Liza had been. “Where did she go?” he asked, puzzled. “Her name was Elizabeth Hastinger. A charming partner.”

“Hastinger? The name is familiar, but not from my guest list.”

Liza shook her head. She was the constant companion to the Duchess’s daughter, and the Duchess hadn’t recognized her.

Liza spied Victoria and Albert on the other side of the pillar.

“Albert, you can’t leave now!” beseeched the Princess.

“It’s late, Victoria.”

“It’s only two o’clock. The ball has just started. We only danced the cotillion. I was hoping we could waltz!”

Liza circled the column and peeked round to see Victoria clutching Albert’s sleeve. He looked flushed.

“I’ve been here for two hours,” he complained.

“You aren’t supposed to leave until I do,” pouted Victoria. “I’m the guest of honor.”

“It’s hot. I want to go to bed.”

Victoria scrunched up her face. “You’re being tiresome. And dull too. You have no appreciation for sophisticated society.”

“And you,” he retorted, “are a frivolous child.”

“I’m older than you!” Stamping her pretty satin-slippered foot, Victoria said, “You should return to the provincial backwater you came from!”

“Very well.” Albert drew himself up. “Good evening, Your Highness.” He made a short, crisp bow and stalked away.

Victoria stared at his retreating back. She clenched her fists and blinked her eyes to keep from crying.

Liza lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and approached the Princess. She murmured, “Your Highness, is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll have some champagne, thank you very much.” Victoria took the glass from Liza’s hand. Her eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that my dress?”

“Yes,” Liza answered. “I’m sorry that I borrowed it without your permission, but I wanted to see your ball.”

“It’s very naughty of you, Liza.” A look of alarm clouded her flushed face. “Have Mama or Lehzen seen you?”

“Not to know me,” Liza said wryly. She eyed the Princess carefully, relaxing when Victoria’s face cleared—she was going to be generous. More likely, she wanted someone to commiserate with her about Prince Albert.

Gulping the champagne, the Princess said, “Prince Albert is a disappointment. He complained all night. Too warm, too crowded.” She scowled. “He doesn’t even like champagne.”

Liza hesitated—she knew Victoria well enough not to criticize Albert. Tonight’s pique would disappear if tomorrow Albert so much as smiled at her. “Perhaps he’s not feeling well,” she offered.

“He’s been bilious since he set foot in England. What a boor!” Victoria shook her head in irritation. “I wouldn’t marry Albert if he were the last prince on earth.”

31 May 1836 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria