Prisoners in the Palace (15 page)

Poor dear Albert, who had not been well the day before, looked very pale and felt very poorly. After being but a short while in the ballroom and having only danced twice, he turned pale as ashes; and we all feared he might faint; he therefore went to bed. The rest of us kept it up for some time…we all stayed up until ½ past 3 and it was broad daylight when we left the room. All this dissipation does me a great deal of good.

10 June 1837 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria

At 9 we all breakfasted for the last time together! It was our last happy happy breakfast with these dearest cousins, whom I do love so very, very dearly. Dearest Albert is so grown up in his manners…and is very clever, naturally clever. Albert is the more reflecting of the two, and he likes very much talking about serious and instructive things and yet is so very very merry and gay and happy, like young people ought to be; Albert used always to have some fun and clever witty answer at breakfast. I feel this separation deeply.

12 June 1836 Excerpt from the Private Journal of Miss Elizabeth Hastings

The Princes have finally left. I was right not to criticize Albert. He paid Victoria a compliment (no doubt at his brother’s urging) and she was enamored all over again. She is disconsolate now they are gone. But I have hopes her interest in our newspaper project will be restored. Mr. Fulton has waited too long for my answer.

From Miss Elizabeth Hastings
to Mr. I. B. Jones
(Left inside the wood box in the Duchess’s private drawing room)

20 June 1836

IB,

Please inform your publishing friend that I need to speak with him.
My next day out is two Sundays from today.

L.

From Mr. William Fulton
to Miss Elizabeth Hasting
(Slipped under Miss Hasting’s door after midnight)

27 June 1836

Dear Miss Hastings,

I was delighted to make your acquaintance last month when we were introduced by our mutual friend, Mr. Jones. I hope you will permit me the honor of escorting you on a promenade in Kensington Gardens Sunday next. If I do not hear from you, I will call at the servants’ entrance to Kensington Palace at two o’clock.

Sincerely,
William Fulton

“You can’t wear that drab old thing!”

Liza jumped. Deep in contemplation of her dreary ensemble, she hadn’t heard Victoria’s arrival.

“Your Highness, I don’t have any other clothes,” Liza said. “I’m still in mourning.”

“Yet you came to my ball,” Victoria said shrewdly.

Liza bit her tongue; after all what could she say?

“I’ve brought you one of my old gowns.” The Princess held up a concoction of pale yellows and pinks, reminding Liza of a field of silken wildflowers. “It should fit you perfectly.”

Liza couldn’t take her eyes off the dress. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Don’t you want to wear something pretty for Mr. Fulton?” Victoria asked.

Liza’s back stiffened. “I’m only meeting him on your behalf.”

“Of course.” Victoria’s blue eyes sparkled. “And since you are on a mission for me and it’s summer, I command you to be lovely and gay.” She thrust the dress into Liza’s hands. “I must fly. Lehzen thinks I am with Mama and Mama thinks I’m with Lehzen.” She flitted out, her lavender eau de cologne lingering behind her.

Liza held the gown to her shoulders and twisted to see herself in the tiny mirror. Her fingers caressed the soft silk. If she removed the childish bow at the back and pinned back the shoulders, it would suit her perfectly.

Mama would approve, I think.

“It’s a royal command. What can I do?” whispered Liza. She eagerly undid the buttons of her dark gown, ignoring the pricks of guilt.

She was finishing her toilette when Nell knocked at the door.

“Miss Hastings, you’ve a gentleman caller.” Nell sniggered. “Mrs. Strode is fit to be tied!”

“He’s early!” Checking her curls were in place, she grabbed her mother’s rose Kashmiri shawl. Liza took the back stairs at a run. Even before she arrived at the servants’ entrance, she could hear Mrs. Strode scolding Will Fulton.

“Young man, maids at Kensington Palace are not permitted suitors.”

Liza winced.

“I have official business with Miss Hastings.” It was meaningless, but Will made it sound respectable.

Mrs. Strode hesitated, and Liza silently prayed that was the end of it. “Very well, she can meet you in one of the drawing rooms.”

Liza made a face. She had had enough of those drawing rooms, filled with the same conversations every day.

Will unleashed more of his charm. “On a lovely summer’s day, business can be transacted out of doors. We shall stay within eyeshot of the Palace. On my word of honor.”

Liza fought back a giggle. Will Fulton, quarrelsome newspaperman, was swearing an oath on his gentleman’s honor.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Strode spied Liza. The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the Princess’s cast-off dress. “Miss Hastings, I see you have put aside your mourning.”

“Yes, Mrs. Strode.”

“You may have one hour. No more.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Strode.” Smoothing her skirt and adjusting the shawl around her shoulders, Liza walked through the door. Will’s eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Mr. Fulton.” She blinked in the bright light. Will’s chin shone from a recent close shave and he had dressed in a well-cut dark blue velvet coat and vest, topped by a white cravat. His boots were polished to a high shine. A gold watch chain dangled at just the right length from his vest pocket. In his old-fashioned style, he was dressed like a solicitor or a junior banker.

He offered her his arm. “Miss Hastings.” Liza let him lead her away, grateful to escape from the housekeeper’s prying eyes. They walked through the gate to the public gardens.

“What a Tartar!” he said, wiping his brow.

“Mrs. Strode rules below stairs with an iron fist,” Liza confided, stopping to examine an iris just past full bloom. “She terrifies me most of the time.”

“She didn’t half hate your gown. Jealous cat,” he said. “What did she mean, you’ve put aside your mourning? Who are you mourning for?”

Staring at the wilted flower, Liza said, “My parents were killed in a carriage accident a few months ago.”

Will whistled sympathetically. “My parents died when I was very young. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Liza looked up and offered him a small smile.

“If you abandoned your blacks to wear that dress, I must say, it was a wise choice.”

Liza murmured her thanks and confided, “It was the Princess’s.”

He chuckled. “So I’m one step removed from royalty?”

Liza began to relax and her step grew lighter. “You look very handsome yourself,” she said.

He grinned. “My uncle who raised me always said to get respect, wear the proper clothing.” He looked at her more closely. “Are you surprised?”

“Ink stains are hard to scrub off,” Liza said shyly.

“Miss Hastings, I’d never have embarrassed you.”

“I see that now. Thank you, Mr. Fulton.”

“Please, two orphans making our own way in the world needn’t stand on ceremony. I’ve asked you to call me Will.”

Liza bit her lip. What would Mama say? Would her father approve? She glanced over at Will’s genial face. With a pang, she realized it didn’t matter. She made her own decisions now.

“Will, call me Elizabeth,” she said.

“That still seems too formal. Didn’t Inside Boy call you Miss Liza?”

“My friends call me Liza.”

“Then I shall certainly do so.”

Forward he might be, but she could not deny he was charming too. Liza decided to give as good as she was getting and ask the question plaguing her. “Will,” she asked. “How can you afford such clothes?”

“They were my father’s. He worked for a bank.” He fingered the watch hanging from his vest. “Is that shawl the Princess’s too? The pink complements your eyes to perfection.”

Blushing in earnest now, Liza said, “This one is mine. It’s from India. My father had it sent to him as a sample. He asked Mama to wear it in town. He said if the Munich ladies were jealous of her, he would buy more.”

“And were they?”

“Green with envy.” Tears stung Liza’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Will put his callused hand over hers, where it rested on his forearm. His touch was warm. “Now I understand why you are a maid. I couldn’t make it out before.”

“It was either this or starve.”

“Or worse,” he said shortly. Without saying her name, Liza knew they were both thinking of Annie Mason. She shook her curls; today she wouldn’t worry about Annie.

As they walked in companionable silence, passing gentlemen tipped their hats to Liza. For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t a maid or an orphan. She was a well-dressed young lady promenading with a presentable young man.

They chatted about the news and the weather. Liza told him how her work bored her. Will offered to lend her The Pickwick Papers, a new serial by the writer Boz that was wildly popular. Will told her he knew the writer, a court reporter whose real name was Charles Dickens. He mentioned a new play at the Adelphi and asked if she would like to go. She said her duties at the Palace made it difficult to schedule a social engagement.

Finally, they turned to professional matters with reluctance. “Inside Boy said you wanted to see me,” Will said.

“So I did.” Liza sighed and came to business. “I’ve discussed your proposition with Princess Victoria.”

“I hoped you would,” said Will.

“She has given me permission—”

“Capital!”

Liza gave Will a reproving look. “But she must approve the final article.”

Will’s sandy eyebrows went up into his hairline. “She must be of more an independent mind than my sources suggest.”

“Perhaps your informants don’t know the Princess as well as they claim. Who exactly are they?” Liza asked slyly.

“Now, Liza, I can’t betray a confidence.”

Will looked in her eyes in a way that challenged her to outwit him. Taking on more authority than Victoria had granted her, she said, “The Princess insists you identify those who have lied about her, else she’ll withdraw her patronage for your little scandal sheet.”

He burst out laughing. “First, I don’t need the Princess’s patronage. I’ve built up my own business and have a circulation of over twenty-five hundred for my ‘little sheets,’ as you call them. Second, any newspaperman worth his salt will tell any royal to go to hell rather than do their bidding.”

Good for you, Will.

“We can discuss it further after we have published our first piece together,” she said tartly.

“What do you have for me?” Will asked.

Liza opened her reticule and pulled out a paper folded over three times to fit in the tiny purse. “I’ve written it out.”

“That makes it easy for Her Highness to approve, doesn’t it?” His eyes glinting with mischief, Will said, “First maid, then messenger, now secretary. How many roles do you play at the Palace?”

Liza looked toward heaven. “More than you could imagine.”

He unfolded the paper and began reading. Halfway through, he looked sharply at her, opened his mouth, then changed his mind and read to the end. Liza waited anxiously.

“The Princess knows the Queen is pregnant?” he asked finally.

“Isn’t that what it says?” Liza hedged.

“If it’s true, it’s the story of the year.”

Liza’s tongue darted over her dry lips. Will was taking their story too seriously. “Why?”

“If the Queen delivers an heir,” he said, “then everyone’s expectations change. The King is very ill and can’t last much longer. A new regent for the baby would not be as popular as Victoria would be. The country has barely recovered from last year when the King tried to defeat the Reform Bill.”

Before Liza could ask, Will explained, “The Reform Bill gave more rights to the people. The people didn’t half like the King’s opposition to the bill. Victoria’s become a symbol to the people for change. We’re due. We’ve had drunken reprobates for the past fifty years! George III was mad as a hatter. His son, the Regent, was a spendthrift and a womanizer. And now we’ve got Silly Billy.”

“Don’t call the King that,” Liza said. “It’s disrespectful.”

He smiled at her. “Anyway, if Victoria is pushed aside, the people might take to the streets.”

“I saw riots in Munich,” Liza said, wincing at the memory.

“And in the Netherlands, Italy, and Spain. The entire continent is a hotbed of unrest. England has been spared so far, but it wouldn’t take much to light a spark.”

Surely he was exaggerating. England was the most civilized place on earth. A harmless prank played by two seventeen-year-olds couldn’t possibly cause a revolution!

Will glanced down at her worried face. “So, is it true?”

“The Princess dictated the article,” she said at last.

Will said wryly, “If Her Highness vouches for it, I’ll consider her a reliable source.” He reached into his pocket and brought out some coins. “For you.”

Liza stared at his hand. “I can’t take it, Will.”

“Why not? I promised to pay you. If you write other articles, I’ll pay you even more.”

“I thought we were friends,” she said uncertainly.

“I’m Inside Boy’s friend too.” Will smiled winningly. “Can you afford to turn down hard cash?”

She shook her head. “I can’t accept it.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, replacing the coins in his pocket.

Liza glanced toward the brick Palace. The Princess’s fair head pressed against a third-floor window, watching Liza’s promenade. She’s a prisoner, Liza thought. This prank was her only way of striking back. But Liza had so few friends. Could any good come from lying to one of them?