Prisoners in the Palace (18 page)

They were jostled by filthy children, but larger, more adult menaces stood in doorways. Mindful of Inside Boy’s warnings about pickpockets, Liza held her reticule in front her, clasping it tightly with both hands. Will stayed comfortingly close.

A group of large boys chased an undersized boy in front of them. He tried to escape by darting around Liza and running off in the other direction. He slipped on the uneven cobblestones, slicing his knee open. The boy howled when he saw his blood dripping onto the street.

“Oh, poor boy!” Liza exclaimed, leaning down to place Will’s handkerchief over the wound. The boy was struck dumb and his eyes widened as he took in Liza’s dress. The other children backed away, just as silently.

“Liza, that’s my handkerchief,” Will protested, glancing around warily. There were eyes everywhere.

“Will, if the wound isn’t bandaged, it will fester.” She tied the cloth round the child’s knee, then stood up and examined her handiwork.

Will shook his head. “He’ll sell it as soon as we’re gone.”

“Covered in blood?”

“In this neighborhood, it wouldn’t matter.”

She opened her reticule and handed a coin to the boy. “Buy a sweet.”

“Ta, Miss.” Her patient ran off without even a limp, Liza watched dismayed. The other children stared and then began to clamor for a coin for themselves.

“Liza, put your money away!” Will whispered fiercely. He stepped closer and took her arm. “Let’s go. It’s not safe.”

He piloted her deftly down a twisting street ending in a small cul-de-sac. Liza shivered as she looked up at the brick house with black wooden trim. A plain bronze plaque next to the door read Mary Magdalene House for the Reformation of Prostitutes. Liza tightened her grip on Will’s arm.

“We don’t have to go in.” His tone did not sound hopeful.

Liza shook her head. She lifted the huge knocker. A panel of wood on the door, just above eye level, slid back to reveal a small peephole.

“Who is it?” A voice filled with suspicion asked.

“My name is Elizabeth Hastings. I am here to visit Annie Mason, one of your…“ She glanced at Will. “What do I call them?”

“The penitents are not allowed visitors,” the voice answered.

“But I must see her,” said Liza.

The panel began to close.

“Wait!” Liza cried. “Her Royal Highness Princess Victoria sent me!” Will inhaled sharply. The door swung open. The doorkeeper was a shrunken old man, whose few wisps of black hair lay pasted across his otherwise bald head. He looked them up and down and grudgingly let them into a dark hallway, bare of any decoration except an oil painting of Mary Magdalene receiving blessings from Jesus Christ.

“This way.” He showed them to a parlor with two lumpy armchairs, which sat side by side, and no other furniture. “Someone will come.”

Liza sat at the edge of her chair, reluctant to let her dress encounter the moth-eaten upholstery. “Why would Annie come here?” she whispered.

Will’s face was severe. “The poorhouse is worse.”

A tall, gaunt woman dressed in black appeared in the doorway. Her voice was unexpectedly deep. “I’m Mrs. Russell. You’re here from the Princess?”

Liza hesitated, knowing she mustn’t implicate Victoria further. “I’ve come from Kensington Palace,” she said. “I have a message for Annie Mason.”

“So, Annie was telling the truth about her friends in high places.” Mrs. Russell’s face twitched. “Give me your message.”

“I must deliver it personally,” said Liza firmly.

For a moment, she thought Mrs. Russell was going to deny her, but then with a little sigh, the woman said, “I’ll take you to her. Sir, you have to wait here.”

Will got out of his chair and stood behind Liza. “No, I’ll go with Miss Hastings.”

“It’s not allowed.” Mrs. Russell’s tone allowed no argument. “We offer the penitents refuge from men here.”

Liza murmured, “I’ll be fine, Will.”

Mrs. Russell led Liza into the hall and up a flight of steep stairs. At the landing, she paused and pointed to a door. “Annie Mason is working in there. Don’t take up too much of her time.”

Liza thanked her. Smoothing her hair back, she opened the door.

Annie was seated at a table alone next to a window, a length of pink silk cloth draped in front of her, across a table. She glanced up at Liza’s entrance, but then bent her head to her sewing. Her magnificent hair was bound up in a bleached handkerchief.

Steeling herself, Liza stepped closer.

“Hello, Annie,” she said softly. “Do you remember me?” Annie was sewing a seam for a wide skirt.

“I remember you, Liza Hastings,” Annie replied sourly.

Liza licked her lips, wondering what to say. She fingered the fabric Annie was working on. “This is good quality.”

Annie looked up. “There’s not many here with enough skill to work on cloth this fine.” She added with a quick, lopsided grin, “And I miss the first two hours of Bible reading.”

“If you can sew, why didn’t you get work doing that?” Liza asked.

“After I left the Palace, I got plenty of sewing for hire. But it nearly killed me. I’d work from dawn ‘til dark sewing a pair of pants to sell for a pound and I’d get tuppence.”

“It’s honest work, though,” said Liza uncertainly.

“Honest?” Annie finally looked up. The words tumbled out of her mouth as though they had been trapped for months. “When you are starving, honest don’t matter much.” Annie carefully slid the needle into the finished seam and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “I was desperate. I met Barnabas, and he offered me a room, for a percentage of the takings. I hated what Barnabas wanted me to do, but I did it.”

And I whine I might lose my fancy dresses and baubles.

“What happened then?”

Indignation had raised Annie’s color. Her skin was still beautiful, despite the yellow bruises across her cheek and half-healed cut over her eye. “He wanted me to do something I wouldn’t do.”

“After all you’d done, what could be so awful?”

Annie shot her a hostile glance. “Something against God.”

“And prostitution isn’t?”

“Mary Magdalene was redeemed in the end—but God wouldn’t have forgiven me what Barnabas wanted.” She shoved back the wooden chair and stood up. Liza gasped when she saw the unmistakable bulge. Annie placed her hand on the top of the swelling in her abdomen. “‘e wanted me to abort my babe. I couldn’t do it.”

“Why would he want you to—” Liza broke off as the answer came to her. “Oh.”

Annie rubbed her back with one hand. “Yes, Miss High and Mighty—I cannot be takin’ clients in my condition. Barnabas gave me a choice. Get rid of the baby or get out. I couldn’t do it, so I left.”

“Who is the father?” Liza didn’t know how to ask the question with any delicacy.

“What’s it to you?” Annie snapped.

“I live in your old room.”

Annie’s eyes grew bleak. “Stay away from Conroy.”

Liza felt her stomach sink. “He’s the father?” she asked faintly.

Bitterness twisted Annie’s face. “I asked Mrs. Strode for a lock, but she said servants weren’t permitted privacy.”

A picture of the shiny, new bolt on her bedroom door came into Liza’s mind. Mrs. Strode had learned her lesson.

Liza glanced around the bare room. The walls were solid and the house was quiet. “What’s it like here?”

“They read the scripture too much and keep poor fires—but I’ve got a bed, food, and they’ll help me when the baby is born.”

“I’m glad.”

As though she had just remembered she didn’t like Liza, Annie burst out, “Why did you come? You didn’t get enough of my shame before? Victoria didn’t send you, I’m sure of that.”

“The first time we met,” Liza said. “You hinted you knew something about Sir John. Something that could hurt him. I have a way to use such a weapon. Will you tell me what it is?”

Glancing down at her stomach, Annie shook her head. “No. Before, I thought he might punish me. And now, I’ve got something even more precious to lose.”

“I have money.”

She pulled out the five sovereigns and held them in her hand where Annie could see, much as Will had tried to convince Annie’s former landlady.

This time Annie did not grab the coins. She stared. “So much?” she asked.

“It’s yours,” said Liza.

“No. ‘e’d come after us for sure.”

Annie’s jaw was set and Liza saw there was no budging her. Nor could Liza blame her. She handed Annie the money. “Take it anyway,” she said. “For the baby.”

“For the baby.” Annie tucked the coins in a pocket at her skirt.

“When will the baby arrive?” Liza asked.

“In the autumn. You’ll be away; the Princess always goes to Ramsgate.” Annie looked out the narrow window.

“Will you stay here afterwards?” Liza asked.

“I’ve got kin in Wales. They don’t look down on a bastard child as they do in London. It’ll be a better life for my baby.”

Mrs. Russell appeared at the door and tapped her foot with impatience.

“Miss, I don’t think we should meet again,” Annie said. She sat back down and picked up the needle. “Goodbye.”

As Will and Liza left the house, Liza glanced into another room. Inside sat eight dejected women around a long table, listening to another penitent read to them in a monotone. It sounded like The Book of Job. Liza understood why Annie preferred to sew.

Will took her arm. “Are you all right?”

Placing her hand on top of his, Liza told him what had happened upstairs.

“It’s a common enough story,” he said.

“Will, she asked for help, and no one would protect her. But there’s a lock on the door now. I’m safer because of Annie.”

He interrupted her. “If that bastard Conroy ever tries to interfere with you, I’ll kill him.”

She gripped his hand tightly. “Will, you mustn’t. I’m perfectly safe.”

But as they walked away from the Mary Magdalene House, Liza wondered how strong her lock really was.

2 August 1836 Excerpt from the Journal of Her Royal Highness Victoria

At a ¼ to 4 we went with Lehzen to Chiswick to the Children’s Friend Society. It was a most interesting and delightful establishment founded entirely by Miss Murray. It is for poor vagrant girls, who are received under the age of 15; and Miss Murray says they have never had a girl 6 months who did not become a perfectly good child. Miss Murray told us many curious stories of the depraved and wretched state in which many arrive and how soon they become reformed and good.

From Miss Elizabeth Hastings
to Mr. Richard Arbuthnot

7 August 1836
Kensington Palace

Dear Mr. Arbuthnot,

I am grateful for your forbearance regarding my outstanding obligation to Claridge’s Hotel. Your offer to hold my belongings for six months before selling them to satisfy my debt was extraordinarily generous.

However, Her Royal Highness Victoria of Kent is of a different mind. She is certain only a heartless management would sell an orphan’s only mementos of her parents for the repayment of a minor debt. Her Royal Highness insists I have misunderstood your terms.

The Princess and I would be beholden to you if you could clarify Claridge’s proposal. A letter addressed to me at Kensington Palace will reach me.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth Hastings

From Mr. Richard Arbuthnot
to Miss Elizabeth Hastings

12 August 1836
Claridge’s Hotel

Dear Miss Hastings,

Claridge’s is pleased to extend you every accommodation. We shall hold your belongings indefinitely.

Please convey our best wishes to Her Royal Highness. Should the Princess ever require lodging for her distinguished visitors, Claridge’s Hotel is happy to oblige.

Sincerely,

Richard Arbuthnot
Manager

From Miss Elizabeth Hastings
to Mr. William Fulton

22 August 1837
Kensington Palace

Dear Will,

Unfortunately, I will not be able to accompany you to the theater next month. The Duchess has decided Victoria must tour the country. And where Her Highness goes, I go.

If this were the time of Queen Elizabeth, it would be a royal progress. The Duchess is planning cannon salutes and the use of the King’s barge. No doubt she’ll raise the royal standard at every house they visit! The King is reportedly apoplectic. Victoria feels the slight to him very much, but the Duchess has turned a deaf ear to her daughter’s protests.

The house has been so tense the Duchess cannot bring herself to speak civilly to her daughter. Although they share a room, she wrote the Princess a letter explaining the necessity for the trip. I thought you might be interested, so I’ve copied it and included it with this letter. Naturally, this is not for publication!

The Princess gave in, as she always does, but not graciously. We will be going to Oxford first. You can write to me at Chatsworth House.

Sincerely,
Liza

From the Duchess of Kent to
Her Royal Highness Victoria

Undated

…I am disappointed and grieved that you feel so averse to traveling , but nevertheless, you must try to recognize that it is of the greatest consequence that you should be seen, that you should know your country, and be acquainted with, and be known, by all classes. If the King was another man, and if he really loved you, he would welcome the tour.