Prisoners in the Palace (21 page)

Wishing she were taller, Liza pointed to Simon, in his green livery, who had just lumbered up the narrow street. “He is the Duchess of Kent’s footman. Not an hour ago, Princess Victoria sent me to inquire about Miss Mason.”

Mrs. Russell was quick to become respectful. “I beg your pardon, Miss. We never know whom we are dealing with. Sometimes a girl’s procurer comes, wanting her back. I remember once—”

“The Princess is concerned only with Annie Mason,” Liza interrupted, imitating Victoria’s haughtiest vowels. Inside Boy flashed Liza an admiring look.

“I don’t know where she is.”

“What about her baby?” asked Liza.

“Dead.”

Liza had to wait a moment before she could trust her voice. “When?”

“It sickened a few days ago and died yesterday.” Mrs. Russell crossed herself. “Annie was quite hysterical, refusing to let us take the body. As if she could bury it decently.”

Liza wished she would stop calling the baby an ‘it.’ As if he could read Liza’s thoughts, Inside Boy said bleakly, “Her name was Prudence.”

“She was better off dead,” Mrs. Russell said in her queer deep voice. “What could a bastard child have to look forward to? She would end up no better than her mother.”

“Is that what you told her?” Liza asked shaking her head and glaring at Mrs. Russell. She remembered Annie’s hand resting on
her stomach as she planned a better life for her baby. But her mind’s eye drew back from imagining a pale and frantic Annie grabbing at the little girl’s corpse.

“Her sort never listens. She cried for a bit, and when I came back in with her supper, half an hour ago it was, she was gone. I don’t expect we’ll see her again.”

“Did she leave anything behind? A letter or a package?” asked Liza.

“No,” Mrs. Russell said.

“There must be something,” Liza insisted.

“Nothing. But you might look for her by the Fire Monument. It was her favorite place.”

Inside Boy turned to Liza. “The old biddy’s useless to us.”

“I don’t care if you are from the Princess, I’ll not stand to be insulted.” The heavy door slammed in their faces.

“Where’s the Fire Monument?” Liza asked.

“It’s not far.” He tugged her sleeve.

Liza glanced over at Simon who was waiting respectfully out of earshot.

“Should we take the carriage?”

Boy ran down the alley, calling over his shoulder, “Quicker on foot.”

He plunged into the crowd at the busy cross street. Liza and Simon followed. A few hundred yards later, Boy turned onto Cannon Street, and there, the Monument loomed over them. Liza couldn’t believe the height of the white stone column; she’d wager you could see Kensington Palace from the top. A man collected money at the bottom to climb to the viewing platform.

“Wait here,” said Inside Boy and he disappeared into the crowds of people surging around the base.

Liza and Simon stood on the edge of the square, panting from the pace Inside Boy had set. Liza searched the crowd carefully, but saw no sign of Annie.

Simon said, “Liza, I could help if I knew who you were looking for.”

Now Liza regretted herself for bringing Simon along; he knew Annie from her days at the Palace.

He saw her dismay and reassured her. “A footman is trained to be discreet about his employer’s business.”

With a little nod, Liza bowed to the inevitable. “We’re looking for Annie Mason.”

The muscles in Simon’s face tightened. “How do you even know her?” he asked.

“It’s a long story.” Liza remembered he once had told her he and Annie had courted. “But I need to find her, urgently.”

Simon towered above the crowd by a good head. He had sharp eyes too.

“Liza, look there.” Simon pointed up to the copper urn on top of the Monument. “There’s a woman there. On the edge of the platform. She’s got red hair.”

Liza heard the anxiety in his voice and she was grateful to him for it.

“I’ll get her,” Simon said. And without a word, he pushed through the crowd, and past the line of people waiting to climb the Monument. A gatekeeper tried to stop him, but Simon pushed him aside with one hand and lumbered up the spiral staircase, three steps at a time.

“Look!” shouted a fruit seller, jabbing an apple toward the tower. “She’s going to jump!”

A ripple of morbid anticipation washed over the crowd. Liza’s heart sank; if anything would drive Annie to the worst, it would be these ghouls. Liza prayed Simon would reach Annie in time.Where was Inside Boy?

Not daring to tear her eyes away, Liza clasped her hands together.

Please Lord, you tried her too hard; it’s not her fault she broke. This sin is too much. Save her.

Far above her head, the redheaded figure turned to say something to someone inside.

Without any warning, Annie hurled herself, backward, away from the safety of the platform. Her white gown billowed out as she plummeted silently down. Liza stared. Not breathing, not feeling, she was suspended in that instant, eyes fixed on the falling angel. The crowd scattered, voiding a spot of pavement to receive her body.

Annie hit the ground with a sickening thud. A stout woman swooned and had to be carried away. A mother pulled her young son to her skirts and covered his face. A rush of people swarmed into the empty space around Annie’s body, like water filling a bowl. Liza hadn’t believed it could happen. Not to anyone she knew.

A ragged old woman at the edge of the square began to shriek, “She was pushed!” She said it again and again.

A man shouted at her, “Shut up, you old hag, you’re too blind to see that far.”

Liza’s hands went cold as ice and her heart beat so loud it drowned out the crowd. She staggered toward Annie’s body, pushing at the crowd. “Let me through, I know her.” She began to sob, pounding at the tall backs with her fists. “Please move!”

“Liza, we have to go.” Simon spoke at her back, panting and perspiring. “You can’t be here.”

“No! Help me get to her!” she begged.

Something in her face weakened his resolve. He nodded. “Let her through!” His stentorian voice, combined with his hefty forearm, cleared her a path. She knelt down and took Annie’s warm hand. Her eyes were open, fixed on nothing at all and her face was peaceful, save for the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. Her red hair had been cut short. Liza dared not lift Annie’s head; the blood’s widening pool told its own story. With the tips of her fingers, Liza gently closed Annie’s eyes.

Two men pushed forward and examined the body.

“Usually they scream,” said one, with a bushy beard.

“There have been too many suicides at the monument,” said his companion, a thin man with a narrow, pointed chin. “These girls get into trouble and can’t face the consequences.”

Liza turned to stare at them, tears running down her face. With their morality and fine waistcoats, they had no idea of Annie’s tragic circumstances.

What did she have to live for?

“We should raise a question in Parliament,” said the bearded man. “It’s disrespectful to the monument.”

“It’s the local council’s responsibility. Perhaps they should install a gate over the viewing area.”

“It’s a shame to ruin everyone’s view for the weakness of a few girls.”

Liza couldn’t bear it anymore. “You hypocrites!” she screamed. “Instead of a gate, perhaps you could make it illegal for a gentleman to ruin a decent maid.”

“You’re blaming us? The girl was unbalanced, and she fell.” The bearded man nudged the thin man in the ribs.

“Not a bad jest, that. Unbalanced.”

“You could have saved her, if you wanted to.” Liza didn’t recognize her own voice.

The two men stared at her as though she was an escapee from an asylum.

Simon stepped forward. “That’s enough gawking. Move along. Gentlemen like yourselves have better things to do with your time.”

The thin man began to take offense, but stopped short when he noticed Simon’s royal livery. He grabbed his friend by the sleeve and moved on. Liza closed her eyes in relief.

The blood seeped into Liza’s riding skirt and the small stones embedded in the pavement dug into her knees. She reached out to brush a lock of Annie’s short red hair from her cheek.

“They even took away your lovely hair,” whispered Liza. No doubt the Mary Magdalene House had considered it sinful. “It was your best feature.” As if it mattered to Annie now.

Annie’s left hand gripped a cheap woolen scrap of cloth. Liza pried it out of her hand. It was a baby blanket, embroidered with pretty blue flowers. Blinking against the sunlight, she looked up to the top of the monument.

Such a long way to fall.

“Liza.” Will’s comforting voice finally roused her. His familiar figure was kneeling at her side.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said somberly.

“Will, it’s Annie. She’s dead,” Liza cried.

“I know,” he said. “Let me take you away.” He tried to pull her up, but she knelt rooted to the ground.

“The baby died.” Her voice sounded thin, as though coming from far away. “Annie couldn’t bear it. She threw herself off the monument.”

Will’s hand tightened around hers.

“What did she have to lose?” Liza’s voice had grown louder and more strident.

“Liza, stop, people are staring.”

“What do I care?” She spoke over Will’s attempts to hush her. “What happens to Annie now? She can’t even be buried properly—not a suicide!” Liza began to cry, great sobs racking her body. “They bury suicides at crossroads.”

“Liza, forgive me, but…“ Will slapped her face hard.

The world came sharply, unhappily back into focus. “You didn’t have to do that,” Liza said dully.

Will’s eyes darted around the curious crowd staring at them. “Yes, I did. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I can’t leave her alone.”

Will cast about for a solution. His eyes lit upon Simon who stood on the other side of Annie’s body, keeping the crowd back.

“You, in the Duchess’s livery!”

Simon looked over and then behind him, as if he couldn’t believe Will was talking to him.

“His name is Simon,” said Liza.

“Simon, come here.”

Simon stalked over. “Who are you to be ordering the Duchess’s man about?” He towered over Will by at least half a foot.

“I’m a friend of Miss Hastings. Find a constable and tell him this…“ He looked down at Annie’s peaceful face, shorn of her magnificent hair, “this woman should be decently buried.”

Simon’s eyes hardened and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Will added, “Tell him the royal family is concerned and it must be done quietly.”

Simon hesitated a moment longer. “Very well,” he said, relenting. “Where will you take the young lady? The Princess has charged me with her safe return.”

“We’ll be at the coffee house on the corner.”

Simon nodded. “I’ll return with the carriage.”

Will lifted Liza to her feet by her elbows. Her knees buckled when she stood up and Will tightened his hold on her, supporting more of her weight.

“My skirt,” she said faintly. The long riding skirt was soaked in Annie’s blood.

“Can you lift it, fold it over or something?”

The practicalities of walking preoccupied Liza until they reached the coffee shop. The expression on Will’s face and the obvious quality of Liza’s dress convinced the restaurant owner to seat them, despite the blood on Liza’s hands and clothes.

“Black coffee,” Will ordered when the server approached. “And a measure of brandy in it.”

“Two?” the server asked, giving Liza a worried look.

“Two. And bring some cloths and warm water. The young lady witnessed an accident. She’s had a bad shock.”

Liza slumped against the high-backed chair. The rags came and Will gently wiped the worst of the blood and grime from her palms. When the coffee came, he placed a cup of steaming liquid in her hands.

“Drink.”

She took a sip and coughed at the bite of the brandy. “Will,” she began.

“Keep drinking.”

Liza obeyed, taking several more sips with Will watching. Finally the tightness in her chest began to ease. “How did you know to come for me?” she asked.

“I heard there was a suicide. I came—” he faltered.

“To see if there was a story,” Liza finished.

He took a sip of his own coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste. He added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and stirred. “You’ve a
knack for finding yourself in difficult situations, Liza. Why were you there? And dressed like you were riding with the Princess herself.”

“I was.” Her morning ride seemed an eternity ago. “Then Inside Boy came.”

Will shoved the table away from him, sending coffee sloshing out of his cup into the saucer. He glowered at the scandalized couple sitting next to them, who suddenly became very interested in the bottoms of their tea cups. “Liza, have you no thought for yourself? You’re risking everything. And for who? Annie Mason? Inside Boy?”

“He said,” Liza touched Will’s hand to claim his attention, “he said Annie was ready to talk to me about Sir John. She wouldn’t before, because she was afraid he might hurt her or the baby. But what did she have to lose now?”

“You should have stayed home.”

Liza raised her eyebrows. “You know me better.”

Will gave her a sour look. “And the Princess? Don’t tell me she consented?”

“Yes.” Thank goodness Victoria had not come with them.

“Where is Mr. Inside Boy Jones now? Don’t tell me he just left you there?” The look on Will’s face augured ill for Boy.

“Will, calm down. Boy must have seen her fall. He’d be terribly upset. You know he really cared about Annie. And I wasn’t alone. Simon was with me.”

“So now you’ve dragged the Duchess’s footman in it too.” Will tapped his spoon against his cup. “Liza Hastings, you’re in deep waters.”

“Stop scolding me,” she begged. “I have to decide what to do.”

“You’ll go home with that oversized fellow, and hope you still have a job. But I doubt it.”

“I’m not thinking about myself.” Liza put her coffee down, surprised at how sincerely she meant it. “We have to punish the people responsible for what happened to Annie.”

“That would be half the men in London.”

“I’ll start with the first one,” said Liza. “Sir John has to suffer for what he did to her.”

“The Conroys of the world don’t suffer for the likes of Annie.” Will shook his head. “Liza, love, he’s out of reach.”

Liza was thinking furiously. “Except for the press. He can’t stop your broadsheets. You came to the monument for a story, Will. Let me write it for you.”

“There’s no profit in it,” he said. “A gentleman taking advantage of a maid is too common a tale.” Will took another sip of syrupy coffee.

“This ending isn’t. Nor are the players. A powerful man, close to the Princess, abusing his power over a poor maid until she destroys herself? Your readers would pay for that.”

He shrugged.

“Please? It’s the right thing to do, regardless of how many sheets you sell.”

Exasperated, he said, “We’re back to this. You want me to choose a side: Sir John’s profits or your justice.”

“Will,” Liza said simply, “you’ve already chosen.”

Liza slumped against the side of the carriage. She didn’t look up as the gravel of the Palace drive crunched under the horses’ hooves. Kensington Palace looked eerie and quiet. Could it only have been a few hours ago she had left Victoria in the park?

Simon jumped down and opened the door.

“Thank you for your help,” Liza said in a low voice.

He shook his head sadly. “What happened ought not to have. But there’s nothing more to be done for Annie now.”

“You might be surprised.” As Liza turned toward the servants’ entrance, she said, “Sir John may discover it’s a mistake to ruin a maid.”

Simon looked about and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Liza, watch yourself. Sir John is not a man to cross. The lass, God rest her soul, will still be dead.”

Liza raised the knocker on the servant’s door, but before she let it fall, the door swung open and a hand reached out and pulled her inside the Palace. Nell’s eyes glowed like a cat’s in the dim hallway. “They want to see you the moment you return.”

“Who?”

“Sir John, the Duchess, Mrs. Strode, and the Baroness,” Nell answered.

“Of course. And I want to see them.”

Looking sidelong at Liza, Nell noticed her skirt. “What happened to the Princess’s riding habit? Is that blood?”

Liza looked down at the soiled fabric. “There was…an accident.”

“Oh, Miss Liza,” Nell moaned, shaking her head.

On the family’s side of the green baize door, the rooms were blazing with light. Liza’s shadow preceded her in sharp relief, as though eager for the coming scene. Angry voices could be heard in the Duchess’ drawing room. Nell squeezed her hand and scurried away. Liza took a deep breath and opened the door.

The Duchess was pacing. Her face was flushed, and coils of hair were tumbling out of her elaborate coiffure. Mademoiselle Blanche stood in the corner, her lips curved in a sly smile, holding smelling salts at the ready. Mrs. Strode’s formidable head was cast down and
her hands clasped together at her waist. The Baroness sat in the corner methodically chewing on caraway seeds. The Princess was nowhere to be seen.

Sir John, the one Liza most dreaded seeing, stood at the fireplace as though he owned the Palace. When she saw him, her stomach began churning and bile rose in her throat.

“You! You wicked girl,” The Duchess shrieked at Liza. For once, she remembered to speak English. “You let the Princess consort with a commoner!”

Before Liza could answer, the Duchess went on, “And if that wasn’t enough, the Princess wanted to go off on some adventure in the slums.” She jabbed a finger at Liza. “And you, Miss…Miss…would have let her go!”

“No, I didn’t—” Liza began.

“And you stole my carriage! I’ll have you jailed!”

Liza tried again. “The Princess lent it—”

“As if the Princess has any authority in this house!” The Duchess turned her ire on the Baroness. “Lehzen, you assured me the girl was of good moral fiber, but she’s a liar and a thief.”

“Your Grace, once again the Baroness has placed someone unsuitable around the Princess,” drawled Sir John. “Remember the previous maid? Lewd, she was. The Baroness lacks the necessary judgment to be Victoria’s governess.”

The Baroness said nothing, but her broad shoulders tensed from fear. Liza’s heart sank. She had expected to be blamed, and rightly so. Her friendship with Inside Boy and her curiosity about Annie had led her to this moment. But now her rashness had put Baroness Lehzen at risk, too. Sir John might find a way to get rid of the Baroness once and for all. Victoria would be left friendless and alone.

With Annie’s lifeblood on her skirt, Liza could not bear to let Sir John win again. She cleared her throat and said as firmly as she could, “It’s not the Baroness’s fault Sir John seduced Annie Mason.”

The room was silent.

Liza spoke quickly before Sir John could deny it. “Annie Mason was dismissed because she was carrying Sir John’s child.”

The Duchess’s mouth dropped open, and slowly her eyes turned from Liza to Sir John. The Baroness stared ahead fixedly. Mrs. Strode’s mouth moved as though she were praying.

“It’s a lie!” exploded Sir John. “The slut was thrown out; she’ll say anything to discredit the family.”

“It’s not a lie. She delivered the baby in November!”

Sir John stepped closer to Liza. “Lying piece of baggage!” He raised his hand as if to hit her in the face. Liza stood her ground. For the first time, her eyes were not afraid to meet his.

“Sir John!” The Duchess’s face paled. “There will be no violence in my drawing room!”

“I beg your pardon, Duchess, but these accusations are absurd.” With obvious effort, he brought his hand to his side and composed himself. “That baby could be anyone’s.”

“You deny you ruined her?” Liza asked. Her stomach ached with all of her anger.

“Of course I do.” He fidgeted under Liza’s stare. “And even if I did—what does it matter?”

Unexpectedly, the Duchess contradicted him. “It would matter to me,” she said. “Lehzen, what do you know of this?”

“Nothing, Your Grace. Mrs. Strode told me Annie was dismissed only after she was gone,” said the Baroness grimly. “I was not consulted.”

The Duchess’s face puckered in confusion. “Mrs. Strode—why did you dismiss her?”

“Sir John said it was necessary,” Mrs. Strode said in the intonation of the perfect servant. No one looked at Sir John.

The door opened and Nell came in. Everyone’s eyes followed her as she handed a folded note to Sir John. He slowly read it through. A smile crossed his lips before he controlled his face again. He shoved the note in his vest pocket.

“Let this Annie accuse me to my face,” he said smoothly.

The Duchess looked doubtful. “If she’s just had a baby, can she travel? When I had Victoria, I was laid up for months. The Duke made me come from Germany during the final month of my confinement so Victoria would be born in Britain. Sir John, do you remember?”

“Your Grace, I do recall.” Sir John closed his eyes for a moment. “But to the matter at hand, bring the girl here so everyone can see how ridiculous these charges are.”

Liza stared at him in dismay.

How does he know Annie can’t bear witness against him?

“She’s dead,” Liza muttered. Her hand touched the still moist blood on her skirt.

“What? What did you say?” asked the Duchess.

“Annie Mason killed herself today.”

“If she would do such a wicked thing, then she would not hesitate to lie about Sir John.” The Duchess glanced over at Sir John, looking for his agreement. His expression was so smug, Liza wanted to slap his face.

The Baroness spoke in her gravelly voice, “What about the child?”