Prisoners in the Palace (10 page)

Inside Boy pulling at her sleeve, Liza dragged her feet to read the placards. She hadn’t read any news since she arrived at Kensington Palace.

A young man was shouting the headlines in a hoarse voice. “‘Princess Victoria Stark Raving Mad!’ Halfpenny to read all about it.”

Liza stalked over, hands braced on her hips. The young man grinned, revealing bright white teeth that stood out against the pale peach fuzz on his chin, and pointed to a placard pasted on the brick wall behind him.

“‘Daft and Demented. The Princess Unfit to be Queen!’ Read all about it,” he shouted in a singsong voice.

Gritting her teeth, Liza asked for a paper. It was the same broadsheet as the one she had stolen for the Princess. Her fists crushed it in a ball.

“Hey! You haven’t paid for that yet!” he said.

“It’s rubbish!” Liza replied, filled with anger. “Who writes these lies?”

“I do!” he said, indignant. “And I had the information on excellent authority.” A group of street urchins leaned against the building, enjoying the show.

“Your ‘authority’ is full of twaddle. And you are the worst kind of hack to repeat it,” Liza answered.

“Who are you to call me a hack?”

Inside Boy’s eyes were wide with glee. “Miss Elizabeth Hastings of Kensington Palace,” he said. “Meet Will Fulton, publisher and hack.”

Feeling a blush creep up to the roots of her hair, Liza stared at Will Fulton. His green eyes stared back.

Inside Boy went on talking while Liza and Will Fulton stood mute. “Will Fulton, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. I told you about the tantrums, but I never said the Princess threw a book at her teacher. And for certs, I never said the Princess shouldn’t be Queen.”

Fulton’s eyes didn’t leave Liza’s face. “I’ve got more than one source.”

Liza turned to Inside Boy. “You work for him?”

“Don’t look daggers, Miss.” Inside Boy looked sheepish. “Last fall I was stony-broke, and Will offered me a bit of coin to pass on interestin’ facts and circumstances.”

“But it’s not true!” she cried.

“Miss Liza, that story didn’t come from me. You forget I know these people. As if I’d prefer the Duchess to the Princess,” Inside Boy said. “Will, ‘oo told you such foolishness?”

“Yes, who fed you these lies about the Princess?” Liza asked.

Fulton leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “My sources are confidential.” He went on, “And how do you know she’s not a nitwit?”

“I live at the Palace.” She held up the crumpled ball of newspaper and shook it in Fulton’s face. “Her Highness is proficient in four languages. She has a good sense of history and economics. Her geography is not the best, but, I assure you, she’s not feeble-minded.”

Grinning broadly at her recitation, he opened the door with a neatly lettered sign that said Fulton’s Press and called inside, “Stop the presses! The Princess isn’t good at geography!”

Liza pressed her lips together to keep from betraying her knowledge of an unladylike word and stomped her booted foot. Noticing the curious bystanders, Fulton gestured to Inside Boy to pack up his newspapers and held the door open for Liza to pass within. “I apologize for my manners, Miss Hastings. Come in and we can discuss this in a civilized way.”

The first thing Liza noticed was a loud rumbling coming from the back of the building. The clean room had a large desk in the center with several chairs scattered around it. Her eyes watered from the strong vinegary smell of printer’s ink. Fulton offered her a chair and a glass of ale, apologizing he had not the means to make a proper tea.

“Ale is fine, thank you,” she said, marveling that she was drinking ale alone with a young man.

Inside Boy came into the shop burdened with the broadsheets. “Is Jim in the back? I’d like to say ‘ello.”

Fulton nodded, and Inside Boy disappeared through a door in the back corner. The rumble became a roar when the door was opened. Liza caught a glimpse of a large, iron press, churning off broad sheets of newsprint. Fulton sat down across from her and placed two glasses on the desk. She noticed his ink-stained hands had long, well-shaped fingers.

“I should’ve realized the Princess’s lady would be upset with my article.”

Liza almost told him she wasn’t a lady anymore. For a moment, Liza toyed with letting him believe she was still a lady.

But Inside Boy will tell him if I don’t.

“I’m the Princess’s maid,” Liza said in a low voice, unable to meet his eyes.

“Her what?”

“Her maid.”

He guffawed, displaying his bright straight teeth. “I don’t believe it, not with that coat and that accent.”

“I just started working there.” She was anxious to turn the conversation back to Victoria. “But I’ve been present at the Princess’s lessons. She’s no fool.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes sources disagree. What’s a publisher to do?”

“Publisher? You’re hardly older than I,” Liza said.

Spots of red appeared high on Fulton’s cheeks. “I may be young but I write news. I print it. I sell it. By definition, I’m a publisher.”

“How can you call it news when it’s all falsehood?” She slapped her hand on the desk.

He held up his arm warding off her anger, but a grin snuck onto his face. “It’s all a matter of perspective, Miss Hastings.”

“Truth is truth and lies are lies. There’s no in between, Mr. Fulton.” She cleared her throat and said in a stronger voice, “You should destroy them!”

“I can’t afford to toss my profit in the trash,” he protested. “Let the Princess buy every copy if she’s so upset.”

“Isn’t the truth more important than profit?” Liza asked tartly.

“When I’m rich, I’ll say yes. But for now, I’ve my living to earn.” His voice was reasonableness itself. “I’ll tell you what, I won’t print any more. That’s more than fair. This looked to be a popular edition.”

Liza took a sip of ale. Licking the foam from her lips, she considered him. His hair was an agreeable sandy color. She tapped the crumpled paper with her gloved hand. “How much do I owe you?”

“Keep your money. I’ll consider the Princess to be in my debt.” His chair tilted back and his arms folded, Will contemplated Liza. “I could use information from someone well placed like yourself.” He waited for Liza’s reaction.

“Be one of your sources? I think not.”

Why does everyone want me to be a spy?

“Why not?” He grinned. “Inside Boy brought you here for a reason.”

Liza glanced toward the back of the shop, where Inside Boy had disappeared. “I asked him to bring me…”

Did I? Or was it his idea?

“Maybe he wanted to help you. I pay well.” Fulton rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Boy’s earned ten pounds since he moved into Kensington.”

“But I couldn’t possibly spy on the Princess,” Liza said.

“Who asked you to spy? I want her willing participation. If her enemies are spreading rumors about her, this is a way to fight back.”

Liza opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it with a snap. Fulton had a point. The Princess might leap at a chance to communicate with her future subjects. And Liza needed the money. She was sure Mr. Arbuthnot at Claridge’s was just counting the days until he could sell her things.

Could this be how I pay my father’s debts?

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Liza said, “The Princess’s life is very dull, you know.”

“So are the days of most young ladies,” he reminded her. “My readers will be reassured by her domestic doldrums.”

“She’s only sixteen.”

“An age when most girls are launched in society, attending balls and dreaming of young men. Which handsome prince is Victoria dreaming about?”

Liza caught her breath. If her parents had lived, she would be one of those girls, planning her season, saving her dance cards. But she would never have met an enterprising young man like Mr. Fulton at a society ball. She stared at his stained hands.

“Well?” Fulton interrupted her reverie.

Liza came back to herself and half surrendered. “I’ll ask her, but only on the condition you stop selling the paper.”

His eyes gleamed and he seemed more delighted than discomfited. “You strike a hard bargain, Miss Hastings.” He held out his hand and they shook. His grip was firm. “Talk to your Princess and send me word by Inside Boy.”

Inside Boy came back in the room. “Miss, we ‘ave to go.”

Liza would not have minded more conversation with Mr. Fulton,
but she was careful not to show it. “Mr. Fulton, thank you for your hospitality. It has been a most interesting discussion.”

“Please, Miss Hastings. Call me Will. If we are going to work together—”

Inside Boy looked sharply at Liza. “‘as ‘e got you into ‘is web? Lousy spider, ‘e is.”

“I’m undecided,” Liza said.

Inside Boy shook his head in warning. “Remember Miss Liza, ‘e’s a newspaper man. ‘tis job is to get people to say things they’ll regret. But it’s your funeral, Miss. Let’s go.”

“You know how to find Annie?” she asked.

Shooting a look at Will, Inside Boy said briefly, “We’ll talk about it outside.”

Will leaned forward and Liza saw the investigator’s gleam in his eyes. “Annie. Would this be Annie Mason, late of Kensington Palace?”

“Yes,” Liza said.

At the same moment, Inside Boy said, “‘tis none of your business, Will.”

Will’s face was stern. “Why are you visiting her?”

Inside Boy drew his finger across his throat.

Taking his hint, Liza said, “It’s not any of your concern, Mr. Fulton.”

Will turned on Inside Boy. “I know Annie’s a friend of yours, but she’s not fit to meet Miss Hastings.”

“‘tis none of your business,” Inside Boy repeated.

“It’s any gentleman’s business to protect a lady,” Will retorted.

Liza felt lightheaded; no one had tried to protect her since her parents died.

“You’re no gentry cove, Will Fulton,” said Inside Boy in a sour voice.

“Miss Hastings,” Will said. “You shouldn’t go there.” He stepped closer and she could smell the vinegar on his shirt and the yeasty ale on his breath.

“You can’t stop us, Mr. Fulton,” Liza said. Handsome or not, he was trying to keep her from her duty.

“I’ll go with you then,” he said. “Trust me, in that neighborhood, you want someone a bit more imposing than Boy here for protection.”

Will locked up his shop and they set off through the crowds of Saturday shoppers, rushing past with their baskets and packages. Sea gulls screeched above and the wind carried the foul smell of the Thames River. Inside Boy led them through a series of narrow, dirty streets. The houses were poorly built and leaned against each other for support. Liza wondered, were one removed, would they all fall down? A stream of stinking waste was discarded from an upper window; fortunately Inside Boy was alert to such dangers and held Liza back. Will was not as lucky, his pants got splattered with the fetid liquid. He shook off as much as he could, disgusted.

Inside Boy finally stopped in front of a dilapidated wooden house. The windows sagged but the oak door was stout. Liza heard raised voices inside.

Will put his fist to the door. “Are you sure?” he asked Liza.

“I promised Her Highness.”

“Stubborn,” Will muttered. Liza hid a smile behind her gloved hand.

He pounded on the door, and the shouting stopped. Eventually a woman opened the door a crack and peered out. Liza stifled an exclamation when she saw the woman’s face.

Pox!

The woman’s face was covered with old craters that had once held the dreaded smallpox. “No snoozin’ kens,” the landlady said and tried to slam the door shut.

Will shoved his boot between the door and the jamb. “We don’t want rooms.”

Liza stepped forward. “I’m looking for Annie Mason.”

“What do you want with that light skirt?” She spat on the doorstep, just missing Liza’s boot. “You’re no better than she is, no doubt.”

Liza took a step back.

“Some friends want to see her,” said Inside Boy, passing a coin through the door.

The landlady shoved the coin in her pocket, swung open the door and said, “Top o’ the stairs, first door on the left. There’d better be no trouble.”

Liza gritted her teeth and entered a small, dingy hallway. The smell of onions and an overpowering odor of too many unwashed people hung heavy in the hall.

“How many people live here?” she asked Will.

He shrugged. “I doubt the landlady keeps count. But she’ll get her rent from each one of them, no question.”

Inside Boy darted ahead. With foreboding weighing down every step, Liza followed. Will brought up the rear.

Annie’s room was narrower than Liza’s room at the Palace. A thin mattress of straw lay on the floor and a battered valise sat in a corner. Liza couldn’t help staring at the woman standing just inside
the door. She had imagined Annie like herself—petite and blonde. But Annie was an Amazon—very tall with red, curly hair and pale eyes. Her white Carrara marble–like skin gleamed against her blue velvet gown trimmed with tattered lace. Modest enough once, the dress had been altered to display more of her full bosom, though the bones at the base of her neck jutted out. Liza couldn’t help but think how pretty Annie would be without her cut and swollen lip.

“Boy, I’m glad to see you,” Annie said. Her gravelly voice made Liza wonder if she had just risen from bed, though the noon bells of St. Paul’s chimed in the distance.

Inside Boy twisted his cap in his hands. “Annie, you asked for ‘elp. Course I came.”

“It took you long enough. Did you give Victoria my letter?”

“I gave it to ‘er.” He pointed to Liza. “She found a way to get it to the Princess. You know ‘ow they are—she ain’t ever alone.”

“Who’s she? One of those do-gooders who want to help but don’t know how? Someone tried last month to get me into service again. As if I’d ever do that.” Annie tugged her sleeves down to her wrists, but not before Liza saw the cruel bruises ringing her forearm.

“Quit it, Annie.” Inside Boy’s face tightened. “This is Miss Liza, ‘oo’s got your place with the Princess.”

Annie stared down at Liza. “Didn’t take them long to replace me,” she said, bitterness twisting her mouth. “Don’t start thinking of it as home, they’ll throw you out like a used rag when they’re done with you.”

Liza couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “Your letter said Sir John daren’t let you stay at the Palace. What did you mean?”

“Did he send you?” Annie asked suspiciously.

“No, of course not.”

“Then never mind what I meant. I’m safer if I say nothing. I never should have written that letter.”