Prisoners in the Palace (17 page)

Liza nodded again. The Duchess always referred to the King’s ten illegitimate children as “the bastardy,” and worried that their lack of morals could contaminate the innocent Princess. Tears rolled down the Queen’s cheeks. She dabbed them with a damp handkerchief. Liza handed her a newly laundered piece of linen from her own pocket.

“Thank you, I’m sure you are a comfort to the Princess,” she sniffed. “Will you take a message to her? Away from the Duchess’s ears, if you don’t mind.”

“I would do anything for you.”

Anything, but confess what the Princess and I did.

“Tell Victoria all the stories are false.” The Queen brushed a strand of hair back into her simple bun. “Her position as the heir is safe.”

The Queen blew her nose in Liza’s handkerchief and stood up. She staggered a little and put her hand on Liza’s shoulder. “My goodness, the Duchess’s sherry is very potent.”

“Go slowly, Your Majesty,” Liza said, ashamed of her lies about this harmless old woman.

“Call my carriage.”

Liza rang the bell. Nell’s arrival was suspiciously quick, her curious eyes darting to the Queen’s face and back to Liza’s.

“Her Majesty’s carriage, Nell.”

Bobbing, Nell scurried out. The Queen’s eyes were closed and she was deep in thought; Liza waited patiently.

Finally, Queen Adelaide said, “I have to send some message to the Duchess.” Her eyes began watering again.

Liza’s words spilled out before she could stop them. “Your Majesty, the Duchess meant to hurt your feelings. Why give the satis-faction of leaving a message?”

“A girl with a mind of her own.” The Queen raised her eyebrows and peered more closely at Liza.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Nonsense, very few people stand on ceremony with me.” The Queen pressed her fingers to her eyelids. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Elizabeth Hastings.”

“Miss Hastings, take good care of my niece.”

“I will, Your Majesty.”

Liza lay the Queen’s cloak on her shoulders. As Adelaide left, she glanced back at the Duchess’s portrait above the mantle. “We were such friends once,” she sighed.

Liza watched the Queen walk down the stairs. The rolled up newspaper in her stocking pressed against her thigh, accusing her of plotting against the Queen. Liza knew she was guilty as charged.

Liza had to wait until after dinner to reach the safety of her room. Bolting the door behind her, Liza pulled out the broadsheet. There was her story. She turned it over. The moment she saw the title, she groaned. “A Cuckold in the Palace?” Will had accused the Queen of having another man’s baby.

“But there never was a baby,” Liza whispered. She read on, sick at heart. The father was supposed to be Lord Howe, who ran the Queen’s household, and, according to the broadsheet, took a great many other liberties besides. Relations were strained, the paper went on to report, between the Queen and Lord Howe’s wife.

Shaken, Liza lay the paper down.

How could Will do this?

Just when she was beginning to like him, he ruined it by writinga vicious lie. Of course, the Princess had started it, with Liza’s help.

Tonight, when Victoria came for her midnight visit, Liza was determined they would both shoulder the blame for hurting the kind Queen Adelaide.

“Finally, we are tête-à-tête,” said Victoria later that night in the security of Liza’s room. “Tell me—what did the Queen say?”

“First you must read this.” Liza handed her Will’s broadsheet. She waited as Victoria, making tiny distressed cries at each accusation, read it through.

The Princess’s mouth gaped open in dismay. “For heaven’s sake, what has he done?” she cried. “This wasn’t what I wanted!” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Liza handed the Princess a clean handkerchief. “The Queen is unpopular. She can’t give her husband the only thing he married her for—an heir. We used her tragedy against her.”

“I only wanted to tease Sir John. I never thought about Auntie Adelaide.”

“Neither of us did,” Liza said. “But we should have.”

“Liza, you shouldn’t speak to me that way,” Victoria said uncertainly.

“We only thought of hurting Sir John, but other people suffered for our thoughtlessness.”

“I won’t stand to be scolded by my maid.” Victoria’s cheeks were bright pink and her nostrils flared. “Take it back, or you are finished working for me.”

Without pausing, Liza shot back, “I’d rather be on the street like Annie Mason, than lie for you again.”

“What does Annie have to do with this?” Victoria demanded crossly. “You are the one being impertinent and rude. Take it back.”

“You never thought what might happen to Annie after she left. You didn’t consider the Queen’s feelings. You put me at risk all the time.”

“Remember who you are speaking to, Liza.” Victoria’s voice was sharp as a shard of crystal.

“You are impossibly above me, but that’s all the more reason you should do the right thing and admit you were wrong.” All her prospects rested on Victoria’s good will, but Liza was tired of mincing her words. “We behaved badly, Your Highness.”

The Princess’s perfect posture seemed to slump a little. She rubbed at her cheek with the back of her plump hand. “Perhaps you are right,” she said in a low voice.

Liza wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “What did you say?”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” the Princess said. “I’m going to be the Queen, and I should take responsibility for my actions.” She nodded as though something momentous had been decided. “But you were very rude, Liza.”

“Forgive me, Princess.” An apology was a small price to pay for the Princess’s admission.

“And I’m sorry I threatened to fire you. It was unworthy of me.” The Princess threw herself on Liza’s bed and pounded the thin pillow with her small fists. “Our article was such a lovely idea, but somehow, Sir John wins again!” she cried. “I hate him. If I didn’t know better, I would suspect him of fabricating that second rumor himself.”

Both girls turned toward each other.

“Could he?” asked the Princess.

“It’s part of his plan to use the press,” Liza exclaimed. “Why not write the story he wants himself?”

“But Liza, how? Isn’t it too remarkable a coincidence your friend would publish both stories?”

Liza remembered Will’s thoughtful look after he had asked her if the article were true. “Not if Sir John is Will’s other source. He must have commissioned the second article to counter ours.”

“Sir John took our little musket shot and turned it into a cannon ball.” The Princess’s father had been a soldier and she liked military metaphors. “But that means he must have written the one saying I was feeble-minded!”

Liza bit her lip to keep from smiling at the Princess’s outrage.

“I don’t think much of your Mr. Fulton for printing all these falsehoods,” the Princess said.

Liza’s first instinct was to agree, but she had to be fair. “Perhaps Mr. Fulton doesn’t think much of us for telling all these lies. He prints what will sell. We ought to know better.”

“What do we do now?” the Princess asked.

“We must be sure Sir John is behind this,” Liza said. “There have been enough unsupported accusations.”

“When will you see Mr. Fulton again?”

“He invited me for tea on Sunday, but the Baroness said I can’t have the day out.”

“I wish I could go.” The Princess sounded wistful. Of all the things she could ever do, meeting a young man at a teahouse was among the least likely. “I’ll take care of Lehzen. You go to town and get the truth out of him.”

Storm clouds threatened, casting an ominous gloom over Fleet Street.

“Where are we going?” Liza asked again. Will’s grip on her arm was fierce and his face was forbidding. “I won’t take another step unless you tell me.”

“Somewhere we can talk,” he said gruffly. He dragged her along even faster, turning down a tiny alley she had never noticed before. She glimpsed a metal sign creaking in the wind. Fat raindrops began to splash the pavement as they arrived at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, a public house. Will pulled open the oak door, but Liza held back.

Will muttered, “It’s respectable enough.”

Taking a deep breath, Liza followed him into a gloomy passage strewn with sawdust. To her right was a bar with
a sign proclaiming No Females Allowed. On her left, a chop room was filled with patrons, including, she was relieved to see, some ladies. She sniffed the air, surprised at the rich smells of meat and puddings.

The hostess led them to a table near the unused fireplace in the chop room. Liza sat down, adjusted her shawl, and placed her reticule on the table. Will sat with his back to the wall, his forefingers pressed together in a steeple.

Liza pulled off her gloves, finger by finger. Will watched her, his face impassive. Finally, she could bear the silence no more.

“You should be ashamed of publishing that awful story!” she exclaimed.

“Which awful story are you referring to?” he asked, his tone dangerously quiet.

“Those lies about the Queen! She’s no more an adulteress than I’m the Empress of Persia.” Liza was trembling, but she met his gaze squarely.

Will’s green eyes saw right through her. “How was my story any less true than your little concoction?”

Liza’s eyes dropped to her own hands. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

Will brought his fists down hard on the well-worn table. Liza was glad they hadn’t been served. “Lies don’t become you, Liza Hastings.” The cutting edge in his voice made Liza jerk as though Will had slapped her. “You knew the Queen wasn’t pregnant. You lied to my face.”

“I didn’t tell you she was an adulteress,” she said, tilting her chin up defiantly. “That was despicable.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” he shot back. “I had sources, of dubious reliability grant you, for both stories. I did my job and printed them. It was a popular edition; I sold twenty-five hundred copies.”

“You don’t care what you publish so long as you turn a profit.”

“Oh, I made a tidy sum off both.” Will reached into his pocket and counted out five sovereigns into his hand. “Here’s your share.” He tossed them in front of Liza.

Liza stared at the coins. One heavy gold coin spun on its edge a few times then toppled over. The coins were what she’d earn in two months at the Palace. She would have given everything she owned to take the money honestly.

“I didn’t do it for the money.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Didn’t you?” asked Will. “Or are you claiming it was your duty to Victoria?”

“It was the Princess’s idea,” Liza found herself stammering, “but I knew it was wrong.” To her dismay, one tear, and then another, and then another rolled down her cheeks.

Faced with tears in a public house, Will’s face lost some of its grimness. “Don’t cry, Liza.” He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Please, don’t cry.”

His kindness cut Liza worse than his anger had. Liza sobbed as though a sluice had been opened; all the fear and tension of the past few months poured out. Will waited her out patiently, then waved the server over.

“Tea for two,” said Will. The server hurried away.

With a final sniff, Liza noticed the ink stains on the handkerchief, “Heavens! Will, do I have ink on my face?”

He shook his head, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. Liza marveled that harmony could be restored so quickly between them. The server set two china cups in front of them. Staring down at the willow pattern painted on the saucer, Liza sipped the steaming pale brown liquid. The tightness in her chest eased.

“Will, I apologize for such a display.”

“Accepted.” Will began spooning sugar into his cup. “I’m sorry I threw money at you. That was cruelly done. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I did. Will, I hated lying to you, but Victoria wanted to make mischief.”

“At the Queen’s expense?”

“She didn’t think about Adelaide, I’m afraid,” said Liza. “She just wanted a little revenge against her mother and Sir John Conroy.” At Will’s skeptical look, she rushed on. “Everything depends on Victoria, but they treat her like she’s an idiot child. They plot against her to steal the throne. She wanted to punish them.” Liza sighed. “But I knew better.”

Will settled back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head, frowning a little as his coat tightened across his shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself entirely: I knew it wasn’t true.”

Liza’s jaw dropped. “Then why did you print it?” she asked.

“It was a legitimate rumor.” Will shrugged. “The people may not like Adelaide, but they want to read about her. I sold out of three print runs. The second sheet sold twice as many as the first.”

“We’re back where we started. That awful story about the Queen and her Lord Chamberlain.” She watched him closely over her teacup. “Will, who gave you that story?”

“Liza, I’ve sworn not to reveal my source.”

“It’s Sir John Conroy, isn’t it?”

“I cannot say.”

“Will, it must be!” Liza insisted. “Who has more to lose if the Queen bears a child? And accusing the Queen of adultery is the quickest way to discredit a new heir.”

“What about Victoria?” said Will with a mischievous smile. “She would lose everything.”

“She knew none of it was true.”

“What about her mother?”

Liza’s eyes grew wide. “The Duchess gave you the story?”

“I didn’t say so.”

“Will!”

He relented. “Liza, I’ve never met Sir John.” Liza started to protest, but Will held up his hand. “I receive the information under my print shop door in the night.” He saw her face and chuckled ruefully. “It sounds ridiculous, but until now the stories have been accurate enough.”

“The Princess can’t trust anyone in that house.”

“Liza, nor can you.” He put his hand over Liza’s. “And you should not trust the Princess either. You are dependent on the royals for your living. It’s different for me. If Sir John, or someone else close to the Princess, wants to tell tales out of school, then I’ll publish them and make my fortune.”

“That story about the Princess throwing her books could only come from Sir John.”

“Then, it’s Sir John. It matters not a whit to me.”

“But he’s using you!”

Will lifted his eyebrows. Liza had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Liza, we all use each other. Sir John sends me a story for his own reasons, and I sell broadsheets. Many, many broadsheets.”

“You print his lies for money. You work for him.” Liza’s distress wiped the smile from his face.

“Victoria pays you,” he said reasonably. “What’s the difference?”

“She’s my future Queen for one thing,” Liza pointed out. “And I won’t let her use me to do something despicable again. But you spread Sir John’s lies to hundreds of people through your paper!”

“Thousands,” he corrected her with pride.

“Thousands then. He’s evil. I couldn’t bear to be your friend if you work for him.”

Will was staring at her, his brow furrowed, as though he didn’t believe what he had heard. “You’d end our…association because I print Conroy’s stories?”

Liza nodded. Will picked up one of the coins and rubbed his fingers across the engraving. Liza forced herself to keep still, while Will made his decision. Would he choose Liza or profit? She blinked against more tears. Until she had risked losing his friendship, Liza hadn’t admitted to herself how much she valued it. Will was decent and kind, and her only friend outside the Palace. Oh, why had she issued that ultimatum?

Will drained his tea cup. “Liza, give me some time to think on it. I’ve my livelihood to consider. And my employees. Sir John’s stories sell a lot of papers. I told you before; I’m not rich enough to be high-minded.”

Liza considered how to reconcile her needs with Will’s. A scrap of a conversation and a fragment of a letter came to her mind. She weighed the sovereigns in her hand and thought about Annie Mason. “What if we could sell just as many papers and hurt Sir John at the same time?” she asked slowly.

Warily, Will asked, “How?”

Liza didn’t know how Will kept his bearings in the maze of filthy streets. “Thank you for taking me to Annie’s house,” she said.

“First, you don’t know how to get there on your own,” he said.

“And second?”

“A pretty girl like you wouldn’t last five minutes out here alone.”

Liza might have protested, if she could have caught her breath. Will thought she was pretty.

She looked around, her eyes widening at the number of dirty children swarming the streets. “Don’t they go to school?” she asked.

“Education costs,” Will said over his shoulder. “Who would pay?”

“You managed.”

“I was lucky. My uncle thought it worthwhile to invest in me. He was right, I’ve paid him back every penny.” Will drew his back straight and his chest puffed out.

“Will, you’ve been successful. Tell me how can I earn a lot of money?” Liza asked.

Will stopped short. Ignoring the passersby trying to maneuver past them, he asked, “Are you in trouble, because I—”

“My father left me nothing but debts.” She tugged on his arm, and they began to walk again.

“A daughter isn’t responsible for her father’s obligations,” he said.

“Daughter or not, I’ll pay what’s owed,” Liza said with determination, but then the grim reality returned. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do it. I’ve nothing but my clothes and some jewelry. And Claridge’s is holding them until I pay forty-three pounds and two pence.”

Will whistled. “Your parents’ things must be worth more than that. Why don’t you sell them and pay Claridge’s with the proceeds?”

“It’s all I have of my family.”

“You really have nothing else?” asked Will.

“Papa’s solicitors told me there was nothing.”

“Did your father have a man of business?” He lifted her by the elbows over a noxious puddle, and steered her down a narrow street. “Maybe he embezzled your money.”

“Mr. Ripley was practically a member of the family. But he’s in India and I’ve no way to reach him.”

He tried another tack. “What about back home, in Munich?”

“The lawyer told me there was nothing,” Liza said. “I’m resigned to making my own way.”

“Liza, that’s all fine and well, but how? What does a maid earn?”

Staring at the cobblestones, Liza said, “Thirty pounds a year, but I owe almost four hundred and fifty.”

Will whistled again. “You might want to start by keeping those sovereigns I gave you.”

“Not if I earned them with a lie.” Liza was certain. “I’d rather spend it to buy the truth about Sir John Conroy. Annie wouldn’t tell me what she knew, but perhaps she’ll sell it to me.” They had arrived at Annie’s building.

“What if she doesn’t know anything?”

“She must,” Liza said. “In any case, she needs the money more than I do.”

Will lifted one foot and examined something slick and yellow on the sole. He scraped it off on the doorstep. “What’s Annie to you?”

“I have her position. I sleep in her room.”

“You’re nothing like Annie,” Will said with warmth in his voice. “You’re a lady.”

“I was a lady,” Liza corrected him. “Now I’m a maid like she was. She belonged to no one; I have no family. Am I so different? What wouldn’t I do to survive?”

Will took her hands in his and said fiercely, “Liza, you have friends. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

Marveling that Will didn’t hear her heart beating so loudly, Liza said, “Thank you, Will.”

She knocked on the door to the ramshackle house.

The same pock-faced woman opened the door. When she recognized them, she scowled. “Annie Mason don’t live ‘ere no more.” She smelled of cheap gin. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” She began to slam the door, but Will pushed it back open with the heel of his hand.

“We’ll make it worth your while.” He jingled some coins in his pocket and brought out ten shillings. “Just tell us how to find her.”

Staring at the coin, the landlady said, “I don’t rightly know. ‘er fancy man, Barnabas, ‘e threw ‘er out.”

Liza asked, “Did they quarrel?”

“Never did anything but. She kept shouting she wouldn’t do it, whatever it was. ‘e roughed ‘er about some, then told ‘er to get out. Gave me ‘er clothes in exchange for rent.”

“That’s despicable!” Liza exclaimed.

“‘e paid for ‘em, didn’t he?”

Will flipped the coin in the air with his thumb. “Surely you have some idea where she is?”

Her eyes fixed on the glint of metal, the old woman said, “You might try the Mary Magdalene ‘ouse.”

Will handed the woman the coin. She snatched it away and shut the door. Without a word, Will led Liza back through the warren of streets. Waste floated in the grooves of the street that served for sewers. Liza began to cough and gag from the vile smells. She pulled out Will’s handkerchief to cover her mouth.