Prisoners in the Palace (6 page)

After a meager breakfast of watery porridge, Liza met Nell at the Baroness’s door. Without knocking, Nell entered the surprisingly small bedroom, laid the breakfast tray complete with eggs, sausages, liverwurst, and tomatoes on a table and opened the curtains to the narrow window. She winked at Liza as she withdrew.

“Girl, bring the tray here,” the Baroness said from her narrow bed. The shelf hanging above her head on the wall overflowed with handmade dolls. From the corner of her eye, Liza recognized in each doll a past Queen of England.

The room was as cold as Liza’s own and the damp mingled with the Baroness’s lilac-scented perfume. Liza wrinkled her nose, trying without success to suppress a sneeze.

As if reading Liza’s mind, the Baroness said, “It is the fourth room assigned to me in as many years. Each room is smaller and worse than before. But Sir John is sorely mistaken if he thinks he can drive me away.” She smiled with satisfaction, as if her loyalty to the Princess was measured by her suffering.

Liza didn’t know what to say, so she bobbed a quick curtsy.

“So?” The Baroness was intent on her excavation of a boiled egg.

“Baroness?” Liza asked.

“What was the Duchess so upset about yesterday? Or did you forget my instructions?”

Liza described the Duchess’s reaction to the broadsheet and how Sir John comforted her. The Baroness did not seem surprised by the liberties Sir John had taken with the Duchess.

“Where is this newspaper?” the Baroness asked.

Liza wracked her brain. What had the Duchess done with it? “I think the Duchess kept it,” she said.

“Find it,” the Baroness ordered.

“I will look for it,” Liza promised.

The Baroness seemed satisfied, so Liza decided to hold back Sir John’s master plan to steal the throne. She’d keep the most valuable secrets to purchase the Princess’s gratitude.

“Now, help me up!” barked the Baroness.

Once she was upright, the Baroness shook off Liza’s help. Standing tall, she turned to face the wall, her back to Liza. Her plaits of gray hair hung down to her waist. She opened her arms wide.

Is she praying?

After a long moment, the Baroness said, “My dressing gown, Liza.”

I missed my first cue.

Liza hurried to help her put on the dressing gown, a thick gray flannel that appeared dull but was lined with soft astrakhan wool. The Baroness tightened the dressing gown belt and sat down at her battered vanity table.

“My hair,” Baroness Lehzen ordered.

Liza stepped forward and lifted one of the loose plaits of hair. They were heavy and smelled faintly of rancid grease. As Liza untied the rags, flakes of the Baroness’s scalp scattered on her shoulders. Liza gagged and the Baroness glared at her.

“Excuse me, Baroness, it must have been something I ate,” Liza lied, taking deep breaths to stave off nausea. She concentrated on the work her fingers had to do, and tried to keep her thoughts from drifting to her mother’s golden hair.

The braid completed to the Baroness’s satisfaction, Lehzen stood up, took off her dressing robe and then her nightdress. Liza found it easier to meet her black eyes than to look at her naked body.

“My corset.” The Baroness pointed. Standing behind the Baroness, Liza fit the stiff fabric around the stomach and then moved to the front to fasten it around the Baroness’s sagging abdomen. Her face frozen, Liza forced her fingers to lace it up.

“Tighter,” the Baroness said. “A woman is only as virtuous as her corset is unyielding.”

Only because she is too uncomfortable to think about sinning!

Liza pulled harder. She had performed this intimate service for her mother—but never had she realized how degrading it was to do it as a paid servant.

“Tighter.”

She pulled until the corset strings made deep painful creases in her fingers.

“Enough,” snapped the Baroness. “You’re hurting me.”

Holding back a sharp retort, Liza rubbed the welts on her hands. She muttered, “I’m sorry, Baroness.”

“Tomorrow, I trust you shall remember to pull just so hard and no harder.” Her lips pinched together as tightly as her corset laces. “Now, my gown.”

The gown was hanging with a dozen somber dresses in an armoire in the corner. Pulling the Baroness’s stockings up around her flabby legs carried its own humiliation. But finally, it was done: the Baroness was fully dressed.

“It is time to wake Victoria. The Duchess will still be sleeping, so be quiet.”

“Why doesn’t the Princess have her own room?” Liza asked. She wanted to see if the Baroness’s story matched the one she had heard in the servant’s hall. “After all, she’s nearly seventeen.”

“Victoria is our most precious jewel,” Lehzen said. “She is never alone.”

If the Princess was never alone, how was Liza to become her confidant? But at the moment she had a more urgent consideration: what was the proper distance for a lady’s maid to walk behind her employer?

Liza followed the Baroness through several antechambers until they entered a large bedroom with high ceilings and a beautiful marble fireplace. The room was warm and heavy with the cloying scent of flowers: Liza felt as though she was walking into a greenhouse. Although the room’s proportions were generous, it felt cramped. Glancing about, Liza understood why: there were two complete sets of furniture. Two writing desks. Two crystal jars of bonbons. Two wardrobes. Two ornate mahogany beds: one narrow and the other impossibly wide. Both were occupied. In her tiny bed, the Princess turned onto her stomach and groaned. The Duchess, a mask over her eyes, snored in hers.

A noise behind her made Liza whirl around. Dash, the Princess’s dog, slept in a miniature bed identical to the Princess’s. He too, was lying on his stomach, snoring.

“Prinzessin, it is time to rise,” the Baroness said.

“Not yet, Lehzen, just a few more minutes.”

The Princess burrowed into her thick feather pillow. Liza sighed as she remembered begging her mother for a little more time to sleep.

The Baroness would not be denied. “The future Queen must not be indolent.”

“‘Fie, you slugabed,’” Liza quoted.

The Baroness glared at Liza. “Did you just call the Princess a slug?”

“No, no…it’s from Romeo and Juliet,” Liza stammered. “The nurse says it to the heroine.”

From the bed came a muffled giggle. “At that point in the play, Liza, I do believe Juliet was dead. It’s not a very auspicious way to begin the day.”

Keeping her voice light, Liza replied, “O lamentable day!”

“Maybe not so much, now you are here,” Princess Victoria replied, a smile in her voice.

Her face creased with ill-temper, the Baroness scolded the Princess, “Victoria, a Princess does not joke with her maid.”

“Oh, Lehzen, don’t be tiresome.” The Princess sat up and stretched her arms wide.

“Liza, the lavender dressing gown from that wardrobe.” The Baroness pointed. The Princess had at least six dressing gowns in various colors, all exquisitely trimmed with ribbons, bows, and lace. The Baroness went to another closet to find matching embroidered slippers.

As soon as the Baroness’ back was turned, the Princess gave Liza a little wave. “I’m glad you stayed,” she said. “I’ve been very bored.”

Liza curtsied, feeling very daring. “I’ll do my best to amuse you, Your Highness.”

Dressed all in lavender, the Princess sat on a cushioned stool in front of her vanity table. The Baroness began to brush Victoria’s long fair hair with a tortoiseshell brush. “Eins, zwei, drei,” the Baroness counted.

Liza stood by, idle, except to wonder how many strokes the Baroness could possibly manage.

“Lehzen, surely fifty would be enough,” the Princess said, grimacing at her governess. “One hundred strokes every morning seems excessive.”

“Don’t be foolish, Vickelchen. Your hair is your best feature.”

Liza suspected this was a conversation repeated every morning.

Small wonder she is so bored.

When the Baroness reached fifty, she stopped brushing to knead her arthritic fingers.

Liza reached out. “Baroness, I can help.”

The Baroness struck Liza’s hand hard with the back of the brush. “I am the only one who brushes the Princess’s hair.”

Rubbing her stinging hand, Liza choked on her indignation. Never in all her life had she been struck. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. This girl, with sad, green eyes and red cheeks like splashes of paint on her pale skin, was a stranger.

Victoria gave Liza a small sympathetic smile. To her own surprise, Liza’s spirits rose.

The Princess’s morning toilette complete, the Baroness led the way to the schoolroom, where she had interviewed Liza the day before.

At the top of the narrow stairs, the Princess stopped and held out her arm.

Liza paused, unsure what to do. “Your Highness?” she asked.

“Take my arm,” the Princess said, her face scarlet with mortification. “I’m not permitted to walk down the stairs alone.”

Sixteen years old and not permitted to descend stairs alone?

“Victoria, you cannot take the slightest risk,” the Baroness said over her shoulder.

Liza took the Princess’s arm, trying to convey her support and sympathy with her eyes.

A solitary breakfast sat waiting for Victoria on the school table. While the Princess wolfed down her eggs and sausages, Liza stood in the corner trying not to think about food.

“Victoria, don’t gobble your breakfast,” the Baroness said, sipping her second cup of unsweetened tea.

“But it’s delicious.” Victoria shoved another sausage through her cupid’s bow lips.

“Princesses should not be greedy. It reflects badly on their upbringing—and on their waistline.”

The Princess put down her last sausage, gazing at it longingly. Liza stared too; her breakfast had been flavorless porridge and lukewarm tea. Her stomach made a long growling sound. The Princess giggled.

“Liza, why don’t you have the sausage?” Liza stepped forward, only to be stopped short by the Baroness’s scandalized expression.

“Victoria, what are you thinking? Your maid cannot eat with you!”

Liza slunk back to the corner.

“I don’t see why I can’t give away my own breakfast,” the Princess muttered.

Click-clack. The Duchess arrived, dressed in an elaborate morning gown of mauves and pinks in a riotous bouquet of bows and silk flowers.

“Good morning, Victoria.”

“Good morning, Mama.”

“I expect to hear good reports from your tutors. What are you doing today?” The Duchess looked at Baroness Lehzen who answered quickly.

“The customary schedule, Your Grace. At half past nine, geography, at half past ten, history, and the rites of the Church of England at half past eleven.”

The Princess sighed. “I hate the Kensington System. It is the bane of my existence. Why can’t Sir John ever let me rest?”

The Duchess frowned. “Sir John and I have designed the Kensington System to prepare you for your destiny. Parliament and the bishops think very highly of it.”

“But, Mama,” the Princess wailed, “I never have any time to myself. I never have any fun.”

“Time enough to have fun when you are grown, with the responsibilities of the nation on your shoulders.”

Liza noted the Princess accepted the Duchess’s ridiculous reasoning without question.

“Mama, you get to visit friends and go into town. Why can’t I? I’m sixteen!”

“Victoria, your ingratitude pierces my heart. After all the sacrifices I’ve made for you!” The Duchess waited, tapping her foot, but the Princess only sighed. Finally, the Duchess nodded to Lehzen to continue the schedule.

“At two o’clock,” the Baroness said in a monotone, “arithmetic, and at three o’clock, languages: Greek and Latin, followed by an hour of conversation in French.”

“Excellent. Work hard, my dear. I must dress to visit the Duchess of Northumberland.” With more click-clacks, the Duchess was gone. The Princess stuck her tongue out at her retreating back.

“Victoria!” the Baroness scolded. “What a rascal you are!”

“I’m sorry.” The Princess glanced at Liza. “Tell me Lehzen, I study so many languages, why not German?”

The Baroness shook her head. “The people do not want a German Queen; they want a British one.”

“The Queen’s guests will speak the language she, I mean I, choose.”

“All the more reason to be gracious. Queen Elizabeth spoke six languages.”

“But who wants to be like Elizabeth? So mannish. And she had black teeth.” The Princess ran her tongue delicately over her small teeth. “No wonder she never married.”

“They named an entire age after her,” said the Baroness with a sidelong smile. “You should be so fortunate!”

“A Victorian age. It has distinction,” murmured the Princess. “It’s a good thing they didn’t change my name. Liza, did you know last year it was proposed in Parliament that my name be changed to Charlotte after my dead aunt. But it came to nothing.” Victoria giggled. “Imagine, a Charlottian age!”

“Victorian is much better,” Liza agreed.

Dabbing the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, the Princess smiled.

“Victoria,” the Baroness began. “Don’t—”

“Be familiar. I know, Lehzen.”

After breakfast Princess Victoria’s school day began. Geography with Reverend Davys came first. The reverend was a bald elderly man, with one tuft of soft white hair on his chin. At first Liza thought his face seemed stern, but then she noticed the laugh wrinkles at the
corners of his eyes. He was not smiling this morning, however; the Princess had not learned her capital cities.

“Princess, what is the capital of Spain?” he asked.

Madrid.

“Lisbon!” the Princess said.

“Princess, no, it’s Madrid,” the reverend said. “Of which country is Lisbon the capital?”

The Princess put her hands on her hips. “Obviously, I thought it was Spain.”

“Princess, lack of preparation is not an excuse for rudeness.”

Liza was impressed; this reverend was not overawed by the Princess’s rank.

“What does it matter?” the Princess asked, shrugging her shoulders. “Spain hasn’t been important in centuries.”

“It may become so again. And in any case, Lisbon is not the capital of Spain.” The Reverend beckoned to Liza, “Maid, fetch an atlas so Her Highness can look it up herself.”

Liza placed the atlas on the table. Princess Victoria was pouting and barely looked up.

“Portugal,” Liza mouthed.

“What did you say?”

Liza widened her eyes, trying to warn the Princess.

“Liza, speak up,” the Princess insisted.

“Portugal,” Liza said in a low voice.

Reverend Davys appeared behind Liza’s shoulder. “So, Princess, your maid’s grasp of European geography is better than your own?” he asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

The Princess turned an annoyed look on Liza.

“Your Highness, I was just trying to help,” Liza said.

The reverend said, “Perhaps a little friendly rivalry is just the thing for you, Princess. I wonder I never thought of it before. Why don’t we play a game?”

The Princess, her miff forgotten, clapped her hands. “I love games; I am very good at them.”

With a slight smile, the reverend said, “I’ll call out the country, and you girls can compete to answer first. Egypt.”

“Casablanca,” shouted the Princess.

“Cairo,” Liza said.

“One to the maid,” said the Reverend. “France.”

“I know that one! Paris,” said the Princess.

“The score is tied,” he said. “Russia.”

“Moscow!” crowed Victoria.

“St. Petersburg,” corrected Liza.

“Two for the maid.”

“Bother, Liza. How do you know all this?” the Princess asked. She stood up and stalked to the window, her arms clasped across her chest. Liza stared after her, dismayed her future Queen was acting like a sulky child.

The reverend murmured to Liza, “It would be prudent to remember Her Highness does not like to lose.” He looked at the clock on the mantle, and said, “Princess, my time is up. I will see you tomorrow.”

Victoria pointedly did not acknowledge his departure.

Liza hurried to Princess Victoria’s side. “Princess, please don’t be offended. I’ve been to many of those cities. My father traveled for his business and my mother and I often accompanied him.”

“How interesting for you,” the Princess said coolly. “I, on the other hand, have never been anywhere. My duty traps me on this island.”

“My traveling days are behind me,” Liza said. She had played on the Princess’s sympathies once before; she’d do so again to regain her goodwill. “Since my family is gone, I shall never go anywhere interesting again.”

The Princess’s stiff posture softened a little.

“But when you are Queen,” Liza obliged the Princess’s obvious preference to talk about herself, “there will be no limit to the places you can go.”

The Princess brightened.

That was the right thing to say.

“But even when I am Queen, my mother will be ruling for me. Over me. Instead of me. She won’t let me go anywhere,” the Princess retorted.

“But after the regency…“ Liza said, wondering how the Princess would react to the news her mother wanted to be her daughter’s regent forever.

“Then I can do as I like.” The Princess positively glowed. “Where should I go first? Have you really been to St. Petersburg? Is it beautiful?”

“Very beautiful, but the most interesting thing was the Beliye Nochi, the White Nights,” Liza said. “In June, the sky doesn’t ever darken. Even at midnight, it’s still bright. Everyone stays up all night and goes to parties.”

“That sounds so amusing! Last year I danced with Tsar Alexander. He was very charming.” The Princess clapped her hands. “And I love staying up late, but I never get to stay up past ten o’clock. Even if Mama is out late, I have to go to bed and Lehzen stays with me.”

“The Baroness told me you were never left alone,” Liza said, “But I thought she must be exaggerating.”

The Princess shook her head. “No. It’s true. I’m never ever alone.”

“But that’s dreadful!” Liza couldn’t help herself. “Every girl, even a Princess, if I may be so bold, deserves a little privacy.”