Prisoners in the Palace (9 page)

“What about Annie?” Liza asked abruptly. “Have you forgotten her?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The Princess stopped her pacing. “Finish the letter, Liza.”

Liza took the letter closer to a lamp. “She says ‘I was let go without a reference and cannot find decent work. I have no money and am in desperate straits.’” Liza grew cold. She had reached the
bottom of the page and turned it on its side to read the rest. “Annie describes how much everything costs. Then she says ‘Please send money.’”

“She wants money!” The Princess sounded more annoyed than surprised. “She knows I don’t have any. My pocket money is only a few pounds a month.”

Liza was still staring at the letter. “It’s well written,” she said slowly. “I didn’t realize Annie was educated.”

The Princess was still brooding on her iniquitous allowance. Absently, she said, “Of course she was, Liza. Her father was a clerk. Lehzen won’t allow just anyone to associate with me.”

Not quite a gentleman’s daughter, but not working class either.

“Will you help her?” Liza asked.

“I would hate to think you are deaf, Liza. I don’t have any money to send.” But the Princess wouldn’t meet Liza’s gaze.

“But she’s desperate.” Her recent personal experience gave Liza’s words passion. “You don’t know what it is to worry where you’re going to sleep and how you will eat.”

“Liza!” The Princess reminded Liza of their relative ranks with a word.

Bowing her head to hide her angry face, Liza said, “Your Highness, I forgot myself.”

“It would seem so.” Their positions reestablished, the Princess’s mood softened. “Do you really think her need is dire?”

“Does she have any family?” Liza asked “She’s an orphan, like you.”

Liza rubbed her hands together; they were suddenly cold. “Without a reference, she’ll go through her savings. She’ll end up on the street.” She recoiled from thoughts of what might happen on the street.

The Princess pulled out her little notebook of accounts. “I do have a few pounds put away for charity. I could give that to her.” She looked at Liza for approval, pleased she had come up with a solution.

“That would be exceedingly generous, Your Highness.”

“Can you get it to her? Perhaps when you go to town on my other errand.”

“I’ll need permission to leave for the entire day.”

“Go tomorrow. The King has sent us an invitation to court that not even my mother can refuse. You won’t be needed. Can you find her?”

Thinking of Inside Boy’s dirty face, Liza said, “We’ve a mutual acquaintance. He’ll find Annie for me.”

“Hand the money to her personally,” the Princess said. “Sir John has taught me not to trust anyone.”

I daresay he has.

The next morning the entire household ran about frantically preparing for the Princess to visit the King’s court. Liza arrived at the covered porch, panting, carrying the Princess’s warmest cloak. Sir John handed the Duchess into her waiting carriage. The Princess’s face glowed with the excitement of having somewhere to go. As was her habit, the Baroness was scowling.

“Liza, you’ve kept us waiting.”

Liza barely noticed the Baroness’s tone, so accustomed had she become to her surly ways. “I beg your pardon, Baroness,” she said as she held the cloak up for Victoria.

The Princess glanced at the carriage; her mother was paying her no attention. “We would have had to wait anyway. Sir John’s business delayed us.”

“Sir John is a man much occupied with other people’s business, Princess,” Liza murmured, laying the Princess’s crimson wool cloak on her shoulders and fastening the black velvet ties in a becoming bow under the Princess’s chin. The Baroness inspected the result. Satisfied, she followed the Duchess into the carriage.

“This is going to be such an amusing day,” Victoria whispered. “I get to go to court and when I return, you’ll have so much to tell me!”

Under her breath, Liza said, “I hope so.”

“Victoria, what is keeping you?” An irritated voice came from the carriage.

“Coming, Mama.” She touched Liza’s hand. “Good luck.”

“Princess,” Liza whispered, “I don’t have permission to leave the house. If I am caught…”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be! I must go.” The Princess stepped away and Simon held the step so she could enter the carriage safely.

Liza had never seen Simon look so handsome. He was dressed in his most formal livery, the forest green with gold piping. His tight breeches set off his muscular thighs and his coat showed off his broad shoulders. He smiled at her before he climbed up to the box seat. Liza gave him a severe look, cursing the blush she could feel creeping up her neck. As the carriage rumbled off toward Windsor Castle, where the King was holding court, Liza hurried to the Duchess’s sitting room.

“This is the perfect day to go to town,” Liza announced to the empty room. “I’ll be at the chestnut tree at the end of the avenue in a quarter of an hour.” A rustling in the wood box made her smile. Shutting the door behind her, she jumped to see Mrs. Strode standing a few feet away.

“Miss Hastings, to whom were you speaking?”

Liza gulped, “No one, Mrs. Strode.”

The housekeeper looked puzzled, glancing back at the sitting room door, then back at Liza. “I could have sworn I heard you speak—”

Liza said, “I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am.”

Mrs. Strode glared at her, but a crash from behind the servants’ door distracted her. Quick to see her opportunity, Liza fetched her own cloak from the below stairs cloakroom and walked through the servant’s entrance as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The day was crisp and clear. Liza fastened her wool cloak tightly at her neck, enjoying its cozy warmth even as the chill nipped at her nose. With a spring in her step, she set off down the avenue to the ancient chestnut tree. Inside Boy joined her a few minutes later.

He was dressed in a coat too big for him, and breeches a shade too small. His shoes were a collection of patched leather all polished black, regardless of their original color. His face was scrubbed pink; Liza didn’t ask where he had found washing water. He grinned and fell into step.

“You look a treat, Miss,” he said. “Bein’ out and about agrees with you.”

Liza couldn’t take the smile off her face. Being outside was better than one of Mrs. Strode’s tonics. “Stolen time is doubly precious,” Liza said. “Mrs. Strode doesn’t know I’m out.”

Inside Boy’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Yer mission must be perishin’ important.”

“It is, to the Princess.”

“And what about Annie?” he asked.

“I have money for her.” She waved her little reticule full of coins.

“It’s about time the Princess ‘elped ‘er.” He looked her over and his face crinkled in disapproval. “Yer a dipper’s dream, you are.”

“What’s a dipper?” she asked cheerfully.

“A pickpocket. They’ll take your little purse and be ‘alf a mile away before you knows it’s gone. Tuck it under your cloak and keep one ‘and on it at all times.” He took the tails of his jacket and looped them around his arms. The ends were oddly weighted. “That’ll thwart anybody after me goods.”

“But aren’t your trouser pockets easier to reach now?”

“That’s what I want ‘em to think. Instead I keep me valuables in the tails of the coat. And I keep the tails where I can see ‘em.”

“Do you have anything worth stealing?” Liza asked, laughing.

“You’d be surprised at the odds and ends you can pick up at Kensington Palace,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Liza shrugged. What was some minor thievery of Inside Boy compared to Sir John Conroy trying to steal the throne?

“It’s wonderful to be outside,” Liza said. “I used to love riding in parks like this.” Her wide gesture took in the bridle paths and rolling hills. Dandies were hacking about on gleaming horses and well-dressed matrons in sumptuous carriages maneuvered, with the nicest manners, to outshine each other.

“You went on one of those beasts?” Boy asked. “Voluntary like?”

Liza nodded happily.

“I’ll keep to my wood box, thank you very much.”

“Kensington Palace is smothering me to death,” she said. “You can leave whenever you please. Why don’t you?”

“I live in the Palace so I don’t ‘ave to be out.” His face took on a wise expression of a man thrice his age. “Don’t go romanticizin’ the outside world. We ‘ave it cozy at Kensington.” His eyes widened and he nudged her. “Watch out for the peeler.”

A tall man, wearing a swallow-tail blue suit with shiny metal buttons, walked toward them. His hat looked like a chimney pot.
He gave Inside Boy a suspicious look, tapping a short wooden club against his white-gloved hand.

Inside Boy’s anxiety was infectious. “What’s a peeler?” Liza whispered after the man had passed.

“These new policemen. We call them peelers because they’re Sir Robert Peel’s men. Some folks call ‘em bobbies.”

“Excuse me, Miss,” the peeler had come back. “Is this young man making a nuisance of himself?”

Inside Boy looked as though he wanted to bolt, but Liza put her hand on his arm and smiled brightly. “Officer, thank you for your kindness, but I assure you my cousin is harmless.”

The peeler’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Cousin?”

“Yes. He’s not well.” Liza touched her temple. “But he’s quite safe.”

Politely averting his eyes from Inside Boy, the peeler touched his tall hat. “G’day Miss.”

“Good day,” Liza inclined her head, rather pleased with her ingenuity.

Inside Boy could hardly contain himself. As soon as they were out of earshot, he burst out, “Brilliant, Miss Liza. I thought ‘e knew me for a scrannin’ cove. If ‘e ‘ad found the whack in me fork, I’d be off to boardin’ school for sure.”

Liza stared blankly for a moment. “What on earth did you just say?” she asked.

“It’s flash patter,” he said, glancing back at the peeler.

Liza’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead.

“Thieves’ talk,” he explained.

“So you are a thief!” Liza teased.

“The Duchess isn’t givin’ me room and board.” Inside Boy’s grin was full of mischief.

“At least not to her knowledge.” They both laughed. “But what does it mean?” Liza asked again.

“Well, a scrannin’ cove is, not to put too fine a point on’t, a thief. Whack is my ill-gotten gains, fork is pocket.”

“And this takes you to boarding school?”

“Prison. If I’m lucky. If I’m unlucky I cross the ‘erring pond—get transported to Botany Bay.”

Liza had always been proud of her facility with language. She committed the new phrases to memory. “But why talk this way?” she asked.

“A peeler can’t touch you if they can’t understand a bloomin’ word you say,” he said.

They emerged on the far side of Kensington Gardens. Inside Boy grabbed her hand and began to run down the road.

“Where are we going?” Liza panted. “Is the peeler after us?”

“C’mon, Miss, we’ve struck it lucky. Me friend’s omnibus is about to leave. That’s our ride to town.” He dragged Liza to a green enclosed carriage drawn by three horses that stood waiting. A driver sat on the seat, holding a stick with a long flexible whip. To Liza’s surprise, he greeted Inside Boy very civilly.

“Boy! I ‘aven’t seen you in a bit. I thought p’raps you’d moved on.”

“Naw, Bill. Kensington suits me fine for now.” Inside Boy turned to Liza and performed the introductions. “This is Miss Liza. She works for the Princess.”

The driver’s hand moved respectfully to tip his cap. “Any friend of Boy’s is bound to be a troublemaker. But a friend of the Princess—that’s a different kettle of fish. Come aboard, only ‘alf a crown.”

Clutching her reticule, Liza turned to Inside Boy in a panic, “I don’t have any money of my own.”

Bill and Inside Boy burst out laughing.

“Ne’er you mind, Miss,” Bill said. “It’s my treat.”

“Are you certain?” Liza asked.

“Guaranteed.”

Inside Boy held her arm as she climbed in. “Bill ain’t never charged me yet.”

“Aren’t we stealing the ride from Bill’s employers?”

“Aren’t you stealin’ this day out from yours?” he shot back. “Besides, do you know ‘ow long it takes to walk to Fleet Street?”

Still nervous, Liza climbed in. She looked around the empty interior lined with cushioned seats for about twenty passengers. Long straps of leather attached to the ceiling through iron rings disappeared out to the driver’s end of the bus.

“Those reins are attached to Bill’s arms,” Boy explained. “When we want to stop, we tug.”

Bill’s booming voice came down from his perch. “But don’t pull too hard. Some of these ladies are stronger than they look. I’ve got bruises all up and down me arms. Gee-up!” Bill clucked and cracked his whip and the omnibus lurched forward. Liza was heading into London.

“We’ll be in town in no time,” said Inside Boy. “We’ll go to Fleet Street first.”

“Then to Annie’s house?” Liza asked.

Staring at the dirty straw on the floor, Inside Boy nodded.

“Boy, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothin.’” The look on his face gave the words the lie.

Inside Boy tilted his head back and fell asleep. With an exasperated sigh, Liza turned her attention to the Kensington Road. At each stop, the car filled up with market farmers, ladies, and respectable families. Within a mile, Liza sat crowded into the opposite corner from Inside Boy, her face pressed to the window.

The green hills and wide bridle paths of Hyde Park soon gave way to upper crust Mayfair, with its well-paved roads and mansions. Peering out the window, Liza could make out the towering high spires of Westminster Abbey rising above the trees.

One day the Princess will be crowned there.

Somehow, Inside Boy knew to wake up just as the bus reached the market behind St. Paul’s Cathedral. He and Liza clambered out.

“I’m headin’ back around three o’clock.” The driver winked at Liza and cracked his whip.

Inside Boy led Liza into the heart of the market. The wide square bustled, filled to the edge and beyond with shops, stalls, and hawkers.

“Chestnuts! All ‘ot, a penny a core!” bawled a street vendor standing in front of a red-hot metal box.

“Who’ll buy a bonnet for tuppence?”

“Bootlaces, pick ‘em out cheap! Four pair for a ‘alf-penny. Bootlaces!”

Liza desperately wanted to stop and drown in the lovely cacophony of noises, colors, and smells so unlike musty Kensington Palace, but Inside Boy tugged on her arm, “Look later. Right now, we’ve errands.”

He led her past stalls bright with sparkling glass and others adorned with tin saucepans clanking in the light breeze. They stepped over a boy sitting by a makeshift display of used boots laid out on the curb. He shivered in his tattered coat; Liza wished she could buy him some hot chestnuts. Suddenly, Inside Boy pulled her out of the crowds into a deserted side street.

He sighed in relief. “The reason I live in the Palace is there ain’t so many people. C’mon, Fleet Street is this way.”

“Who are we going to see?” Liza asked.

“Will Fulton. ‘e’s a mate,” Inside Boy said. “An orphan, like us.”

An orphan like us.

The memory of her parents, more real than all the strangers in the marketplace, threatened to overwhelm Liza. Inside Boy prattled on, not noticing how his words cut.

“‘is uncle is a printer in Manchester. ‘e set up Will with a press a year or so ago and ‘e ain’t never looked back.”

“A press sounds important.”

“You don’t know the ‘alf of it.” They emerged onto a new street and Inside Boy spread out his arms. “Fleet Street.”

Liza knew Fleet Street was the center of newspaper publishing in London, but hadn’t realized it would be so loud. The metallic rumble of machines filled the street. Men and boys dodged cabriolets and horsemen. Workers filled wagons with newspapers bundled up for sale. All along the street, hawkers sold the latest papers to passersby.