Page 2 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

“K eep up, Jane, can’t you?”

“I’m trying!” whined Jane Conroy. Perched uncomfortably on Smokey, her plump mare, the girl had already fallen a full length behind.

“It’s a beautiful day!” Victoria tried, even as the wind snatched at her hems and the edge of her bonnet.

The chill air smelled of soot, mud, and rain.

This late in July, it should be hot and dry, but it had been raining for three days straight.

As a result, Victoria had been stuck inside.

She was not going to waste this clear spell, however brief it might prove. “Don’t you long for a gallop?”

“You mustn’t, Your Highness.” Hornsby, today’s groom, looked positively panicked. “Your mother would never allow it.”

As if I were not fully aware of that.

But Mama was inside the palace, and Victoria (and Jane and Hornsby) were outside.

They had already ridden beyond the gardens’ straight paths and formal hedges.

The Round Pond, with its honking geese and suspicious swans, was likewise behind them.

Ahead was nothing but an unbroken carpet of grass and low hills stretching to the gate that divided the palace grounds from the park beyond.

Prince felt Victoria’s restlessness. He shifted underneath her, letting her know he wanted to run as much as she did.

Jane tipped her head back to look at the lumpish gray clouds that obscured the sky. From the way the other girl screwed up her face, one might have thought they were about to drop down and smother her. Instead, a single raindrop fell and smacked her in the eye.

“Ouch! Oh!”

Victoria ducked her head and tried hard not to smile.

“We can’t,” Jane mumbled as she wiped at her eyes. “Father will be angry. I promised to bring you back at the first sign of rain!”

She had, in fact. That promise and Jane’s dreary presence were the only reasons Victoria had been able to ride out at all today.

It was not fair. But it was all a part of the “Kensington System.” That system dictated how Victoria’s life was to be lived. It required that every minute of her day be accounted for and, worse, that she never be alone. So, if Mama could not ride out, Victoria was stuck with Jane or stuck indoors.

She had tried to remain patient today. She had sat dutifully through having her hair done and had stood still while being dressed.

She’d attended to her lessons in geography and history and penmanship and music (not that this last was any great trial).

She’d stayed quiet while Mama inspected her journal and her books and examined her tutors as thoroughly as her tutors examined Victoria.

After her journal had been pronounced satisfactory, Mama had gone to confer with Sir John about some one or the other of the plans for the tour of the northern counties they had declared she would undertake in September.

This resulted in Victoria having a rare ten minutes with nothing to do and only Lady Flora Hastings and her own governess, Louise Lehzen, watching over her.

And, of course, Jane Conroy. Jane slumped sullenly in a chair with her needlework in her lap and a copybook beside her. Jane was hopeless on horseback, hopeless with a needle or a piece of music or a sketching pencil or a paintbrush. Hopeless in the face of her father’s endless commands.

Victoria tried to muster some sympathy for the other girl. Jane did not want to be here any more than Victoria wanted her, and yet, like Victoria, here she was. Today and every other day.

Victoria stood in front of the windows with her spaniel, Dash, in her arms. She looked out across the gardens.

At least she tried to. Streaks of grime obscured the view.

When she was six, she’d been asked what she wanted for her birthday.

She’d answered that she would like to have the windows washed.

She remembered the startled faces of the adults around her and their nervous laughter.

But nothing had come of it. Victoria had received dolls and books and an enamel brooch rather than what she had actually wanted.

The sunlight—when there was any—remained blurred by a film of dust and soot. The view—what there was of it—turned into a spoiled watercolor of green and gray, so that the whole apartment remained gloomy even on the brightest of days.

Even Dash knew it wasn’t right. He whined softly and pawed at the window.

You want to be out, too, don’t you? She kissed the top of his head.

It was true that Kensington Palace was a palace.

It was huge, filled with rare and precious things, and housed a changeable cast of persons belonging to the royal family.

It was also true, however, that the doors creaked and stuck, that mice had nibbled the edges of the fine carpets, and that damp bloated the trompe l’oeil murals lining the king’s staircase until the painted faces of the people depicted there bulged and cracked.

Mama told her that when they first arrived, there had been mushrooms growing in their rooms. As a very little girl, Victoria had been fascinated by the idea.

It made her think of fairy rings. She’d hunted for mushrooms in all the corners, but she only ever found shadows and spiders and blossoming stains of thick black mold.

“Do not let yourself be fooled, Victoria,” Mama told her (and told her and told her) .

“We are lodged in this dingy hole because his family hates me, and they hate me because I will not let them get hold of you. You will never be their hostage and plaything, romping about with their bastards and cronies until you are spoilt as rotten as the rest.”

“Enough,” muttered Victoria to herself. She could not, she would not, stand here anymore, waiting for the next instruction, order, or direction.

Victoria hugged Dash quickly. Then she faced the room.

“I shall go for a ride,” she declared. “Prince needs the exercise.”

“Certainly not in this weather, ma’am!” cried Lady Flora, as shocked as if Victoria had suggested she was going to dance naked in the gardens. “You mustn’t think it.”

Jane Conroy just pulled a face. “It’s going to rain.”

“Not for hours yet,” said Victoria, as if her words could make it true.

“Shall I go speak with your mother for you, ma’am?” asked Lehzen.

Victoria imagined saying, She is busy with Sir John.

I will only be gone for a little while .

She would then simply go into her dressing room, have the waiting maid bring out her habit, and give orders that the groom saddle Prince and bring him to the courtyard.

It was what another young woman might do.

Other young women could move without asking permission and without hands to hold.

Hands to hold them back. Hands to keep them from going anywhere at all.

Because those other young women were not Princess Victoria, heir to the throne of the United Kingdom. If she left these rooms without Mama’s permission, there would be a scene, and she would be locked in her boudoir for days.

Sir John and I are only trying to protect you.

“You need not bother, Lehzen. I will go to her myself.”

“What is it Lehzen need not bother with?”

Victoria started. She could not help herself. Mama had returned.

Victoire, Duchess of Kent—Mama—was a tall, elegant woman.

How could I have such a short, plump little girl, hmmm?

It is the influence of your father’s blood.

Her dark hair fell in dramatic ringlets, much thicker than Victoria’s own blond hair.

Sit still, Victoria. You cannot be seen with your hair hanging down like a wild thing.

What will people think of you? She had wide-set eyes that could take in every detail of a room, or a person, with a single glance.

Pay attention , Victoria. If the dean sees you drift away in the middle of a conversation, what will he think of you?

Dash squirmed in Victoria’s arms, and she set him down. He immediately ran for his basket and wriggled under the blanket. It was as if he could already sense a very different sort of storm coming.

“Victoria, why are you standing there?” Mama’s voice could contain equal amounts of weariness and anger.

It was her finest accomplishment. “Come away at once. How many times have you been told not to linger about in front of the windows? What if someone on the road was to stop to gawp at you? What would they think?”

“They might think that I am looking to see if the weather is good enough to go out for a ride,” Victoria replied. “Prince needs the exercise, and I have finished my journal and my letters.” And my workbooks and my piano practice and . . .

“No, Victoria,” said Mama. “It is a foul day. What if you got wet and took cold? Besides, we must make sure you are prepared for the dinner. Prince Liechtenstein in particular should see you at your best. You are aware that he will report on your behavior to—”

“I will just go around the grounds,” said Victoria. “I will be no more than one hour. It will not rain before then, and I will be back in plenty of time for you to quiz me for the dinner.” Again.

“I said no, Victoria. Now, come along.” Mama held out her hand for Victoria to take. Under the Kensington System, Victoria could not walk anywhere alone. Especially not down the stairs. She must be held. She must be steered. She must be managed and instructed and ordered.

But she had been kept inside for three days by the rain, and this might be her only chance for some air.

“I will go riding, Mama. I will not stay here so you can listen to me recite the names and histories of your dinner guests for the hundredth time.”

Mama leaned down and gripped Victoria’s chin in her strong white fingers.

“I see what you have been doing.” Her breath was hot and smelled of Madeira wine and licorice. “You have been standing here, idle, staring out windows, rehearsing all your wrongs. Disparaging your mother to your governess, to your ladies, and your friend.”