Page 48 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

I f Victoria had had any thought to spare, she would have expected to find her rooms much as she had left them. Mama would be writing, Sir John reading, and the waiting ladies working quietly at their mending.

She did hope that Jane would be there. I have so much to tell her.

But when the footman opened the door to the private rooms, Victoria found everything in chaos.

“No! No! You! Put it down there! Lady Flora, make him understand! Lady Charlotte, get that open—”

Mama stood on the threshold of the dressing room, directing half a dozen footmen, who were all carrying trunks.

Lady Charlotte and Lady Flora were huddled with at least as many maids, murmuring and pointing at the wardrobe, at the jewel case, and the dressing table.

Sir John stood beside his desk with a pair of men in clerk’s uniforms, issuing orders for them to write down.

Jane had indeed arrived in the middle of all this disorder. Her skirts were damp, and their hems muddy. She huddled on her stool in the corner, as bedraggled, ignored, miserable, and pale as the day they had found Dr. Maton’s corpse.

“What on earth!” Victoria cried. “Jane! Mama! What has happened?”

“Everything!” Mama cried. “Sir John tells us the departure date for your tour has advanced. We must all be ready to leave in two days!”

“What!” Victoria’s mind reeled. It was too much to take in. She was still dizzy from everything she’d learned sitting by Aunt Sophia. She could not grasp this new shift.

“We are invited by Lord Liverpool to his house at Tunbridge Wells,” Sir John said. “I have already accepted on your behalf. We will stay there several days. Then we will travel on to the Midlands, as previously planned.”

“But I am not ready . . . !” I need time! I need time to hear word from St. James’s, to convince Mama! I need time to discover how you’re involved with the Matons and what happened to the doctor and why his papers were all burnt—

“You will be made ready,” said Sir John. “Your mother and your very capable ladies have already begun.”

“And I want no fuss, Victoria,” said Mama. “I have a thousand things to do—all on your behalf, may I add. There’s no time to waste arguing.”

Victoria stared at her. This is why you were writing that list. You were going to alert the other families who will be hosting us that the time frame of the tour had changed. You knew all morning this was happening, and you did not tell me!

“Lady Flora,” said Mama. “Take the princess and Jane into the rose room. Her lessons for the afternoon are canceled, but she can write her letters and her journal and stay out of the way there. Lehzen, I will need you to help me with checking through the trunks and the wardrobes. There are surely items that will need repair, and you must tell me which dresses no longer fit—”

“No, Mama!” cried Victoria.

“Yes, Victoria!” shouted Mama. “Now!”

Victoria turned, searching desperately for support or for escape. Lehzen’s expression was closed and dark. But Jane moved her hand just a little. That was when Victoria saw what she had failed to notice before—that Jane clutched Wordsworth’s poems on her lap.

Victoria lifted her chin and pirouetted on her toes. “Very well. Come, Jane. Come, Dash.” She strode out of the room. “Lady Flora, bring my writing desk.”

The rose room was hung all pink and white. This was where Mama received ladies for tea. At one time, it had been Victoria’s playroom. She remembered inventing whole countries with her blocks and her dolls on the pretty pink carpet.

Now the carpet had faded to a kind of dull gray. The toy box still waited in the corner for the same reason the dollhouse and dolls waited in the bedroom—to remind everyone that Victoria was still a child.

Victoria plunked herself down at the round table by the window. Lady Flora placed the writing desk in front of her and retired to a chair right next to the door.

Keeping watch like a good jailer.

“Jane, come sit with me.”

Jane came and sat. Despite the stuffiness of the room, her fingers were dead white, and the ends of her hair were quite damp. She looked, in fact, like she’d been walking in the rain without a coat or bonnet. Victoria seized her friend’s hand.

“Lady Flora, Jane is ice cold! We need hot tea and towels and something to eat.”

“I’ll have to ask—”

“Then do!” snapped Victoria. “At once!”

Lady Flora turned up her nose, but she did leave.

“Quick, Jane.” Victoria took both Jane’s hands between hers, then chafed them together to try to bring some warmth back. “What happened to you?”

Jane didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled away and turned to Wordsworth’s poems. She yanked a note out of the book and shoved it into Victoria’s hands. Victoria, with a quick glance at the door, unfolded the paper.

It was from Lehzen. Victoria read:

Palace sent letter to duchess advising imminent establishment of Her Royal Highness to Buckingham House. Bill being drawn up in Parliament. Sir John wrote Lord Liverpool to ask to bring you to Tunbridge Wells early.

Victoria stared at Jane. Jane nodded.

Victoria jumped to her feet.

“No, don’t—” croaked Jane.

But Victoria had already grabbed up her skirts and bolted back to the sitting room. Mama was in the boudoir, lifting gloves out of a cedar box.

“Mama!” cried Victoria. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That the king has offered me my own household! That he has sent his intention to Parliament!”

Mama laid one pair of white gloves on the dressing table and picked up another out of the box. “Because it isn’t important.”

“Not important . . . !” Victoria choked.

“Yes. Since it is impossible that you would accept, it is entirely unimportant.”

“Why wouldn’t I accept? I’m sixteen !”

Mama laid the second pair of gloves down and picked up a third. “Their Majesties are desperate to gain control over you before you turn eighteen, and are resorting to blatant bribery to do it. Sir John is penning an appropriate reply.”

“No, Mama. I will not agree to anything Sir John writes. Where is the letter from the palace? Let me see it.”

“There is no need,” said Sir John from behind his desk. “Your reply is almost ready.”

He was writing. Victoria ran to the desk. He did not look up at her, did not acknowledge her in any way. But she could read what was there.

. . . cannot possibly accept Your Majesty’s proposal as to the change in my situation, coming as it does with the insistence that I be parted not only from the invaluable Sir John Conroy . . .

Victoria choked.

Rather, aware as I am of my youth, my feminine delicacy, and my inexperience, I fully intend to make it known to Your Majesty and the lords of Parliament that I desire her grace, the Duchess of Kent, should remain my legal guardian until I reach the age of twenty-one.

Further, I use this letter to officially appoint Sir John Conroy as my private secretary and desire he should continue in that position when . . .

Anger blurred Victoria’s vision. She couldn’t read any more.

“You will sign this,” said Sir John. “And it will be delivered to St. James’s.”

“I will not sign such a ridiculous document.” Victoria turned her back. Mama stood right behind her.

“Mama, think!” cried Victoria. “This is our chance to get out of Kensington Palace. You’ve wanted that for years!”

But Mama’s demeanor did not soften at all. “The price is too high, Victoria. I do not choose to pay.”

“But I—”

“It is not your decision,” said Sir John.

“It is not yours!” shouted Victoria.

“It is,” replied Mama with icy calm. “And it is made. You do not seem to understand, Victoria, this is not an act of love and respect. It is an act of greed and fear.” Mama drew herself up to her full height.

“If Their Majesties really cared about you and wanted your coming reign to succeed, they would not only approve of these tours but would insist you go.”

“This has nothing to do with the tour!”

“Doesn’t it? Then why does this letter come now?

Why is it offering you the one thing you want?

It’s to keep you out of sight! It’s so the people of this country will not see you or know you, and you cannot know them or have any understanding of the kingdom you will preside over!

They mean to keep you hidden and spoiled until they are certain they have got control of you! ”

“And what have you done!” demanded Victoria. “What has he done!” She stabbed a finger at Sir John.

Mama ignored this. “You will sign the letter. It will be delivered, and we are leaving in two days. That is all there is to it.”

“I will not!”

Mama raised one brow. “What will you do instead, Victoria?” she inquired. “Lie on the floor and kick and scream like a baby? Walk all the way to St. James’s?”

Victoria felt the fact of her isolation fall over her like a net dropped from a tree.

She stood in the center of the room, unable to so much as breathe.

But it was true. There was no order she could give that Mama could not contradict.

There was nowhere she could go where she would not be followed and brought back.

Her little jaunt to speak with Gerald Maton had taken days of planning and the help of half a dozen people.

She could not leave here, because she could not do what the scullery maid could. She could not so much as walk out of doors simply because it was what she chose to do.

She could shout. She could scream. She could throw books and hairbrushes and paperweights. She could throw herself on the floor, as Mama so icily suggested. None of it would make any difference. The trap of Sir John’s system had been in place for years, and now it snapped shut.

Everything would remain as it was, and she would do as Mama wished. As Sir John wished.

She was helpless.

No, I am not. Not entirely.

“I will not sign that letter,” she repeated. “You may drag me away on this tour, but I will not sign my name to lies and have them sent to my uncle king.”

Mama pressed a hand to her heart. “Listen to the girl!” she cried to the whole room, and to Heaven for good measure.

“Drag her away! I am her kidnapper now! I have given my life to protect you! To keep you from being fought over like the last bone with a pack of starving dogs! You know nothing of what I have done—what Sir John has done—for you!”

Mama’s fury stunned Victoria into momentary silence. The whole of the day, all her crowded thoughts about Dr. Maton and his death, rose up in a whirlwind. It caught up Mama’s shouts, turned them around, mixed them up.

Jane had come in at some point. Victoria had not even seen when. But now she slipped up to her father. She touched his arm, and he leaned down so she could whisper in his ear.

It was a fresh shock. Jane had never approached her father so easily, not when Victoria could see, and he had never given her such attention.

Sir John’s face brightened. Jane stepped away.

“Ma’am, let Jane take the princess out into the garden. The rain is gone, and some fresh air and reflection will calm her spirits. The girls can take Lady Flora with them.”

“Certainly not!” cried Mama. “Jane cannot manage her. She has proven that. She will wet her feet and catch cold and . . .”

“I will make sure she stays on the path, ma’am,” murmured Jane. She folded her hands. She also looked at Victoria from under her lowered eyelids.

Victoria’s chest was heaving from her anger and her fear. She could not think straight; she could barely see straight. But she could see that Jane was right. She needed to get out of here.

“I’ll go,” she announced. “Since I am not permitted to do anything else. Come along, Dash.”

She walked away. She did not look behind her. Mama did not call her back. That was enough for now.

It had to be. It was all there was.