A Royal Christmas Quandary

by Samantha Hastings

  “I’ve never thought of entails that way before,” he admitted. “We have queens, why can’t we have marchionesses?”

  “And what’s even worse,” she continued, “the Queen doesn’t seem to support women’s rights at all. I can’t believe she said that women would perish without a man’s protection!”

  “You wouldn’t perish,” George said. “You would figure out a way to take care of yourself.”

  “Thank you,” Drina said quietly, handing his handkerchief back. “We’d better go before my mother returns.”

  He nodded vigorously. They walked silently to the other end of the room, and he opened the door that led to the Queen’s Guard Chamber.

  “I’m sorry if you’re angry about last night,” George ventured.

  She briefly glanced at him before turning her head away. “I’m not angry about last night.”

  “Then why are you acting so strangely?”

  Drina tsked—sounding uncannily like the Princess Rothfield—and instead of answering his simple question, asked, “Why were you looking for me?”

  George shifted on his feet. “My father demands that Prince Friedrich be at dinner tonight.”

  She looked him in the eye and whistled.

  “I know,” he agreed. “I suppose I should start practicing my German and have Mr. Humphrey pack for our imminent departure to Austria.”

  Drina shook her head slightly. “You can’t just leave. You have to find Friedrich. I asked both my mother and father if they had seen him and they haven’t. I’m worried something ill might have befallen him.”

  “I want to find him,” he said exasperatedly, raking his fingers through his hair. “My very existence depends upon it and I can’t do it without you. Please help me.”

  “Very well,” she replied, “but this time I’m not wearing your trousers.”

  “And I refuse to wear your crinolines.”

  Chapter 8

  Drina tried to swallow her anger as she tied on her bonnet. How could Queen Victoria, her second cousin and godmother, be so hypocritical? The Queen enjoyed all the rights and freedoms of a man, but refused to even consider the same privileges for other women.

  She sighed in exasperation—both with the Queen and with herself.

  She’d stood mutely when she should have spoken, and spoken when it would have been more prudent to remain silent. The only redeeming part of the interview was Alice petitioning on her behalf.

  Drina pulled on her fur coat and saw George watching her from the door with his usual cheery grin.

  George.

  Drina had been so upset during the interview, that she’d nearly forgotten that George was cowering underneath her crinolines. She had been determined to distance herself from him, but then he’d been underneath her skirt—one couldn’t get much closer than that. And now she was coming to his aid. Again. No, she was coming to her cousin Friedrich’s aid. At least that’s what she told herself as she buttoned up her pelisse.

  “Shall we go?” he said brightly. “I’ve called for a carriage. I thought we’d go through the shops in town. You know, pretend that we’re Christmas shopping and ask around and whatnot.”

  “It so happens I do have some last-minute purchases to make,” Drina said as she took his arm. “We can kill two birds with one stone.”

  * * *

  The carriage ride into town didn’t take more than a few minutes, but still Drina noticed that George was unusually silent. He fiddled with a toggle on his coat and didn’t quite look her in the eyes. It wasn’t like him to be shy.

  Was he thinking about their near-kiss in the hallway?

  “I may have drunk a little too much punch last night,” she said, and then lied, “I don’t really remember what happened after Edward rescued us from the jail.”

  “Nothing happened,” he said, rather too quickly.

  Drina intertwined her fingers. “I shouldn’t wish for things to become awkward between us.”

  George nodded and said quickly, “Same as ever. Best of friends … practically family.”

  Drina bristled. She was tired of being “practically family.” And for once, she wanted him to feel as awkward and uncomfortable as she did.

  She cleared her throat. “You know, I have this hazy notion that I might have wrapped my arms around your neck.”

  “There may have been slight contact between us, but really it was nothing,” he assured her with a small wave of his hand.

  “My embrace was nothing?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. Alice could raise only one eyebrow, but Drina never could quite manage it.

  “No, I mean … it was a delightful embrace, positively first rate,” George babbled, blushing. “Thank you. Thank you … very … much?”

  Drina tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. She laughed loudly and even snorted once.

  “Are you teasing me?” he asked, grinning at her.

  “A little,” she admitted. “But I’m glad to hear that my embraces are first-rate. I’d be mortified if they were second-, or even worse, third-rate.”

  “Have no concerns on that head,” he assured her. “Whoever you fancy will be a very lucky fellow.”

  Drina attempted to follow Cousin Victoria’s advice to not show her annoyance on her face. George had all but said that he didn’t fancy her. It wasn’t that she didn’t already know it. It was that awful thing called hope that Pandora hadn’t successfully squashed when she let out all the other vices into the world. Drina needed to extinguish that blasted hope and move forward.

  They were friends, he’d said. Practically family.

  Just not the sort of family she wanted them to be.

  The carriage stopped on the main street, and George hopped out the door and assisted her down the steps. The cobblestone streets were covered in a light dusting of snow. A few shops down, a group of Christmas carolers were singing.

  George began to sing along with them. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.”

  “’Tis the season to be balmy, fa-la-la, Drina muttered in response. She didn’t have a lovely singing voice. No matter how hard she tried, she was always off-key.

  “I don’t think balmy rhymes with holly,” he pointed out, very helpfully.

  “You’re still crazy, whether it rhymes or not,” she said, then pointed to the carolers. “Are you going to be their fourth tenor or come with me inside this shop?”

  “Tempting,” George said, tapping the rim of his hat to the beat of the music. “But I’m actually a baritone, so I’d better stay with you.”

  He opened the door to the shop for her and Drina entered, passing the window display full of wind-up toys, board games, and dolls. The shop was crowded with ladies in their large-hooped skirts purchasing miniature zoos, rocking horses, sleds, and doll houses. Drina wandered to the back of the shop, where Christmas cards were on display. She saw the usual Christmas cards with Father Nicholas and the sort of Christmas trees that Prince Albert had made so popular in England. At the bottom of the display she found two perfectly dreadful cards. She picked them both up to show to George.

  “Should I get Friedrich the Christmas card with the dead robin, or the one with the bear eating the man?” Drina asked brightly, holding them both up for his perusal.

  He took the Christmas card of the robin lying on its back with its legs curled up. “May yours be a joyful Christmas,” he read. “I can’t imagine anything less joyous than a dead bird.”

  “That’s what makes it funny,” she explained. “Friedrich and I try to send each other the creepiest Christmas card we can find every year. Last year he sent me one of a frog being stabbed and robbed by another frog.”

  “Why?” George asked, shaking his head.

  “I already told you,” Drina said, holding the second Christmas card closer to his face. “Because it’s humorous.”

  “A Happy Christmas—A Hearty Welcome,” he read. “It looks more like the man is going to be a hearty meal for the bear. Ch
arming winter scene, though.”

  “Precisely,” she agreed with a laugh. “Now which card is more likely to give you nightmares?”

  George stroked his hairless chin. “It’s really hard to choose only one.”

  “Should I give him both?”

  “Yes, do that,” he said. “Have you asked the shopkeeper if he’s seen a foreign gentleman?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I find people are more willing to talk once you’ve paid them.”

  Drina eased her way to the cash register, careful not to brush any of the other ladies’ skirts, a difficult prospect. She handed the two cards to the shopkeeper along with a few pennies. He wrapped the cards in brown paper.

  “Have you by chance seen any foreign gentlemen today?” she asked. “Or heard mention of a foreigner in town?”

  “Did he have dark hair, miss?”

  “No, my hair color.”

  “Then no,” he said, handing over her parcel. “Happy Christmas to you, all the same.”

  “And to you.”

  “Where to next?” George asked as he opened the door for her.

  “You pick,” she said. “The candy shop or the bookstore?”

  “Bookstore,” he said. He hummed the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman” until they reached the bookshop. A bell rang when he opened the door. The bookstore wasn’t as busy as the toy shop; there were only two other customers there besides them. George wandered to the section of books on engineering.

  Drina saw a stack of books by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, the Poet Laureate, on display in the front window of the store. She picked one up from the top of the pile. It would be a perfect present for her father.

  She tucked the book underneath her arm, then walked straight up to the aged clerk and asked where the medical section was. He pointed to the back-left corner. Drina took a step before asking over her shoulder, “Any chance you’ve seen a tall, blond German about town?”

  The old man shook his white head. Drina thanked him and continued on. She browsed through several heavy volumes about anatomy, medicines, phrenology, and physiology, when a slim volume caught her eye. She picked it up and read the spine: Notes on Nursing: What It Is and What It Is Not, by Florence Nightingale. She opened the title page and saw that is was published only the year before. It was a fitting gift for Alice, who was fascinated by both Florence Nightingale and her work during the Crimean War, and by nursing in general. If one of Alice’s eight siblings were at all ailing, she was always the first to bind up their wounds or show them love and compassion.

  Drina placed the book on top of Tennyson’s and turned to take them both to the clerk. A tall gentleman with a long black beard and a wart underneath his left eye stepped in front of her and recited:

  “A Lady with a lamp shall stand

  In the great history of the land,

  A noble type of good,

  Heroic womanhood.”

  “Excuse me?” Drina said. She wasn’t used to strangers speaking to her, let alone spouting poetry at her.

  “‘Scutari Santa Filomena’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a poem about Florence Nightingale,” he said, tapping the book in her hand. “It is refreshing to see a fashionable young lady take an interest in modern nursing.”

  “Thank you,” she muttered, trying to move past him.

  He held out a gloved hand but didn’t touch her. “Wait, miss,” he said, not unkindly. “I did see a fair young man yesterday who bore a marked resemblance to you.”

  Unconsciously, she touched her nose with her free hand. “Except for the nose.”

  “Except for the nose,” he agreed. “Your brother?”

  “Cousin.”

  She felt someone near her elbow. George had come to glower at the strange gentleman. “Is he bothering you?” he muttered.

  “No,” Drina answered, then turned to the bearded stranger. “Can you tell us where you saw my cousin?”

  “At the train station,” the man replied. “He was with the Prince of Wales. I believe they were on the London train.”

  “Bertie,” George muttered his name like a curse, shaking his head derisively. They didn’t get on well.

  “Are you sure?” Drina pressed.

  “The Prince of Wales garners quite a bit of attention,” the man said. “It was impossible to mistake him. And as I already said, his companion bore a marked resemblance to you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “Happy Christmas.”

  “You should seek out that poem,” the stranger said enigmatically, then walked to the other side of the store.

  “London,” George said, looking stunned. As if the knowledge of the princes’ departure resulted in him only being able to speak one-word sentences.

  “So much for our search, then,” Drina said, relaxing her tense shoulders. She felt relieved that Friedrich was fine, but disappointed that he didn’t care enough to see her. “If the pair of Royal Princes have gone to London, there isn’t much we can do.”

  “Nothing,” he agreed, hanging his head despondently. “Nichts.”

  Drina slipped her free hand onto George’s arm. “You can’t be blamed for the behavior of either prince.”

  “Tell that to my father,” he said dourly. “This is a diplomatic disaster. The sort of royal scandal he was hoping to avoid.”

  “How so?”

  “Prince Friedrich is supposed to be a suitor to Princess Alice, as you no doubt already know,” George said. “He’s not supposed to be enjoying the dubious nightlife of the seedier side of London with her brother.”

  “Is that what they’re doing in London, do you think?”

  “There’s not much seedy to be found in Windsor,” he retorted.

  “I don’t know about that,” Drina said. “We visited several taverns and managed to land in jail last night.”

  “I thought the jail was more smelly than seedy.”

  She wrinkled her nose in reply.

  They walked to the cash register, where Drina handed the books to the clerk and paid three crowns for them both. The clerk wrapped them in brown paper and tied them with twine before returning the parcel to her. George held the door open for her and they stood on the street for a moment, watching the falling snow.

  “The candy shop next?” Drina said. “We have presents as well as princes to find before Christmas day.”

  “Would you mind going to the shop alone?” George asked as he tightened his red scarf around his neck. “I think I will head to the train station and see if I can get any more details from the stationmaster.”

  “Sound idea,” she said. “Perhaps they purchased a return ticket? You can learn if they mean to come back anytime soon.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, but his tone didn’t sound hopeful.

  He insisted on walking her to the door of the candy shop and seeing her safely inside before returning to the carriage. Drina smiled: One couldn’t remain depressed when surrounded by chocolates and candy.

  Her eyes were drawn to the brightly wrapped Cosaques, better known as Christmas crackers. She picked up crackers for all the royal children; it was a small but suitable gift for the six younger princes and princesses. Heaven knows, they had every other toy already. Then Drina asked the attendant for a pound of fudge as a gift for her mother. Her mother would complain that it didn’t taste as good as fudge in Hoburg, but as far as Drina was concerned, fudge was fudge.

  Chapter 9

  The carriage pulled up to the recently built redbrick train station. George hopped out of the carriage; the snow was coming down thicker now.

  At least it’s better than yesterday’s icy rain, he thought as he pulled his coat tighter around his neck and entered the building. The ceiling was a maze of steel beams. George passed several shivering travelers on his way to the stationmaster’s office, which was marked by a gold plaque on the door. George knocked five times.

  A man with red whiskers and a handlebar mustache answered the door, his navy-blue cap askew. “What do you want?”
he said irritably. But upon seeing George’s fine clothing, he added more civilly, “Sir?”

  “Stationmaster,” George said, “I was wondering if you were here when the Prince of Wales was in the station yesterday.”

  “Aye, I was,” he said, stuffing his sausage-like fingers into his waistcoat pockets.

  “Excellent,” George said. “Did you happen to see another gentleman with him? A foreigner with fair hair and blue eyes?”

  “What if I did?”

  George sighed in exasperation. “I am Lord Worthington and I’m with the Foreign Office. The gentleman in question is the Crown Prince of Hoburg, and it is imperative to international relations that I locate the prince. So, may I ask you once again, did you see a blond foreigner?”

  “So happens I did,” the stationmaster replied.

  “What train did he get on, and did he purchase a return ticket?”

  The stationmaster shook his head. “The foreign gent didn’t get on the train; he got off the train from London with the Prince of Wales. There was rather a to-do, several folks waving at the prince. It clogged up the platform something fierce.”

  “Then what?”

  “The Prince of Wales and the foreign feller picked up their portmanteaus and took a chair into town,” the stationmaster said, puffing out his chest. “They left the foreign man’s servant, a great giant of a fellow, with a couple of heavy trunks. One of the porters helped him get them to the royal carriage. The fellow didn’t speak a lick of English, so the porter told the driver to take him to the castle. Loads of foreigners visit Windsor Castle.”

  “Do you know where the Prince of Wales went to in town?”

  “I don’t,” the stationmaster said, and pointed his thick thumb at his chest. “I’m a stationmaster. Not the Prince of Wales’s keeper, nor his foreign friend’s.”