by Karen Kay
Another bang, and this time Black Bear pulled at the hair.
The doctor screamed. “If she were Queen she might unite England and Belgium against my own country.”
Black Bear’s grip loosened, but he said, “More.”
Silence.
Black Bear gripped the hair.
“She is the daughter of King Leopold of Belgium and Princess Charlotte, King George IV’s only daughter. The Princess Charlotte bore twins. I destroyed the records of her birth. Had she grown up here, she would now be Queen.”
“No!”
The exclamation didn’t come from Black Bear, nor Estrela, nor the doctor. Looking up, the doctor howled.
Estrela glanced behind her and gasped.
There stood the King. There stood his Queen, Adelaide. There stood the Duke of Colchester.
“Let the man up.” It was the King who spoke.
“Hiya!” Black Bear protested, but then acquiesced, though not before he banged the doctor’s head against the floor again. Springing to his feet, he pulled the doctor up at the same time and held the man by the hair.
The King paced forward, giving Black Bear the opportunity to check on Estrela.
“Are you hurt?” Black Bear asked her under his breath.
“No,” she said quietly, “but where were you?”
“I had no weapons. I left to get some, but before I left, I saw that he had bottle. The bottle from my vision. I knew what was in bottle. I took it to get the Duke and the King and to get weapons. I wanted them to be here to witness what the assassin had to say.” Black Bear shook the doctor, while the King paced right up to the accused.
“So,” the King said, “this is quite another thing. The royal physician betrays me.”
“Not you, my King,” the physician stated, earning himself another shake from Black Bear.
“Let the man go,” the King ordered and Black Bear, after hesitating a moment, relaxed his grip.
“What do you say, my good man?”
“I do not betray you,” the royal physician said. “Only that”—he pointed to Estrela—“that girl who should have been dead long ago. Look at her. Should she rule England? Should she take your place?” The doctor spit on the clean Chinese rug. “No, I say. No, so would anyone say. What I do, I do for England.”
The King hesitated. He glanced at Estrela, he glanced at Black Bear, then back to the physician. At last he said, “Well, this is quite another thing, indeed. Oh, she does resemble my niece, Charlotte, so well. Why, even the good Duke here could see it.” The King smiled at the Duke. “Why, my good man, I do believe all of England is indebted to you.”
No one was sure at first just who the good King meant until—
The physician gasped. “Your Majesty!”
“No,” the old King said. “She belongs to the Royal Family, she does. Here, Popin,” he said to Estrela. “Give an old man your paw, now. That’s a good girl.”
The King fell to his knees and, kissing Estrela’s hand, said simply, “My Queen.”
The doctor howled.
Estrela gasped, and Black Bear let go of the Doctor completely.
In truth, Black Bear didn’t see it, hadn’t anticipated it, didn’t notice that he still held his knife, blade outward in his hand. Had he known, he still might have wielded the weapon against the fiendish man, but he didn’t have the chance.
The doctor saw the blade and with one last shriek, the man plunged himself into the knife.
Estrela screamed.
The physician dropped to the floor.
And all present, including the King, knelt over the man.
The physician sighed up at them, then he laughed. He stared at Estrela. “Ah, what trouble you are,” he said to her. “I should have killed you when you were just a babe, then I would have avoided this now. But I couldn’t do it then. No,” he said, “I had to wait until you were fully grown and back in the country with Indians to protect you. Ah, such is my luck.”
He coughed and Estrela stared at him in disbelief.
He laughed, the sound of it a mockery. “You win. I am beat. I, who stole you at birth from your mother’s side. I, who have kept you unknown even to your own father. I, the man who has kept England and Belgium apart. But it is over now.”
He glanced over to the King. “What a fool you are. Just like your father. Losing your colonies. If you had only taken my advice. It has been a war,” he said, glancing once more to Estrela. “What matter that I kill others? Don’t soldiers kill in war? Why can’t I? Was my destiny, it was. I had to attend to anyone who stood in my way, even the Earl’s old household staff. For it is only I who knows the best path for this country.” He smirked.
But too quickly the physician seemed to realize he was truly dying and for a moment, his eyes mirrored his fear. And as he looked down to his wound, he scoffed. “I would have thought I could have chosen a more painless death.”
He drew a deep breath, then looking to Estrela, he said, “Do you not know me?”
Estrela nodded.
The man closed his eyes and sneered. “You once commented I looked familiar, and so I should to you. Lord Wilburne, Court Physician and Doctor to His Majesty the King and Queen. It has been nothing personal, m’dear. Only the necessity to keep you from the throne. Couldn’t have you ruling England; couldn’t afford the risk to my country in these unsettling times. The Earl of Langsford was my best friend, but…such a naive man. Loved your…mother, he did. Charlotte. He was…he…I used to tell you bedtime stories, child. The old Earl never knew…was…I…who forced him to…flee…was…I who…I…who…”
Estrela glanced up to Black Bear.
“Sir Constance Wilburne…would be ruler of all England…” the physician murmured. “Sir Connie…”
Estrela gasped. “Sir Connie.” She drew away. And her voice barely a whisper, she said, “I have looked for you, Sir. I have tried to find you. Did you truly not know it, Sir? Did you not know that the Earl married me to you?”
“No!”
But Estrela nodded. “Sir Connie, you could have had it all.”
“No!”
It was the last thing he said, the last thing he would ever say.
And Estrela, lifting her face to stare at Black Bear, whispered, “At long last I have found him. And,” she said, her throat constricting, “I have found him dead.”
Black Bear held her gaze. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t make a move, until, at length, he murmured, “So be it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Will Your Royal Highness stand still, please?”
Estrela fidgeted in spite of the request. The dressmaker tried to smile, but Estrela could feel the woman’s frustration. In truth Estrela couldn’t be still. She was too worried, too confused.
Where was he?
She surveyed the room around her, a room that could have fit an army into it. Delicate scenes were painted on the ceiling, trimmed in gold. Not golden paint, gold. A pink-and-blue-designed Chinese rug cushioned her feet in pleasant comfort as she stood upon it while the rug also ran the full length and breadth of the room. There were five different chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each one alight with burning candles, with intermittent wax dripping down to the carpet below, only to be cleaned up immediately by a maid or servant.
Parlor maids, the maid of the robes, the keeper of the jewels, the seamstress, the maid of the gowns, and more hurried about the room. Servants seemed to be stationed everywhere, rushed everywhere. Ladies entered now and again, kneeling and bowing, speaking to her in soft voices.
It was, in all, a mass of splendor, of confusion.
Where was he?
She examined each shadowy corner. She attended each person who filtered into and out of the room. She stared around her. She could find no trace of him and she hadn’t seen him in almost forty-eight hours.
She felt surrounded, surrounded by maids and a circus of servants, duchesses and ladies. All of them busy, if not with chores, then with gossip.<
br />
And as Estrela continued to scan the room around her, she began to lose courage.
Ever since that evening at Shelburne Hall, only two days ago, Estrela could not claim a single moment to herself. She had been whisked into the whirlwind of the Royal Court, had been transformed from M’lady to Your Majesty, from fugitive to future Queen, and all in a matter of minutes, her world changing from that of quiet order to massive confusion, just that quickly.
No sooner had Sir Connie confessed his misdeeds and confirmed her heritage than the old King and the Royal Court notables had swarmed her, hurrying her away from Shelburne Hall and hurling her into London, there to meet lords and ladies, ministers and bishops, dukes and duchesses.
And in all that time she hadn’t seen Black Bear. Not once.
Where was he?
She had asked for news of him several times and with each asking she was told that she would see him soon. Still time elapsed.
As soon as she had reached London, she had been deposited at St. James Palace where she had been taken aside, schooled in the proper behavior for a future Queen, told the duties of her position and informed in a not-so-gentle fashion of the current affairs of Britain. She had been read to, lectured, and instructed, all in the matter of forty-eight hours.
She was tired, yet she was to meet tonight with Lord Melbourne, Prime Minister, before she was officially announced to the dignitaries as the new Princess, the next in line to the accession of the throne of England.
She had been told that her father, Leopold, King of Belgium, whom she had never met, was en route to meet her. She had even been informed that a Belgian ship lay in harbor, a tribute to her.
She discovered, much to her surprise, that there was rejoicing in the streets of Belgium. For her accession to the throne meant a possible uniting of Belgium with England, a political move that might bring about an end forever to the strife between Belgium and the Dutch Netherlands.
Estrela stood overwhelmed by it all. And all she could think of was Black Bear.
Where was he?
The Duke of Colchester came to escort Estrela to the waiting assembly of bishops and lords, generals and dukes, notables and ministers.
He approached her as she stood in her chambers, surrounded by what seemed to be a hundred servants and maids.
Estrela dismissed them all at once and taking the Duke of Colchester’s arm, she directed him out of the room.
He smiled at her gently. And Estrela, looking at him, asked, “Did you always know?”
The Duke of Colchester snorted, he puffed out his cheeks, he coughed. But at last he said, “So right. So right. I suspected.”
“How so?”
“The Earl of Langsford told me something of his situation long ago, over a bottle of ale, it was. But, I daresay I couldn’t remember it straight. Had to make nothing of it, you know. Couldn’t arouse suspicion. Been grateful to the Indians, I must say. Grateful, indeed.”
He escorted her down the long, curved staircase, the last leg of which lay carpeted in red.
They passed through a sculptured, arched doorway, and proceeded down the stairs, where waited what must have been several hundred people.
“Your Grace,” Estrela said, as they hesitated at the top, “might I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Duke responded. “How might I assist you?”
“Your Grace,” she said. “’Tis a delicate question I must ask you. Will you, Sir, keep this inquiry of mine just between the two of us?”
He bowed his head graciously. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Estrela glanced over to him and smiled. “As you know, more than anyone else, I have been long away from the court. I have no real knowledge of my station, outside of what I have learned just these last few days. And I have no knowledge of the…circumstances of marriage as due my position.” She paused while the Duke of Colchester cleared his throat. “Sir,” she asked, “might I ever be given permission to marry an Indian?”
The Duke of Colchester, a man with old age closing in upon him, had long been known for his light and gentle handling of situations and of men. He might appear bumbling, but it was appearance only. He was an aristocrat, well-trained. And it was this training that stood him in good stead now.
Without so much as a glimmer of emotion in his countenance, he said, “I think not, Your Majesty. I am sorry.”
Estrela was silent. Then, “I thought not.” She stared down into the crowd. “You know that I am in love with Black Bear.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You are sure about the marriage restrictions?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Estrela tried to smile, but the result was merely a weak, unsteady grin. She sighed instead.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” It was all he said.
Estrela offered him her gloved hand and murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” she allowed him to escort her down the stairs, into the majestic, painted hall, a solid gold handrail beneath her touch, a velvety red rug beneath her feet.
Black Bear stood toward the back of the hall and watched.
Princess, Queen, Estrela, Waste Ho.
He’d been told politely, but firmly, that he had to go. He’d been told he had no place in her life now. Someone had informed him that she didn’t even want to see him. Someone had arranged his passage home and he was even now supposed to be on a ship.
But he wouldn’t go, he couldn’t go; he didn’t believe it.
He’d come here to witness for himself what Waste Ho thought, what she felt, and if it were not her own wish that he leave…
And so he stood at the back, watching her, observing, listening. He caught her eye.
He looked at her. She stared back.
Their glances held; he didn’t even dare breathe.
Stay, her eyes said.
Come, he answered back.
And then it happened.
She glanced away.
It was a deliberate move. And as he watched the profile she presented to him, he knew it: She stayed.
She stood surrounded by red, white and black. She wore white, her train was red. His Majesty stood beside her in black.
But she didn’t care about any of it.
She watched him in the back of the room.
And as she stared, she thought she died a little.
She didn’t dare to breathe, she just looked.
It was over. It was gone. It was impossible. She was to be a Queen. He was Indian.
She had responsibilities—to her heritage, to England, to everyone assembled here.
And he? He had his tribe, his people. He must return, for there could never be more between them than a love affair.
And as she gazed at him, she pleaded, Stay here with me.
He looked back. Come.
And Estrela, unable to change what took place all around her, the dukes, the duchesses, the barons, and court notables, her heritage, her coronation, her responsibilities, she gazed away.
“Your Majesty?”
Estrela placed her gloved hand over that of the old King. “Please,” she said. “Take me away.”
“But Your Majesty, the assembly, your Court, your…”
Her hand tightened over his, and the old King followed her gaze.
He sighed. “Ah, to be young again,” he said under his breath. “But that’s quite another story.”
And with all the ceremony of the Royal Court, he turned the young Princess around.
She almost left. She almost walked away, out of Black Bear’s life without a backward glance.
But it is said on the Indian plains that one should always take a second look. Always.
She did.
She turned. She sought out his gaze. She stared.
And that’s when she realized. She didn’t have to do this. She didn’t know these people. She hadn’t grown up among them. She wasn’t really a part of this society, not anymore.
She gazed at the old King.
<
br /> Why take his throne away? Why?
He could do it. He could still be King, and there was the young Victoria, who had been groomed all her life to this position.
She wasn’t truly needed here.
She didn’t have to do this.
She wanted Black Bear, had wanted him all her life.
She swung back around. “Black Bear!” she cried at the same time a shot fired from the crowd.
The old King ducked down, unharmed.
Estrela screamed, but she screamed a name, “Black Bear!”
Black Bear was at once in motion, blazing forward through the crowd, his two Lakota friends behind him.
He was beside her in an instant, and as he gazed at her, picking her up and taking her in his arms, he smiled. “Here we are again.”
And then he ran.
Out of the assembly.
Away from St. James Palace.
Out into the streets, the two Lakota Indians at his heels, protecting his lead.
Toward the docks.
And as he ran, he asked, “You are sure?”
Estrela almost cried. She could barely speak. “I am sure, my love. What is my life without you?”
He whooped then. He hollered. He almost swung her around, but he couldn’t.
Instead, he ran on to the docks, his precious possession pressed tightly to his chest.
And Black Bear couldn’t help it; he tried, but he couldn’t help it.
Black Bear grinned.
Prince Frederick stood by the gangway of the ship.
“’Tis a Belgian ship,” he said. “Compliments of my Uncle Leopold, King of Belgium.” He looked at Estrela. “Cousin,” he said. “You are my own cousin, and I never knew it. Go now,” he said, “before they find you. It was a Dutch Patriot, an enemy of Belgium, who shot at you. If you stay, there will always be strife. ’Tis better that you go now. But hurry, no one is looking for you here…yet.”
Estrela smiled at him. “Thank you.” She gazed at her best friend, who stood beside the Prince. “Anna,” she said, her voice breaking. “I will miss you.”
Anna smiled at her. “Why does M’lady cry,” she asked, “when I be a boarding t’ ship w’ ye?”