The Wild Princess

by Perry, Mary Hart

  “This isn’t right, Princess,” Sarah whispered under her breath, glancing around her as if worried they’d be seen. “We know the rules. You are to eat at the school. You can’t leave until your carriage comes.”

  “We don’t want to get in trouble,” Florence added in apology. She looked at the other girls. “Maybe we should walk her back now.”

  “No, please!” Louise cried, making people on the street turn and stare at them.

  “If we do, we won’t have time to eat.” Sarah flashed Louise an irritated look. “You’re making trouble for us, don’t you see?”

  Louise had never been spoken to in such an impertinent tone before. Yes, her tutors had ordered her about, and more than once Victoria had given Nurse or one of the governesses permission to slap her for her naughtiness. But commoners simply did not tell a royal person what to do.

  “You won’t get into trouble, I promise,” Louise said. “It’s my decision where I eat and with whom.” She put on a cheery face. “So . . . where are we going and what’s on the menu?”

  “Menu? Listen to her.” Sarah snorted.

  Florence, the nicest of the three, with a sunny round face and plump figure that marked her as a lover of sweets, slipped her arm through Louise’s and started walking again. “I’m sure street food is not as fine as what you’re accustomed to, Your Highness. But come along.” The other girls had no choice but to move forward with them.

  Louise shrugged. “I don’t care whether it’s fine, just as long as it’s filling. I’m starving.” Why did her stomach rumble now, when she hadn’t felt in the least interested in the food prepared by Cook?

  She noticed then that a group of the boy students, jostling and play-boxing one another, had stopped just ahead of them. Donovan was watching her over his shoulder from the middle of the pack. They stood in front of a vendor’s stall near the edge of the park. It was only at that moment—while the others were buying their lardy meat pies wrapped in greasy paper to keep the warm juices from spilling out, paying with coins they pulled from pockets and little change purses—that she realized she had a problem.

  Never had there been a need for her to carry coins on her person. She’d always been accompanied by an older family member or servant, who paid for whatever she wished to purchase. She had no money.

  When her turn came to order she stepped back out of line and away. Not knowing what else to do she started walking along with those who had already purchased their meal and were moving into the park to eat in the shade beneath the trees.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She turned.

  “Aren’t you going to buy something to eat?” It was Donovan.

  “I’m not very hungry,” she lied and gave him a sunny smile. He was actually speaking to her. She felt light-headed with the thrill of it.

  He squinted. “That so?”

  Louise shrugged.

  He laughed. “I see. The little princess is out in the world on her own for her first time.” Her cheeks blushed feverishly. He scooped a few more coins out of his pocket, took her hand, and led her back to the vendor’s stall. “What will you have, Princess?”

  “Oh no, I can’t let you—” He always came in the same clothes, was thinner than a lamppost. He must be very poor.

  “What are you doing there, Donovan?” Sarah asked, suspicion mirrored in her bright eyes. “You don’t buy any of us pies.”

  “Now there’s a thing you don’t see every day.” One of the boys poked another in the ribs. “Donovan parting with a coin.”

  Two other boys slapped Donovan on the back, as if congratulating him on what Louise knew not. He pushed them roughly away and turned back to her. “It’s not a gift, Your Highness. I expect you to repay me.”

  Then it would be all right, she thought. He was loaning her the money. “Of course. Yes, I will pay you back tomorrow, with a little more for your trouble. Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

  The whole group ate together in Hyde Park, and she thought it so much nicer than any of the elaborate Buckingham garden picnics her mother arranged for the children of her ministers, nobility, and favored upper-class subjects. So friendly was this little group, all of them young and talking so brilliantly about their art. The sun shone down between the branches. Sparrows twittered above them. Horse-drawn omnibuses and hansom cabs clip-clopped past. Vendors sang out their wares from the streets beyond. She’d never realized the noises of the city could be so lovely.

  As she ate, Louise noticed her classmates seemed to cluster around her before sitting down, almost as if trying to screen her from the prying eyes of those strolling past. She couldn’t decide if this was because they felt obligated to protect her, or they feared someone recognizing her and accusing them of doing something wrong.

  After a while, though, everyone seemed to relax, and the storytelling and jokes began. By the time the midday meal was over and they’d returned to the school, they were all laughing and including her in their conversations. Louise had never been happier.

  The next day Louise arrived in class, her reticule plump with coins. From the time she’d been very young, she’d received money for birthdays and holidays, and she kept a china bank into which she deposited her precious coins—money she’d never needed until now. If she liked, she could buy everyone’s meat pie all week long.

  As before, she waited alone in the classroom and listened until she heard the girls taking off for their noon meal. They would join up with the boys along the way. She dumped Cook’s lunch and caught up with her new friends.

  Because she wanted to remain one of them, not hold herself above her classmates by displaying her wealth, she very quietly slipped into Donovan’s hand payment for the previous day, adding another shilling for his being so kind to her. Walking alongside her, he looked down at the coins before pocketing them. Counting, she thought. For a moment, it seemed to her he was considering refusing the extra money, or maybe even all of it. But then something changed in his eyes, and a bit of his pride fell away.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Then she knew how desperately he must need money, and her heart went out to him. His gift to her the previous day became all the more precious to her.

  After that she went with the others every day to lunch. When questioned by Cook, who at last missed her, she pretended haughtiness and told the woman she’d prefer to fast until returning to the palace, where the food was more to her liking. It was what the Crown Princess, her sister Vicky, would have said.

  Somehow Maestro must have soothed Cook’s feelings because nothing more was said of the matter. Even Maestro seemed weary of keeping an eye on her. He assumed an attitude of indifference to her socializing, only chiding her if she was late in returning. Instead it was Amanda who warned her away from the other students.

  “Playin’ with fire, you are, Princess. You best stay away from that lot or they’ll bring you trouble.”

  “And who are you to be telling me what to do?” She wrinkled her nose at the maid of all work, down on her knees, waxing the school’s hallway floor with wide swirls of her rag. “I like them. They’re fun and ever so clever.”

  Amanda didn’t look up. “The girls mebbe. But a lady like you ought to beware of those boys, ’specially that Donovan. He’s mischief and more, that one.”

  Louise huffed at her. “You sound like my governess. All sour pickles when it comes to enjoying oneself. Anyway, I’m learning so much more about life than I ever could cooped up in the palace.”

  “About life,” Amanda muttered, putting muscle into her task. “Right.”

  Fifteen

  One day Donovan failed to appear at the school. A different model stood in his place, and they started all over with fresh sketches. By the end of the week, it was clear to Louise the young man had been permanently replaced.

  “Where has Donovan gone?” she asked Mary when they walked out at noon.

  “I’ve no idea, Your Highness. They come and go, you know. There are a lot of hungry bo
ys. Girls too. All willing to pose for a little money.”

  “He will never come back then?” When Donovan had been among them, he’d seemed just one of their lively group, although a bit special to her for his generosity that first day she’d eaten with them. Now that he was gone she missed him.

  “He may, if he gets hungry enough,” Sarah said, elbowing her way between her and Mary, her eyes twinkling impishly. “But I doubt it. He’s a pretty boy. A fellow like that won’t be out on the streets for long.” The other girls giggled.

  Louise frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Mary pulled her aside. “Princess, ignore them. They’re being crude. Sarah means that some wealthy woman will take a liking to Don, provide him with a room, nice clothes, and food. Then he won’t need to pose anymore.”

  Louise’s eyes shot wide, despite her attempt to contain her shock. “You mean, in return for . . . favors?” She’d heard that word used when describing such arrangements between a wealthy man and, usually, a younger woman who weren’t married.

  Mary shrugged and blushed. “What else?”

  Louise sighed. She supposed this was another element of the adult world she’d only guessed at until now. She knew that men bought their mistresses gowns, a carriage and four, even town houses in the city if they were rich enough. But she’d never thought of women buying men luxuries.

  It was then that Louise decided she must find Donovan and discover for herself what had happened to him. Wasn’t it her duty, as a friend, to at least make sure he was safe?

  The next day, before everyone left for lunch, Louise approached two of the boys who had spent the most time with Donovan and asked if they had any idea where she might find him.

  “He has a job with two artists,” Jacob, the taller of the two, said. “Gabriel Rossetti and William Morris.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Rossetti’s garret is at Chatham Place, just north of Blackfriar’s Bridge.”

  “I don’t know where that is,” she said, disappointed. “Is it far?”

  Jacob and Felix glanced at each other, maybe for the first time realizing why she was asking.

  Felix said, “You can see St. Paul’s Cathedral from there. But it’s not the nicest part of the city, Princess. I wouldn’t go there, if I were you.”

  Louise cocked her head at him. “I can go where I please.”

  “Listen.” Jacob bent toward her confidentially. “I suspect the queen thinks us a wild bunch. But Rossetti? She’d call the man immoral. Have you ever seen his paintings?”

  She shook her head.

  “Or read his poetry?” Felix chimed in with a grin. “Quite racy, I’d say.”

  Jacob nodded in enthusiastic agreement, and Louise immediately made a mental note to find a copy of Mr. Rossetti’s poems. “I only want to see Donovan, not his employers. To repay him money I borrowed. That’s all.”

  Jacob shrugged, and she wondered if he saw through her lie. “Do you want us to go with you?” he asked. “You know, for protection.”

  She smiled, stopping just short of laughing. These two skinny young men from titled families, just as sheltered as she was, were offering to put themselves between her and potential danger.

  “Thank you for the offer, gentlemen. I’ll have two able-bodied men from the palace to attend me.” But if she had any say in the matter, her footman and driver would go no farther than the artists’ front door.

  From high in the sky, the sun shot brilliant beams down between tightly packed buildings and succeeded in burning off as much of the yellow-green smog as ever it could. Visible specks of coal dust filtered through the air like fine black snow. Louise sat in the barouche and waved a delicate pierced-ivory fan in front of her face, but it helped little.

  Her heart picked up the rhythm of the horses’ hooves over the uneven paving stones. The metal-rimmed wheels of her carriage rumbled and scraped along the road. The sheer excitement of a new adventure made her feel all the more alive.

  Louise amused herself by memorizing the route her driver took through unfamiliar streets, creating a map of sorts in her head. Luckily, he chose main thoroughfares, cutting as straight a line across the city as possible from Kensington High Street along the southern edge of lush green Hyde Park to Knightsbridge, through Piccadilly and then again south to the Strand, lined with its stately Jacobean mansions. She recognized the Duke of Northumberland’s house, having been there to a ball that spring, and then elegant Durham House and Salisbury House before coming to the eyesore of Westminster, the Savoy Hospital for the poor, with its sad clusters of cripples and indigents haunting the alleys around it. Fleet Street took them to a left onto Farringdon, which dumped them into a nicer neighborhood that fronted on a tiny but pleasant-looking park. Should she ever need to come back here on her own, she decided it would be wise not to get lost.

  The neighborhood wasn’t as bad as she’d expected after her conversation with Jacob and Felix. In fact it wasn’t at all frightening. Rather it exuded romance and adventure with its colorful mix of artisans, street artists, and, she imagined, even poets—all set against the vibrant backdrop of shops crammed with supplies to support their talents. The lodgings seemed modest—older houses divided into multiple tenancies—but the stoops were swept and clear of garbage, the cafés charming and jammed with smiling, laughing people.

  When at last the carriage stopped and the brawny footman hopped down from his perch to open her door, Louise rechecked the address she’d written down to make sure they’d found the right place. The building wasn’t marked with a number; few were in this part of the city. But one house across the street sported a placard with a promisingly close number, so this seemed about right.

  “Shall I accompany you, Your Highness?” her footman asked.

  “No. It’s better if I go in alone. My friend . . . she’s shy. I won’t be long. We’ll be going straight back to the school,” she informed him cheerfully. By using her lunchtime break she would be back before Maestro realized she had gone farther than the two streets to where her crowd usually lunched.

  “You’re certain?” He looked worried. Should she be?

  “I am.” She wasn’t.

  The tremors that had started as trills of anticipation in her heart now traveled through the rest of her body. She drew a breath and told herself she had nothing to worry about. She and Donovan were friends. He was sweet, gentle, amusing to be around. Nothing he’d ever said or done in her presence could in the slightest way be construed as threatening. She had no reason to feel vulnerable.

  After all, she had seen the fellow at his most exposed state—totally naked. If either of them held an advantage—it was she.

  Yet, she mused as she gathered her skirts and stepped down from the carriage, he hadn’t seemed at a disadvantage while posing in the altogether on his platform. His attitude was always proud, removed. As if he owned the school, as if the students and staff were his guests, whom he chose to ignore until he dressed again and struck out with them in a companionable manner for a bite to eat.

  His ability to remove himself emotionally from a situation was a trick Louise envied. There were times she would have liked to mentally absent herself from a royal reception or formal dinner. And she longed to show those around her that she was in charge. That she was not a woman whose future was to be negotiated for the purpose of others’ power, wealth, or property. She was the one who would control her own life.

  “I won’t be long,” she repeated firmly to her footman.

  Of course, she had no proof that Donovan would be here at all. And even if he were here, he might be asleep after spending the night out with friends or working tedious hours for Rossetti. On the other hand, for all she knew, he might have moved on to yet another job by now.

  But she felt compelled to at least try to find him. She had so few real friends it seemed tragic to lose one.

  Louise checked the names scrawled on little paper cards in metal slots beside the door. ROSSETTI/MORRIS: T
HIRD FLOOR. Three flights of creaking, splintery wooden steps later, she was facing a warped, water-stained door with functioning but rusty hinges and latch. She raised a gloved hand to knock, but the door swung open before her knuckles touched wood.

  Donovan stood in long, loose muslin pants, gathered by a drawstring at the waist, riding low on his narrow hips. He wore nothing else.

  She swallowed, smiled nervously. A tickling sensation traveled up from her knees and settled cozily in her stomach. “How did you know I’d come?” she asked.

  He laughed and jerked his thumb toward the windows. “Do you suppose one of HRM’s carriages pulls up outside a place like this every day?”

  She felt her cheeks go hot as she remembered the royal crest embossed on the barouche’s door. “I suppose not.”

  He studied her, still standing in the doorway. Beyond his bare shoulder, she could see two men, each painting at an easel. A woman wrapped in a paisley shawl sat in a ladder-back chair, the illumination from a skylight above her brightening her features.

  “Why are you here, Princess?”

  She jumped at Donovan’s voice; he sounded more irritated than happy to see her.

  “I was worried about you and wanted to see that you were well.”

  “And do I look well to you?”

  She blushed hotter, brought her fan up to cool her cheeks and tried to focus on his face rather than his naked chest . . . or bare feet . . . or smoothly muscled arms. “You appear in good health.”

  He reached out his hand, taking hers, drawing her a little closer. “As do you,” he whispered.

  She shot a worried look at the painters, but they seemed involved in their work. The noise of pots banging together in one of the other apartments mixed with the shouts of vendors down in the street. Everything seemed so normal, so unremarkably ordinary. Why should she feel uneasy?

  “I am well,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say.