by Hannah Parry
“Yes, Miss you will.” Bea smiled. “Now sit still, so I can attend to this. You’ll be glad you look nice when you meet the Duchess.”
“Why, is she an ogre?”
Bea looked taken aback.
“No, miss, but she is royalty. `Ave you had lunch with royalty before?”
Isabella thought of the times she’d delivered horses to the Maharajah of Rajasthan with her father. They would be welcomed with every courtesy and then given a leisurely lunch taken in the Indian way, cross-legged on a luxurious carpet, around low golden tables. The talk would be mostly of horses, but also of crops and the Maharajah’s irrigation projects. His palace was open and cool, with marble pillars and sparkling fountains in open courtyards. This palace was all sumptuous fabrics and ticking hush, like a room of people who stopped talking when one entered.
Isabella was in a clear mind of which she preferred
“I suppose it will be very formal.”
Bea nodded.
“Well, just mind your manners and you’ll be fine.”
Bea’s hands were soothing as she pushed and pulled at Isabella’s tangle of hair for what seemed like forever. After petticoats and stockings, Bea slid a dress over her head with a whisper of expensive fabric, and put some shoes on her feet. A few moments later Alix came back through the door dressed in a pretty blue dress. She clasped her hands to her face.
“Oh Isabella, you look beautiful!”
No need for her to sound quite so amazed, thought Isabella, but she was pleased at Alix’s reactions.
“Can I see myself now?” She asked.
“Of course.”
Bea turned the full-length mirror around and Isabella started in surprise. She looked so grown-up! The red velvet dress gave warmth to her pale skin and dark hair and made her look even taller. She had on beautiful red velvet shoes with a golden buckle and Bea had done her hair in a thick, smooth plait wound around with red silk ribbon. Around her, now spotless neck hung a little necklace of garnets. She opened the drawer containing her money belt, and then struggled to tie it around her waist with one hand.
“Miss, don’t do that. You’ll crease your dress, just leave it here… it’ll be fine.” But Alix knelt down and fastened up the buckle Isabella couldn’t reach and then pulled Isabella’s skirts down around it.
“Isabella’s worked hard for that. I can understand why she doesn’t want to let it out of her sight.” Isabella nearly hugged her. “Come on, let’s go and see if Mama can see you now. I’m sure she wants very much to meet you.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t, Alix. She’s probably just being polite.”
Alix looked at her, her face hardening into lines Isabella hadn’t noticed before.
“My mother rarely does anything to just be polite.”
Maybe she should change the subject.
“How am I going to manage all that cutlery with one hand?”
Alix threw her a wicked smile.
“It’s all right, I’ve spoken to Jack, my footman. He’s going to cut up your meat for you.” Isabella’s shoulders slumped. This was going to be just as bad as she had imagined.
Tagging along behind Alix, Isabella decided the palace was very grand, but the air felt oppressive. Thick fabrics lined the walls, holding sound prisoner in its fibres. Tapestries of dying men and sundered horses overwhelmed the corridors along which they passed. Suits of armour, their eyes a black, blank slit seemed to stare after them.
“It’s darker than Indira’s cave in here,” said Isabella.
Alix took her hand.
“I know. I wouldn’t come here when I was little. Or if I did, I used to run all the way. I was worried a hand would shoot out from behind the tapestry and grab my leg.”
Isabella shivered.
“I’m not surprised.”
The light brightened and the corridor widened out into a chamber with a black and white marble floor. A vast arrangement of lilies sat on a polished mahogany table. Pollen lay on the floor, staining a white tile. Looking up, Isabella could see numerous coats’ of arms on the wood-panelled walls, painted with gold leaf and daubed with deep red and royal blue. Spears hung at intervals and a fire roared in the stone fireplace, in which Isabella would have been able to stand. A portrait of King William III dressed in his naval uniform hung over the fireplace. The overall impression was of history and might and she could see how it would be very useful in intimidating visiting dignitaries.
They approached the door.
“Don’t worry,” said Alix, “just be yourself.”
“I’m not worried.” Isabella replied, surprised to find she spoke the truth. This would be interesting. Even if it were awful, at least she’d have some stories to tell the children tomorrow, not to mention a full stomach.
The doors swung open onto a pretty blue and yellow salon. A small rounded woman came towards Isabella. Isabella blinked and then blinked again, but the bright smile and dark shining hair were unmistakable.
It was Mrs Jolyon.
Chapter 6:
An Unexpected Friend
“My dearest Isabella,” said Mrs Jolyon taking her hands, “how extraordinarily wonderful to see you here. Please,” she gestured towards a low silk sofa. “Come and meet the Duchess of Kent.” The woman sitting on the sofa was beautiful with thick chestnut hair lifted in a very formal style and threaded with gold thread. Her dress was of bronze taffeta which emphasised her golden eyes with brows, which lifted at the tip like Alix’s. She was slight with a large bosom, and a tightly laced waist. Her bronze slippers were of the same fabric as her dress. She turned her face from Isabella to Mrs Jolyon.
“Am I right in thinking you are previously acquainted with this child, Mrs Jolyon?” Mrs Jolyon put her hand on Isabella’s shoulder.
“I am Ma’am. This is Isabella Rockwell. She and I shared our passage home together.”
The Duchess looked at Isabella closely.
“What a coincidence.” Isabella looked back at the Duchess just as closely. The Duchess’s voice was light and insubstantial, like the bubble on top of milk just arrived in the pail. The hand she offered Isabella, and over which Isabella supposed she should curtsey, was cold.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said in a small voice, unsure of what to do.
The Duchess removed her hand.
“How then do you come to be on the streets?”
Alix moved closer to her.
“She is not on the streets, mother. She has a home. I was mistaken.” The Duchesses’ eyes slid over to her daughter.
“I don’t like that blue on you Alix, it doesn’t become you.”
Alix’s face fell.
“But you chose the fabric, Mother.”
But the Duchess was looking back at Isabella.
“Did I? I must have been having an off day.” Fastening Isabella with her golden eyes she asked, “So how is it you come to be back in England, Isabella?”
Here then, the question she’d been dreading. How was she to reply? If she told the truth they would surely send her back to the care of India House and then escape might prove very difficult indeed.
“I am a kitchen maid in the city Ma’am,” she bluffed. There was a fraction’s pause then Mrs Jolyon stepped forward.
“Yes, that’s right. Her father’s regiment arranged a position for her.”
“I see.” Then the Duchess seemed to lose interest. “Well, that was most fortunate for us all, wouldn’t you say Alix?”
Alix seemed subdued, her pretty eyes dull.
“Yes, Mother. She saved my life. Of course it was fortunate she was there.”
“You will be much more careful in future?”
“I was being careful mother, but…”
The Duchess held up her hand.
“I don’t want to hear excuses. You do not take your position seriously enough sometimes, Alixandrina.
Alix was going pink with anger and Isabella felt for her.
“It wasn’t her fault Ma’am. I think someth
ing had upset her horse.”
Isabella stopped, feeling a hand on her arm. It was Mrs Jolyon.
“It all turned out very well in the end, didn’t it?” She gave Isabella’s arm a squeeze. Isabella opened her mouth and then, seeing Mrs Jolyon’s warning glace closed it again. The Duchess glanced up sharply, but Mrs Jolyon’s face had reverted to its usual pleasant expression. “Shall I ring for lunch, Ma’am?”
The Duchess nodded.
“Yes, but where is Mr Conroy, Jolyon? We can’t start without him.”
“I am here my dear,” came a booming voice from the doorway, “I am so sorry to be late.” The man bent over the Duchess’s hand. He was tall and dark, with shiny well-kept skin and a small ponytail caught with a ribbon at the back of his neck. His hair was receding slightly from his hairline and any errant strands were plastered into place with a strong smelling hair tonic. The overall impression Isabella had of Mr Conroy was that all his clothes were one critical size too small. The Duchess had gone pink.
“Where have you been Mr Conroy? We haven’t seen you since at least eleven.” The man pressed his lips to the Duchess’s hand.
“I am so sorry, Ma’am. The pressures of office, you know.”
The Duchess looked at him with sympathy.
“Mr Conroy, you work too hard.”
“But Ma’am things must be attended to. Large households won’t run themselves you know.” He ran a hand distractedly over his hair.
“I am aware of that Mr Conroy,” she replied.
He smiled at her fondly.
“I know you are Ma’am.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go through?”
“Before we do, John, I want you to meet Isabella Rockwell.” She gestured to Isabella to step forward from the place she’d taken behind the sofa, where she’d been trying to blend in with the curtain. Isabella hesitated, but Alix pushed her forward.
John Conroy turned to her with a wide smile. “But of course, our heroine! I am so sorry not to have appreciated your presence sooner. Here,” he leant over and gently took her left hand. “Let me thank you most sincerely for your bravery in helping to rescue the Princess Alix. God only knows what could have happened had you not been there.”
Isabella was taken aback at the warmth of his tone.
“Um, err, you are welcome… pleased to meet you.” She bobbed a curtsey again.
“Do you work nearby, for it was nearly dark when the Princess’s accident took place, am I right? Were you on your way home?”
“Yes sir, though I had not been at work. I was strolling on Horseguard’s Parade, after looking at the new palace. I had turned for home across the gallops when the Princess’s horse bolted.” It wouldn’t do at all to tell the truth at this point. She stumbled on. “It’s very beautiful the new palace.”
John Conroy’s face lit up.
“Isn’t it though? A work of architectural genius, I feel.”
“Mr Conroy says the king hopes to have a ball on new year’s eve, if all is done in time. It’s to be fancy dress!” said Alix, looking a little more animated.
“Quite right, your majesty. I do so hope it is completed. The king has his heart set on it,” John Conroy agreed.
The Duchess was fidgeting.
“Shall we proceed now?” she asked coldly.
John Conroy turned his attention back to her. “Of course.”
Isabella waited until Mrs Jolyon gestured for her to come and then followed the Duchess, Mr Conroy and Alex across the hall, with a rustle of skirts and the tapping of kid slippers. On the opposite side of the hall was the dining room, which held a long table laid with silver and crystal, sparkling in the soft light from lanterns scattered around the room. The room was all white and silver and the seats were upholstered in grey velvet and the walls lined with grey silk. It felt cold, as if one should just admire it rather than eat in it.
There were others at the table. A tall thin lady, rather like a well-dressed ostrich, was the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting and there were assorted bewigged courtiers. Isabella sat amongst the other attendants, though Mrs Jolyon was nearby. Not that she minded, as it gave her time to eye the silverware. There was so much of it she could feel her fingers start to itch and she had to sit on her hands.
After their fish, Mrs Jolyon leant over to her.
“So,” she said looking around to see if they could be overheard. “What really happened to you? I met Mrs Trotter in Regent’s Park and she said you ran away.”
Isabella looked at her sideways. She’d always liked Mrs Jolyon, but could she trust her?
“Mrs Trotter and I parted ways.”
Mrs Jolyon nodded.
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. When did you part company?”
“The day after the ship docked.”
Mrs Jolyon’s eyebrows rose.
“But that was six weeks ago. How have you been surviving?” Isabella said nothing, and Mrs Jolyon gave a wry smile. “Maybe it’s best you don’t tell me. However I am extremely glad you have survived. I very much enjoyed your company on board and I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your helping Princess Alix in her hour of need.” She looked over to where Alix was trying, and failing, to be interested in what her mother was saying. “She is as dear to me as if she were my own.”
Isabella nodded.
“I can see why. I like her very much; she seems very unspoiled for a princess.”
Mrs Jolyon smiled.
“Yes, she is very unspoiled considering her position.”
“What is her position?” Isabella’s knowledge of history was shaky, at best.
“She is to be queen, when King William dies. He has no children, not legitimate ones anyway, and none of his brothers had children except the Duke of Kent. Alix is the Duke of Kent’s daughter.”
Isabella’s eyes were wide.
“What if he died tomorrow, would she become queen then?”
Mrs Jolyon shook her head.
“No, there would have to be a regent until she was eighteen. At the moment it would be the Duchess of Kent.”
There was a pause whilst they both looked at the Duchess who was fussing about what she was going to drink, and then Mr Jolyon continued in Hindi. “Let us hope the king keeps in good health,” and she winked.
Despite her long night’s sleep, Isabella found the lunch exhausting and even before desert, her arm was aching and she felt her head might drop into her trifle.
The Duchess’s unkindness to Alix, and John Conroy’s fawning over the Duchess was making her feel sick. The conversation was only about whatever the Duchess wished to talk about, and every time Alix tried to ask about India, the Duchess would interrupt and bring the conversation back to herself.
A full two hours later Mrs Jolyon gestured to both girls it was time to leave. Isabella had to stop herself from running from the room.
“Thank you Ma’am for such a lovely lunch,” she said before she left the room, bobbing another curtsey, rather proud she seemed to be getting the hang of it. The Duchess nodded, barely giving her a glance, but just as they were to quit the room, Isabella heard the Duchess’s voice carry across the room surprisingly clearly.
“Oh Isabella, just how long do you think you might be staying with us? Alix doesn’t need any more distractions from her schoolwork than she already has.”
“Doesn’t need to have any fun you mean… you old bat…” Isabella muttered to herself whilst turning to face the Duchess.
“Mama,” Alix had interjected. “Dr Monroe feels she will be much improved in a week.”
“A week? But her arm is not broken. What nonsense. She can stay for three days.”
“Mama, please, four days… just until New Year’s Eve?” Isabella wondered how the Duchess could refuse Alix anything such was the sweetness of her pleading face.
“Ma’am, if I may,” John Conroy placed a hand on the Duchess’s arm. “Mightn’t the child stay a little longer? We are, after all, indebted to her.” He smiled winningly.
/> The Duchess hesitated.
“Very good then. Just until New Year’s Eve.”
As the double doors closed behind them, Isabella breathed freely. What a relief to be away from them, with their smiles, which didn’t reach their eyes and their surfaces, so brittle they might break at any moment. And Alix’s mother? She’d been the worst of them all.
“You are not like your mother.” Isabella remarked as they made their way back to Alix’s suite of rooms.
Alix shook her head.
“No. I look mostly like my father. Come,” she pulled Isabella’s good arm. “I’ll show you a picture.” Isabella wondered if Alix had understood what she’d really meant by her remark.
At dusk, Isabella was back in the yellow and white bedroom, resting in an easy chair. The lanterns had been lit and gave a soft pink glow and the fire hissed and crackled, sending shadows up the heavy satin curtains.
“That was the nicest afternoon I’ve had in a long time, thank you, Alix.” She stretched, allowing the warmth of the fire to wash over her well-fed body. She’d forgotten how it felt to have a really full stomach.
“That tea was divine. I’m not sure I should have had the last éclair.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone eat so many pastries in one sitting before. I think you might have set a record,” replied Alix with a smile, “ either that or you will be sick.” There was a knock on the door and Bea poked her head around the door.
“Yes, Bea, what is it?”
“Ma’am if you please, the young man your miss was with. He’s brought something for her. He won’t leave it with the kitchen staff. Insists on giving it to her himself. Wants to see she’s all right. He’s in the servants’ dining room.” Bea sniffed to let them know what she thought of this.
Alix stood up.
“That’s fine, Bea. He said he’d return. Take him to the library, if Mrs Harrison will let you. Jack can wait outside for Isabella.”
Bea curtsied and left the room.
“There, isn’t that nice of him to keep his promise. Are you looking forward to seeing him?”
Isabella smiled.
“I’m looking forward more to having my bag.”
Alix frowned.