I, Alexandrina Page 3

  None of this addressed what I asked about. “Perhaps you could come with me tomorrow,” I ventured. “On the plane. You could be with your family again.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  What were her reasons? Shame to face her family? The fear of spending the rest of her life in prison?

  Now, my last night in Marslavia, I slung my legs out of bed. I wandered to the window, which was, as always, locked. Darkness reigned over the night, and I lifted my gaze to the sky. Stars jostled for space. Stars everywhere. Oh, my sky! My home! Would mankind touch the stars one day? The moon?

  The whisper of possibility inside me. Could I be involved somehow? I was getting out, and…

  Nanny Flossie’s voice: Stop it. We are not dreamers here.

  I left my sky and checked the door, as I did every night. It had always been locked, and this time was no different. I slumped against the door. “Goodbye,” I said. “Goodbye, home. Goodbye, home.”

  **

  Smog rendered the next morning hazy, as the weather report over the intercoms said. Nanny Flossie showed up at six a.m. to help me get ready, all the while wiping tears from her eyes. She carried the dress that Philip had chosen for me to wear.

  “Eighteen years,” she said in a whisper. “Eighteen years I’ve seen you every day, and now you’re leaving.”

  I kept a stiff upper lip, pretending that my heart felt nothing. “I will get you out soon,” I said briskly.

  “Oh, Victoria. I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My home is here. I no longer have a life in England.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  **

  At seven a.m., Nanny Flossie escorted me into the white room where my party awaited. I wore Philip’s demure shades of gray along with a pastel-pink necklace of beads. Caroline’s black dress exposed sharp, angular lines and was a marked change from her outfit of two days before. It would not take much for the duchess to become a frightfully thin woman. A heavy cloud of perfume hung over her. Perhaps it was to mask the smell of alcohol on her breath, as I detected no vodka on her person.

  “Are you in mourning?” I joked as she squeezed me in a quick hug. Her touch was soft and soothing, and I wished for it to continue.

  She gave the requisite laugh. “Black is my color.”

  “Indeed,” said Philip, arching an eyebrow behind her. He wore a navy-blue suit, light-blue shirt and a pink tie. He and Caroline did not create the most pleasing aesthetics, with one in navy blue and the other in black. Me in gray likely added more unpleasantness to the mix.

  “Are you packed and ready to go?” Caroline asked.

  I nodded. The last outfit I packed was my shortest dress, a vivid red bestowed by a Saudi Arabian prince last year, or so Nanny Flossie said. He had wanted to visit and requested a private audience, but for whatever reason, the trip fell through.

  Roger Carter joined us, and he looked like something left in the sun a tad too long. Later, I would learn that he planned his public and on-camera appearances precisely, his gray suits a bit shabby and his shoes a touch worn. In other words, the perfect Labor politician to appeal to the working class in contrast to the royals with their gleaming shine.

  “You have your speech memorized?” Philip asked.

  Did I? I had thought so. It was only a few lines, and Nanny Flossie made me recite them repeatedly the previous night. Nothing floated to my mind at the moment, though.

  “Yes,” I said anyway.

  “Lovely!” Roger said. “Tally-ho, then. Let’s go.”

  I turned around for Nanny Flossie, but she was gone. “Nanny Flossie!” I cried.

  “She left,” Philip said. “She won’t be back. It’s best this way.”

  “No!” The walls closed in, and everything became ever more real. I was to leave. I would never see Nanny Flossie again, never be soothed by her sensible words and quiet expressions. My heart broke, and hot, wet tears fell from my eyes. I swore I heard Nanny Flossie crying from close by, and the sound, phantom or not, made my tears heavier and more plentiful.

  “See,” Philip said knowingly to Roger. “This is why I advised that Caroline do Victoria’s makeup later.”

  “Let me stay! Please. I want to stay here.”

  “I know, dear,” Caroline said. To her credit, she did not move to take me in her arms. If she had, I would have flung her away and said bad things.

  Caroline, Philip and Roger let me cry my sorrows out, and the outburst was over soon enough. We walked through ornate hallways and high-ceilinged rooms for the last time, and a limousine waited outside of the building that had been my only home. I thought then that I would never set foot in Wosnia proper. It and its brown smog would remain a city for me to glimpse from afar.

  A man dressed in black finery and adorned with a handlebar mustache stood at the limousine.

  “Alex, I’d like you to meet Marcus Thomas,” Caroline said. “He does a little bit of everything for me and Philip.”

  The man smiled and bowed his head. “Your Royal Highness, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Your Royal Highness. That moment gave me a small taste of what it was like to be respected, to be held in awe. I admit, it warmed my heart at a time when it was numb, quite numb. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” I said, and I looked back at the building. Nanny Flossie! There, at a third-floor window. I waved frantically, she disappeared, and I burst into tears again.

  **

  I had some idea of what a press gaggle looked like. We clones had been prepared on several occasions, putting on practice shows in front of nannies and tutors wielding heavy pieces of camera and lighting equipment. At the time of my release, however, I still lacked a proper understanding of how news spread. None of the books I read were published past 1900.

  I suspect Russ and John did this to limit the potential of restlessness among the clones. We did learn about planes when Russ and John talked about people coming from all over the world to see us. “They will travel,” the men said, “on trains and in ships created for air instead of water.” We made of that what we could; every once in a while as we played outside, we would see a plane in the sky. However, I am not sure any of us connected what we saw to the ships created for the air. (I knew what cars were because some, driving on roads, were visible from the windows of my home. Plus, because my home grounds were so large, golf carts and other vehicles were called upon for occasional transport.)

  On the way to the airport, Roger gave me a copy of my speech, and I reviewed it. “I want to add to this,” I decided.

  Philip frowned, but Caroline smiled encouragingly. “What do you want to add?”

  “I want to say that my name is Alexandrina. I am not a dead queen called Victoria.”

  “That won’t be possible,” Philip said. “There is no time for my mother to approve such a—”

  “Hush,” Caroline chided. She patted my knee, sending warm shivers up my leg. “You do that, Alex. You do exactly that.” A benign smile for Philip. “Your mother will recover. She will see that it is in her best interest. The more differentiation there is between Alex and the old queen Victoria, the better for Louise.”

  Philip nodded grudgingly. “Still, I feel that—”

  “No,” Caroline said. “Alex is her own woman. The sooner people understand that, the better.”

  “I’ll smooth it over with Her Majesty once we are in the air,” Roger put in.

  “How?” I asked.

  “Phone. How else?”

  I did not know then what phones were, but I smiled. And that was that.

  **

  The limousine pulled over on a dirt path just before the airport, and Caroline brandished weapons for the face. Eyeliner, mascara, blush, lipstick, much more. “Makeup time, Alex!” she announced.

  I had never liked makeup. It made my plainness the rest of the time ever more obvious. Still, I knew I had little choice in the matter, and to be honest, I was eager to be in closer proximity to Caroline.
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  “Are you fit?” Roger said in a harsh voice.

  Caroline shot him a glower. “Much more fit than you.”

  She had been drinking her alcohol nonstop for the past ten minutes. Philip muttered under his breath when Caroline drew out the flask, while Roger was less discreet. “Not again!” he exclaimed.

  “Don’t make her look like a clown,” Roger said now.

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Trust me, you’re the top clown here. Be a good lad, and find something to occupy yourself. You too, Philip.”

  They got out of the limousine and walked off. So did the driver, Marcus. “There’s that,” Caroline chirped. “Now, hmm…” She surveyed her array of implements. “Oh! I did not mean to presume, but it seems I did presume. Would you prefer to apply the makeup yourself, Alex? You are not a child, no matter how much others would like to believe so.”

  “You do it, please.”

  She winked. “I won’t draw outside of the lines. Promise. Say, do you want a hit or two?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Vodka. Want some? How are you feeling?”

  Excited, actually. Quite excited about what the next phase of my life with this quirky duchess would bring. She had stirred feelings in me, new feelings. I liked the sensation even as it scared me. “I feel okay,” I said.

  She peered at me with these astute, non-judgmental blue eyes of hers. “You’re a lot braver than I.”

  “Me, brave?”

  Caroline chose a mascara brush, and I shuddered.

  “Me too,” Caroline concurred. “I hate these things. Be gone, harbinger of evil!” She tossed the brush aside, replacing it with eyeshadow.

  I loved the smell of her breath as she applied shimmering green touches to my eyelids. The smell of the alcohol was bracing, direct and refreshing, just like the woman.

  “Do you do your own makeup?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Caroline said, and she let me search her lightly rogued cheeks, her black, elegant, curling eyelashes, her shiny pink lips. Electricity, the sort that passes between a woman and a woman, murmured between us. We saw things in each other, things that I had yet to explore but that she may well have. Freckles dotted her nose, and I imagined frolicking in bed with her and counting the marks. I imagined kissing her on the lips.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Caroline,” I whispered. A girlfriend. Being with a woman instead of being with a man. Is it really possible?

  She lowered her gaze. “Ah, well, thank you.” She did not sound happy. Nor disappointed, for that matter. Just…it was hard to explain. I knew somehow that I had erred. I had focused on Caroline’s looks and not on the woman within.

  “I’d like vodka,” I said, and Caroline looked up, beaming. Everything was okay again.

  “Just swill,” she said, handing me one of several flasks. “Good luck with your speech. You’ll do fantastically, Your Royal Highness.” She giggled.

  I swilled. As on the previous occasion, I gagged at first but quickly mellowed. And mellowed some more. “Stay still,” Caroline said, her voice coming from a long way off. “I need to get this lipstick on. Alex! Stop giggling. I’ve got to… oh, you’re impossible! Good thing I like you.”

  Caroline liked me? Oh, Caroline liked me! Wonderful day, wonderful day.

  **

  About twenty minutes later, my heart hammered as Roger, then Philip, then Caroline stepped out of the limousine. The swill of alcohol had not been large enough, evidently, and I was easing out of my relaxed state. Marcus Thomas, standing outside, extended a white-gloved hand. I scooted over, bit my lip, and stepped into the rest of my life.

  The press gaggle turned out to be a modest contingent of two camera people, two photographers and a handful of reporters. Caroline had told me in the limousine that the press contingent was kept small on purpose. First of all, it was difficult for people to enter Marslavia. The government had issued a limited number of press credentials for the British visit, and the press were not allowed to leave the airport area and travel further into the country. In many respects, Marslavia was like North Korea of the same period. Second of all, my initial appearances would be kept modest.

  Philip spoke first at the podium. Per a suggestion Caroline made in the limousine, I imagined the press in their underwear. Unfortunately, I giggled at the thought of a rotund cameraman in pink bikini bottoms right as Philip uttered a solemn line. He, being Philip, the humorless Duke of York, bestowed upon me a side glare that would reduce the harshest dictator to rubble.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, and he ran through the rest of his speech in a harsh clip.

  “Here she is,” he said in conclusion. “The person you’ve been waiting to meet.” At least he remembered to adjust the microphone lower.

  We exchanged places. “Th-thank you,” I said, mustering up a smile that got no such sentiment in return. A copy of my speech as well as Philip’s lay below the microphone, but I ignored it. Alcohol swirled in my stomach, and I felt light-headed again.

  “I’m sorry,” I told the press. “About my giggle. The duchess suggested that I imagine you folk in your underwear, and…” There I went, giggling again. “I’m nervous.” I made eye contact with the group and received a few encouraging grins. “Anyway,” I said, “I apologize.” I launched into my pre-planned speech. “I am grateful to the United Kingdom for securing my freedom. I thank Her Majesty Queen Louise and His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh for their warm welcome. As Countess of Lancaster, I shall endeavor to repay their consideration and to work hard in service to my country. I come from a woman called Victoria, and I hope to live up to her ideals of patriotism and persistence.” My heart thumped in my chest. Here it came, my break, my claim for true independence. “However, I ask that I be called Alexandrina. It is time for a new era. Thank you all, and I wish you a safe journey home.”

  The press contingent exploded. Do you plan to meet the queen? Will you meet Prince Albert? What do you think of the Duke and Duchess? What foods do you like? When did you find out you were a clone?

  Roger Carter took over at the podium, the signal for me, Caroline and Philip to get into the airplane. As I navigated the steps, Roger said, “There will be no questions today. We will release details soon about public appearances. Thank you.”

  **

  I had no time to take in the surroundings of the plane before Philip targeted Caroline. “Way to go,” he said with a sneer. “Thanks again for giving her alcohol.”

  Caroline shrugged. “It does help.”

  “Typical Caroline.”

  “Typical jerk,” Caroline muttered under her breath, and Philip stalked into another part of the plane.

  We would be in the air for nearly four hours. About an hour after takeoff, Caroline sighed and turned to me. She touched me briefly on the arm, and my bare skin sighed in pleasure.

  “Sorry about him,” she said. “He used to be better. He used to be fun.”

  Should I ask questions? Should I simply nod and accept the apology?

  “I suppose I owe you explanations,” Caroline continued, saving me from making a potentially grievous misstep. “Do you remember me telling you that Philip and I are separated?”

  “Yes.”

  “We married when I was twenty-one. He was twenty-five. We were both too young to know ourselves, and I expect we still are. In any case, we found out that we rather dislike each other.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Caroline shrugged. “Thank you. I am sorry too, but it happens.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Normally, planes like this have alcohol onboard. Not today, but I do have one more flask in my purse. We’ll save it for later, when we’re approaching the airfield. Half and half, a split right down the middle. We both need it, Alex.”

  I did not need alcohol. I knew that already, but to make my new friend feel better, I agreed. “I am glad you have a flask, Caroline.”

  Her blue eyes shone. I wanted to tell her again and again how pretty she was, but I remembered her reaction in
the limousine when I said it. So I kept quiet.

  “Will you love each other again someday?” I asked instead.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Caroline’s gaze darkened. “I told you what happened so you know what is going on. It is only fair. That does not mean I want to talk about it. Understand?”

  IV.

  “I would venture to warn against too great intimacy with artists as it is very seductive and a little dangerous.”

  -Queen Victoria

  London was two hours behind Marslavia, and our plane touched down at the private airfield near Windsor Great Park. The month was June, and I had been treated to visions of green, rolling countryside from above.

  My first trip via airplane had been fun despite my anxiety about possibly upsetting Caroline. Despite my missing Nanny Flossie and my fellow clones. Despite a lot of things.

  So, that was a good sign. I had also been exposed to phones when Roger talked briefly with the queen through a handheld device. I had learned about TV, too. Roger clicked a button and brought a large blank screen in front of the plane to life. It was about two hours into the journey, and Caroline was asleep. Philip nodded in and out of slumber near Roger. The plane was nice enough, nothing like a world-class jet. Queen Louise was frugal, and never was a good time appear spendy. (It turned out that the British government had spent nearly $100 million to secure my release. Can you imagine? They had competition from the wealthy Saudi Arabian prince who wanted to visit the previous year. In fact, he was prepared to spend $1 billion but in the end, Russ and John decided to let the British have me. When I found this out, my heart warmed over. I would have disappeared into the bowels of that Saudi Arabian palace never to be seen again. Russ and John had forsaken $900 million for my sake, and I would always be thankful to them for that.)

  The blank screen turned blue, and I blinked. “What is going on?”

  “What do you want to watch?” Roger asked.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “TV,” he said impatiently. “Which movie do you want to watch? We can get pretty much anything.”