I, Alexandrina Page 4

  “Oh! I see. You…you pick.”

  Two minutes later, the opening credits for The Wizard of Oz played across the screen. “I’ve not seen this since I was a child,” Roger said sheepishly. “Let’s see how it holds up.”

  People moved on the screen! A woman pedaled a bicycle, and how…how was she on the plane with us? I struggled to keep my astonishment in check, but I evidently did a terrible job. “Alexandrina,” Roger said sharply, “have you never watched TV?”

  “No, sir,” I whispered, feeling very stupid.

  Anyway, so we landed—eventually. The Duke and Duchess lived at Frogmore House. Caroline called it a “splendid old pile,” and that it was. In fact, it was nearly as splendid as the building that I had called home for the first eighteen years of my life. I had learned much about Frogmore House during my studies with Heather Rubberstone. It had been one home of Victoria, Duchess of Kent, mother of Queen Victoria. The queen was a frequent visitor to the house after her husband Albert died, and watercolors by two of the queen’s children, Victoria and Louise (the royals like to recycle their names), still hang in the “pile.”

  Caroline was quiet for most of the ride to Frogmore. In fact, everyone was. Roger had separated from us at the airfield, and the three of us were on our own. Somewhat on our own, I mean. A few police cars escorted us, and an officer warned of “slight excitement” from the populace.

  Not long into the ride, we noticed a few people had lined up on the sides of the road. The people, the crowds, became denser as we got closer to Frogmore. There were banners galore. One read: WELCOME HOME, YOUR MAJESTY. WE MISSED YOU. Another proclaimed: LONG LIVE THE QUEEN! In a similar vein, a counterpart banner shrieked: GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! There were a few negative banners, too. Banners such as IMPOSTOR! And OUR TAXES DO NOT SUPPORT MONSTERS!

  “Heavens,” Caroline said after we passed a banner reading: GO HOME, IMPOSTUR! “The least they could do is spell check.”

  “Don’t joke,” Philip chided as the car rolled by a bouquet of VICTORIA + ALBERT = FOREVER! signs.

  At this point, police officers had to restrain some people from rushing to meet the car. Britons strained to catch glimpses of the duke and duchess and me. Me! Me, who was the opposite of majestic. They screamed. They waved. They cried.

  My sense of astonishment gave way to a sense of reverence. Caroline, too, was affected.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh. They really do believe. It’s marvelous in its own way, isn’t it? Such hope and enthusiasm.”

  “It’s rubbish,” Philip said with a snort.

  At last, the crowds became impossibly dense, blocking the road, and the police car in front of us drew to a stop. A few officers surrounded our car, imploring the crowd to let us through. We had experienced a long day. We needed to get home and rest.

  “We want Victoria!” the crowd chanted. TV crews set every little while on the roadway filmed everything.

  Philip’s jaw clenched. “How did the police not anticipate this?”

  Caroline checked herself over in a mirror from her purse. “We didn’t anticipate it, either. Looks like we have no choice.” Tension lined her expression. “We need to give the people what they want. Don’t you agree, Alex? Oh, my eyes. I look so tired, but I suppose there’s no help for it at the moment. Shall we get out? Oh, you look marvelous. Lucky you.”

  I was not sure about the wisdom of leaving the car and offered a hesitant smile. No bravery at the moment from the half of the flask I had imbibed before landing.

  “We need to go to the people, Philip,” Caroline argued.

  “We can’t! Victoria’s first public appearance is not for days. Mummy would be furious.”

  “It will be only for a minute.”

  “What if they riot? What if they overrun us and try to shoot? Look at her. Victoria is scared to death.”

  “I-I’m not scared to death. I’m surprised. Overwhelmed.”

  “Do you think you might want to get out, Alex?” Caroline said.

  I drew in a breath. The people out there were happy, no doubt. Joyous. They brimmed with an energy I had never fathomed. To be part it, to be the object of it…was I strong enough? My heart thumped. Skittered. My stomach tightened with nervous anticipation.

  “All right. For a minute,” I said.

  “I’ll be right with you.” Caroline tried to put me at ease. “Let me get out first.” To Philip: “Are you staying in?”

  He glowered. “If you are doing this, then I must, too. I will get out first.”

  Get out first he did, nudging his door open and provoking a huge roar. A police officer rushed over, and Philip reassured the man. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

  He climbed out.

  “It’s the duke! Philip! Philip, over here! Your Royal Highness!” Noise and more noise as the door fell shut.

  Caroline put her hand on my knee, my bare knee. She rubbed it with her thumb. Oh God oh God. I was about to die. Never had I been touched like this. And especially not by smooth, masterful hands.

  “Alex?”

  I trembled. I could not think. Her touch! Her touch! I melted and melted. “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Should I not touch you?”

  “You can. I’m not used to it. I apologize.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I ventured a glance at her, and when I saw that her eyes were filled with anxiety, I found the courage to make an embarrassing confession. “I’ve barely been touched my entire life.”

  “Oh, my sweet.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t.”

  “I won’t.” Caroline squeezed my knee. “Please tell me if I make yo uncomfortable.”

  More and more warmth surged through me. Warmth and courage. “You can touch me. In fact, please do.”

  Caroline smiled. “I miss being touched. It’s been years.” She glanced at her husband through the window. He was shaking hands with a group of people. “Believe it or not, Philip does pretty well with crowds. He’s grumpy with me, but he puts on a good public face. He has a sharp memory. He’ll meet someone for a minute at an event and ten years later, be able to recall the person’s name and details even though the person looks entirely different.”

  I appreciated Caroline trying to put me at ease with her chatter. Deep breath. Deep breath. “I know about performance jitters,” I said. “I got nervous every time we had a practice performance at The Clone Show. Nanny Flossie said to take a deep breath and to center myself.”

  Impish smile. “What about my underwear suggestion?”

  I laughed. “Or that. Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  **

  When I got out, Caroline standing by my side as she promised, the crowd fell silent. Wide, gawping faces. I breathed in air. Fresh, clean air, different air than in Wosnia. I saw no brown layer of smog in the distance. I saw only greenness, green in a riot of shades. The dark-green of one tree, the light-green of a leaf, the medium-green of grass.

  “Come on,” Caroline whispered, leading me over to her husband.

  Still, the people gawped, and then they began to bow. To curtsy. Graceful waves, the people welcoming home a beloved they thought long lost to them.

  “This is Rachel,” Philip said, indicating one of the women he had been chatting with. Cameras filmed us up close. “She came from Scotland for this. All the way from Scotland. She has flowers for you, Victoria.”

  Alex. I am Alexandrina.

  “How lovely!” Caroline said, gently pushing me forward.

  Rachel’s companion was a man with a VICTORIA, OUR QUEEN! banner.

  “For you,” Rachel said breathlessly.

  I accepted the bouquet of pink and yellow flowers, and my heart broke—

  for many reasons. Exhaustion from an emotionally draining few days. Learning many new things. Saying goodbye. It broke for Nanny Flossie, it broke for the brothers and sisters I grew up with but never opened myself up to. It broke for the uncertainty of
my future and for the people of this land who wanted desperately for me to be someone I was not. They needed hope, and I was not equipped.

  “Welcome home, Your Majesty,” Rachel said.

  I forced a smile, and my brain sounded an alert. It said, You mean ‘Your Royal Highness.’ I am not the queen. Queen Louise is wonderful, and I am honored to support her.

  But I could not think of a way to say it without sounding rude. I was not the assertive type and was reeling from the surprise of this appearance. In the space of a moment, I had gone from Alexandrina, or Alex, to Victoria the queen.

  “Thank you,” I said, microphones picking up every word. “I am so very glad to be home.”

  **

  A middle-aged woman who reminded me of Nanny Flossie escorted me to my rooms. I ignored the painful pricks of my heart (what was Nanny Flossie doing now?) and thanked her.

  “Dinner will be at seven o’clock,” she said. “Duke’s orders.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. What shall I wear?”

  Her face went blank. “A nice dress,” she said at last. “I will meet you here at six fifty-five to take you down.” She bowed her head. “Your Royal Highness.” She turned and walked down the hallway.

  I held my breath much of the time as I explored my apartments. Already, I felt at home because the decor was similar to that of my Buckingham Palace replica rooms of the past two and a half years. My new suite consisted of a sitting room, a main bedroom, another bedroom, a bathroom for each bedroom, and a few other rooms.

  Red and white diamonds crisscrossed to create patterns on the carpeting, and the bed…I confess I did not care about the bed because my attention was drawn to the screen. A TV! I could not wait to explore this new wonder of the world. On the plane, Roger showed me how to work various remote controls, but the training did no good right now. Roger had warned me. “TVs can be a bitch,” he said. “Pardon my language, but it’s true. I prefer low-tech stuff. Press one button, and you’re done. No need for a hundred geegaws.”

  Apparently, I had a high-tech TV, and I resolved to ask one of the ladies after dinner to help me operate it.

  **

  Dinner. It was an odd, odd affair. I was escorted into an elaborate room filled with gold, antiques and a long table. In fact, it was almost as long as the one we clones in Marslavia used when we ate together along with the staff.

  Philip sat at the head of the table and stood in greeting. “Alexandrina,” he said. “Welcome. Glad you could join me.”

  Me? Where was Caroline?

  “Please, sit.” He pulled out a chair on his right side, and I sat. “Caroline won’t be joining us. She’s, ah, resting.”

  I read between the lines. Caroline was drinking, much to her husband’s disapproval.

  “Dinner at Frogmore is low key,” Philip said. “Caroline and I have little use for servants and the like. Tonight is a typical night. We will serve ourselves.”

  “That sounds fine.”

  “We already have water.” Philip indicated our glasses. “Come, I’ll show you to the serving table.”

  The serving table was directly behind the main table and filled with a cold dinner: cuts of turkey, ham, roast beef, carrots, celery, cucumber, fruit salad. Warmed dishes of mashed potatoes and green beans were also present.

  Philip filled his plate modestly, so I did the same. We had taken a few bites when he spoke again.

  “I feel that we need to, ah, talk,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “It is obvious that Caroline captivates you. In fact, you are far from alone. She possesses the unique ability to cast a spell on many a person, but her friendships never last long. She burns fast and bright, and tosses people aside.”

  “I like her.”

  “Indeed. Indeed.” Philip speared a green bean but let his fork clink onto his plate. His gaze turned even more serious and he leaned in to me. “Alex, my wife and I are likely to be king and queen of England one day, especially if my brother remains without an heir. We are a duke and a duchess, a prince and a princess. I am the son of a queen. It is important for Caroline to comport herself accordingly when she is in public. Unfortunately, she is a woman of extremes. A woman of contradictions. She says one thing and in the next instant, says the opposite and sees no conflict. Do you understand?”

  Not at all. “Yes,” I said.

  “I don’t think you do,” he said. “She flirts. It is in her nature. She does not flirt to be…” He gestured for words. “To be sexual. She flirts because she is friendly. Unfortunately, it makes people feel that she is interested in them. She has a huge heart, Caroline does. A special touch. She goes out of her way to help people.”

  My tongue tied itself in knots. There was no way for me to process this deluge in an instant, so I offered a weak smile and ate a morsel of turkey. “I’m not…I’m not…”

  “I know,” Philip said gently. “I wanted to explain, that is all. Did she tell you that we are separated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Part of that is her drinking,” Philip said. “She could stop anytime she likes, but she chooses not to. It’s easier to be a drunkard than to be a woman who needs to fix a lot of problems. It’s getting worse. She’s showing up drunk at some engagements now.”

  “Are you angry that we got out of the car?”

  He gazed at me, his expression hooded. “Whether I am angry matters not, but my mother is livid. This cannot stand. The people must respect her. She is their queen. You, too, must respect her.”

  “I do. I was not thinking. Believe me, I do not want to be queen. I am not even sure I want to be a princess.”

  Philip frowned. “Have you heard the phrase about idle hands?”

  “They are the devil’s playthings?”

  “Exactly! Exactly, yes. You need to occupy your time. Caroline and I stay busy. We carry out at least one engagement most days. For reasons I don’t need to go into right now, your schedule will never be like that. So.”

  “Hmm. So.”

  “My plan is expose you to fields such as art and scholarship, even farm work. I want you to investigate whatever strikes your fancy. I want to help you make something of your life. I have friends all over the world. Many would be happy to have you stay with them. If you wish to study in America or France or Africa, please do. But whatever your decisions, Alex, stop with the alcohol. Stop humoring my wife. It enables Caroline and draws you deeper into her web.”

  But what if I wanted to be drawn into her web, consequences be damned?

  “Tomorrow, Caroline and I have a morning engagement. One of the ladies—your age, I might add—will show you around Frogmore. Keep an eye out for activities you might like to pursue.”

  “Yes, sir.” I dared not tell Philip of my affinity for the night sky. He could not be trusted to handle such information with care, and I was not sure what kind of job could be made out of studying the heavens, anyway.

  “There’s no need for the formality. I’m looking out for you. Someone has to.”

  My appetite that evening had never been great, but it was well and truly gone. “Do you have newspapers?”

  Philip furrowed his brow. “Newspapers? Yes.”

  “I’d like to see them. I want news on Marslavia, on my friends.” I wondered where Mary Todd Lincoln was. I wondered who was next to go. “Have the newspapers delivered to my rooms daily.”

  “Are you sure? The news is bound to be distressing.”

  I pushed my chair back. “I’m sure. May I be excused?”

  **

  I walked alone to my apartments, and once the door was securely in place behind me, I flung myself on the bed. Philip could not wait to be rid of me. I was a burden. A horrible, horrible burden. And Caroline! Apparently, I was nothing special. Just one of many admirers. I would end up in a bin labeled, “Caroline’s Rubbish.”

  I stabbed button after button on the remote control, and a miracle occurred. Moving pictures appeared on the previously blank screen.

 
“More on the Yorks and the royal family’s newest member after the commercials,” a man with slicked-back hair said.

  A medley of commercials proceeded, and I found myself thoroughly entertained. In the first commercial, a group of talking dachshunds put on a snippet of Romeo and Juliet. In the second, a little boy performed amazing acrobatic feats. In the third, people in June were delighted to get snow.

  “Back to our continuing coverage of Alexandrina Victoria,” intoned a grave voice. “In Marslavia this morning, the Countess of Lancaster expressed her desire to be called Alexandria instead of Victoria.” A cutaway to my speech. I looked good; Caroline was a pro with the makeup. A cutaway to me accepting the flowers from Rachel. “However, she seemed pleased to be addressed as ‘Your Majesty’ once she landed in Britain.”

  Queen Louise at some sort of flower show and smiling. “No word yet on what Queen Louise thinks and when she plans to meet her genetic predecessor.”

  Albert popped up on the screen. He truly was one of the most beautiful men I had set eyes on. Sapphire eyes, jet-black hair, an easy grin. “Is Victoria trying to upstage your mother?” a reporter asked as Albert greeted a group of children. This must have been filmed in the past two to three hours.

  He straightened. “Look,” he said. “She had a long flight. She was tired. She’s new and trying to be polite. Don’t read more into it than there is.” Brilliant smile. “All right? Good.”

  My heartbeat skittered. I had an advocate! I had an advocate!

  A new string of words on the screen: CAROLINE, TROUBLED DUCHESS.

  “Caroline, Duchess of York, is troubled. Rumor says she attempted suicide when she was thirteen and again two years ago. Sources verify again and again that truth lies at the root of these rumors. Are the Yorks really the best stewards for the eighteen-year-old Alexandrina Victoria? What does it say about the official opinion of the Countess of Lancaster that the Yorks, who are separated, were chosen to guide the new princess instead of a couple with more stability?”

  I had heard enough negative things about Caroline—and myself—in the past hour, and I moved to another channel. There, I found Beauty and the Beast, and made the connection between Gaston and Roger Carter. I also made a connection between the beast and Caroline. Caroline was beautiful on the outside, but many people thought she was ugly and troubled on the inside.