I, Alexandrina Page 6

  “It was built in…” I strained to remember. “About 1870. Queen Victoria tended to the gardens around here and wrote letters and read. She had coffee and tea with her family and visitors at the tea house.”

  “You know a lot.”

  “I had a thorough teacher.” Good old Heather Rubberstone. She could be rattling around England right now. Unlike Nanny Flossie, Mrs. Rubberstone was in and out of Marslavia, and I had not seen her in a good year or so. In the months she was gone, she left me with generous piles of study materials, including photocopies, quizzes and essay prompts.

  As Delilah showed me the lake and garden, she told me that Frogmore, for most of the 1900s and 2000s, had been uninhabited, although it was used for many royal occasions such as birthday parties. When Caroline and Philip married, they decided they wanted a smaller home that was close to London but far away enough that it felt like its own island. Hence, Frogmore.

  “There,” Delilah said, pointing to a grand building in the distance. “That’s where you…er, I mean, Queen Victoria used to be. Her mausoleum.”

  “Ah.”

  “She is no longer there. Wouldn’t make sense to keep her there, eh? After that business came to light that her body had been tampered with.”

  “Where is she now?”

  Delilah shrugged. “It’s a state secret where she and Albert are. A lot of the other royals have been moved, too, to places unknown. It’s a shame.”

  I hated this subject, so I asked one of the first few icebreaker questions Caroline had asked of me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Delilah burst out laughing. “Did my mum tell you to ask?”

  “What? No. I apologize.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. Mum’s eager for me to have a boyfriend is all. You know who my mum is, right? She’s your personal maid or something.”

  “Broward?”

  Delilah snorted. “Her first name is Molly, but yes.” She glanced around us. “I have a huge crush on this guy named Matt. He likes me only as a friend. Totally tragic, right?”

  Thinking of Caroline, I asked, “How do you know when someone likes you as opposed to just being nice?”

  Delilah and I were passing a dazzling array of flowers, and she stopped. Surveyed the flowers and crossed her arms. “That’s the question. How do you know? It’s unanswerable. You like someone, do you?”

  “No. No.”

  “I think you do. Haha. Who is he?”

  “There is no he.”

  “There will be sooner or later. The birds and the bees. You know.”

  I did not, but I nodded in agreement. I itched to ask about girlfriends. Caroline had asked so casually, as if girlfriends were nearly as common as boyfriends. None of the books I read, however, talked about women being attracted to women, about women kissing women and marrying each other.

  “Someone asked if I have a girlfriend,” I said in a rush, “and I didn’t understand. I believe I do now. Some women are with other women? Is that the correct interpretation?”

  Delilah waved at a landscaper in the distance. “Who asked that?”

  “I don’t, I don’t…I’d rather not say.”

  “Hey, no problem.” She flashed a grin. Such pretty eyes, such a pretty mouth. “Yeah, actually, that’s what girlfriend means. Some women are together romantically, and some guys are together romantically. They’re called gay. Homosexuals.”

  “Homosexuals.”

  “Two women together are also called lesbians. It’s kind of becoming a thing now. Well, not being gay, exactly, but sexual fluidity. People get with whomever they want, and gender doesn’t matter. It’s a thing with hooking up. Experimentation.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Do you like a woman, Alex?”

  “No.”

  “It would be okay if you did. It’s not like you’re the queen or one of her children. You’re not the duke. You’re far enough down that, well, actually, you’re sort of in a class of your own. Hmm.”

  “People dislike homosexuals?”

  “Yes and no. It’s more accepted than it used to be, but if someone high-ranking enough in the monarchy came out, there would be controversy. For regular people, it’s nothing. Girls make out with other girls all the time.” Delilah flashed an encouraging smile. “It’s okay. Hey, I’ve made out with a few girls. It’s nice! It’s fun!”

  She was trying to help, but confusion clouded my brain. What did make out mean? Kissing and touching?

  “Anyway! What did you do for fun in Marslavia?” Delilah asked.

  “We were outside a lot. Sports. Basketball, baseball, tennis. We also had lessons on our DNA sources. We rehearsed for…” It hurt to think about Marslavia, and Delilah must have picked up on my discomfort.

  “How about a detour?” she said. “I’ll see if I can drive us into town to the pub where Matt works. There’s a waitress there who has to be a lesbian. She’s got the short spiky hair and everything. She is, like, really cute. Bit old, though. Forty-ish? She’d dig you. Think you’d dig her?”

  Stop, stop. Too much going on. I glanced at the security pair trailing us. They were well out of casual hearing distance. “How is it out there?” I asked Delilah. “When we arrived yesterday, there were lots of people.”

  “Some are still there, but I got in fine. As long as they don’t know who you are, they won’t care. You could wear a wig or something. Hey, did I say? I think you’re cool. Cloning is cool. Everyone’s gonna be cloned sooner or later. There’s probably five others of you out there somewhere.”

  “I see.”

  “Hey, guys!” Delilah shouted without warning, and the security pair picked up their pace. “Can we go into town? My friend Matt’s working at Frogmore Pub. Alex will wear a disguise.”

  Something snapped inside me. I was tired of other people having to ask permission to do things on my behalf. Tired, too, of having to ask permission on my own behalf. I remembered the blaring newspaper headline: VICTORIA IS FREE!

  “Of course we can go!” I said loudly. “I’m free. You know that, right, Delilah? I am free. I can go wherever I want and whenever I want.”

  The security pair, a man and a woman, glanced at each other uneasily. “Yes,” the woman said. “Yes, you’re free.” Shifting gaze. “How about that disguise, eh?”

  **

  The security duo, Mort and Tara, outfitted me in a long blond wig, a marked change from my medium-length dark-brown hair. They also gave me a pair of prescription-free eyeglass frames. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. Mort and Tara preferred to drive Delilah and me themselves, so we were getting into their sport utility security vehicle when Broward ran up.

  “Delilah! What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Mum. A quick visit to see Matt.”

  “With her?” Broward bit her lip. “Pardon me, Your Royal Highness. I apologize. Delilah, come here so we can talk.”

  “Mum!”

  “It’s not safe,” Broward insisted. “I don’t want people to know you spend time with her.”

  “She’s in disguise.”

  Broward took the argument to Mort and Tara. “What do you think?”

  “We should be okay as long as the disguise stays put and we are there a short time.”

  “Have you spoken to the duke and duchess and gotten their permission?”

  “No one needs to speak to them,” Delilah said. “Alex is free.”

  Free I might be, but I was suddenly tired, very tired. Delilah’s mother was scared of me. Delilah thought there were five others of me in the world somewhere. And if Queen Louise did come today and found out I had secretly left the grounds, it could jeopardize the faint thread of a relationship between us.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Perhaps in a few weeks, we will go. Hopefully things will be calmer.”

  Gratitude filled Broward’s expression. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Alex,” I muttered. “Call me Alex.”

  “Mum!” Delilah turned protesting green eye
s on me. “Let’s go. We will be fine. My mum’s too protective.”

  “In a few weeks,” I repeated.

  **

  Delilah never did finish the tour of Frogmore. She drove home instead, and her mother showed me around the inside of the house. I made mental connections between the interior and the map Caroline had drawn.

  “Thank you again,” Broward said as she showed me the last of the watercolors by the princesses Victoria and Louise. “For waiting to go into town.”

  “I have no desire for anyone to get hurt.”

  “Delilah is my baby, my youngest child. Most people support your return, but some do not. If anything happened to her—”

  Stop, stop. “I understand,” I said tersely, cutting Broward off. “Please excuse me.”

  I retreated to my bedroom and fumbled with the remote control for the TV. Nothing. I closed my eyes, pressed a random jumble of buttons, and eventually the TV came to life.

  “It has been a relatively quiet morning,” the man with slicked-back hair said. “The Duke and Duchess of York showed up on time to open a playground, where they are expected to remain until early afternoon.” A cutaway to Caroline laughing with a group of children. Philip chatting with parents. “Around Frogmore, too, the situation is calmer.” Footage of scattered people outside the gates. A banner reading, NOT OUR QUEEN. One reading, WE LOVE YOU, VICTORIA—THEN AND NOW.

  “It seems,” the man said in conclusion, “that as long as the Countess of Lancaster remains out of sight, there is nothing much to talk about.”

  I had brought the pile of newspapers in the bedroom with me, and I chose the one blaring: VICTORIA IS FREE! It was thick, a “special edition” as many of the other papers were. I found no information on Mary or the other clones and wondered if there ever would be news. If private buyers as opposed to a government picked them up, it was unlikely anyone would talk to the press.

  I hauled myself out of bed and left the apartments. “Broward?” I called. “Anyone?”

  Mort and Tara approached. “Yes, Your Royal Highness?”

  “I have a question about the happenings in Marslavia. Where is Mary?”

  “Mary, ma’am?”

  “Mary Todd Lincoln.”

  Mort frowned. “We don’t know anything about where she is.”

  “Is there anything on other clones who have been sold?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  **

  I ate in my sitting room, in a nook overlooking an expanse of garden. The sandwiches looked good, but my taste buds and dull heart registered the food as bland. Philip had been right last night. I needed a purpose in life, needed to do something with myself.

  Could there be five more of me out there, as Delilah had said so casually earlier? Yes, of course. In fact, it would be foolish of Russ and John to not make backups. What if a clone died? Was that why Nanny Flossie was staying, to care for another round of Victoria clones to sell off?

  I was special, and at the same time, not at all special.

  After lunch, I watched more news on TV. My stomach tightened as the minutes ticked by. If Queen Louise was coming this afternoon, would it be soon? Would she wait until after Philip and Caroline were home?

  Roger Carter was being interviewed. “What are your impressions of the Countess of Lancaster?” the female interviewer asked.

  “Her Royal Highness is lovely. She is a polite young woman.”

  Same as always. Same as Nanny Flossie said, polite, quiet, obedient. Perfect to be Albert’s wife, was I not?

  “She underwent a thorough physical?”

  “She did,” Roger said. “Yes, yes, she did. It was a term of our agreement. She was checked and found to be completely healthy.”

  I frowned. When could…oh. Yes. Last month, the doctor came and did the annual physical. It had been more thorough than usual, but I paid little heed to it.

  “There is no doubt that she is the clone of Queen Victoria?”

  “No doubt whatsoever. We ran multiple tests. Plus, we had profilers do age progression photos. At a later age, the Countess of Lancaster will not necessarily look like Queen Victoria did, but it is one possible outcome. A lot depends on nutrition choices, lifestyle, happiness and such.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “Certainly. Take the cases of identical twins who grow up separately. Many end up looking dissimilar. One may be obese while the other is normal weight. One may have become addicted to drugs while the other did not. One may have grown up in a family with a lot of money while another did not. Each circumstance can have a profound impact on appearance.”

  I wanted to turn the horrid program off, but at the same time, I found myself repulsively attracted to it. I was finding out more about myself than before.

  “Is the countess a virgin?”

  I gasped. Blinked furiously. What?!?

  Roger was caught off guard, too. “Is she…goodness, Marisol. We did not test for that. Is there even a test for that?” Red cheeks. Uneasy laugh. “Move on, please.”

  **

  I refused to answer the door when knocks sounded a few minutes later. I reeled from the indignity of my virginity being discussed. Could I be happy? People wanted to know every detail about me. They wanted to know if I was tested for virginity. I was expected to hide out in this tiny corner of the world until I married a man who would mount every woman in sight, and the mothers of people my age were frightened for their children to be seen with me.

  Knock knock. Again.

  Fine. I got up and answered.

  Looked into incredibly deep green eyes. My heart skipped a beat. He was here. The man whom Caroline said I would marry was here.

  “Hey,” said Albert, Prince of Wales, smiling impishly and revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek. “We meet at last, Alexandrina.”

  **

  I did fall in love with him. Instantly. He was affable, charming, easygoing. I also knew right away that the love I had for him was not what I felt for Caroline. My love for Albert was not sexual. We could laugh and go on adventures. Experience things together. I felt happy to be in his presence, but I did not crave his touch or his gaze upon my countenance. I did not want to mount him and ride him.

  I could tell, too, he felt the same about me.

  We chatted for a few minutes in my sitting room before going downstairs. Already, I envisioned us being married. It could work. He would have fun with his women, I would have fun in my own way, and we would meet at dinner and lay in bed and talk about our day (most probably with the sexual adventures left out).

  Albert was direct. “My mother’s fortune tellers say we should be married,” he said as he munched on an apple.

  “So they do.”

  He winked. “Let’s see where this goes, eh? First, it’s time for pictures. Mum is particular about clothes, so let’s see what we can find in your wardrobe.”

  **

  On TV, Queen Louise cut a harsh, imposing figure. In person, she was nearly as tiny as I. At fifty-six years old, Britain’s monarch retained a healthy glow about her.

  “Alexandrina,” Philip said after Albert and I descended the stairs. I had changed into formal dress on Albert’s advice.

  Caroline stood near Philip. “Please meet my parents, Her Majesty Queen Louise and His Royal Highness Prince Nicholas, the Duke of Edinburgh.”

  I affected a deep, grandiose curtsy. “Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness.”

  A flicker of a smile on Louise’s lips. She approved of my curtsy. “Alexandrina,” she said. “It is a delight to make your acquaintance.”

  VI.

  I feel sure that no girl would go to the altar if she knew all.

  -Queen Victoria

  Eight o’clock that night found me watching another soft-core pornographic film. In this one, a female teacher stood in front of a frowning male principal in his office.

  “Why were you late this morning?” the man demanded to know.

  “Traffic!” the teacher exclaimed. “Oh, it
was horrible.”

  What was also horrible: the acting in the film. No matter. I wanted to see what would happen.

  “This is your tenth incidence of lateness this year,” the principal said. “Tell me what month we are in.”

  “November.”

  “That’s right! The school year is a mere two months old, and you have been late ten times. This calls for punishment.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her chin quivering.

  He undid his belt buckle. “Turn around and bend!”

  She did, holding onto his desk for all she was worth.

  WHIP! WHAP! CRACKLE!

  I swear my own buttocks stung, and I remembered the spanking Nanny Flossie gave me that one time. Apparently, some people got a sexual thrill from spanking.

  Before long, the principal unzipped his trousers and drew out his member. He lifted the teacher’s skirt and thrust himself into her. She was still bent at the desk, away from him, and they quickly found their rhythm.

  How would such an act work with a woman and a woman? It could not unless fingers were used. But did that feel good? Perhaps I should try with myself.

  No. Before I did that, I should imagine Albert doing this to me. So, I did. I inserted myself in the teacher’s position, with Albert playing the part of the principal.

  “Alex, oh Alex,” he moaned, moving inside me.

  “Albert!”

  Nope. It did not feel right. I felt for Albert like I did for Bobby Lee: tremendous friendship and affinity, nothing more.

  At nine o’clock, Caroline knocked on my door and held up a black bag. “I come bearing surprises!” She whisked in by me, trailing an exotic perfume in her wake. Caroline’s first surprise was the long blond wig and eyeglass frames from earlier. “I heard what happened,” she said. “What you did to help Delilah was gallant. You deserve a reward.” She displayed another wig and another set of frames. “Mine. We’re going out.”

  “What? Now?”

  She beamed. “Brill idea, innit?”

  “We…but what about…”

  “Put your disguise on. We’re going into London. Let’s have a nighttime tour.”

  “London? Nighttime tour?” Regular echo chamber here.