The Royal Nanny (11 page)

I know not how long I walked in such a daze, but hours later I heard the children's voices as they came running down the hall and burst into the room to find me. They were so excited that it did no good to put a finger to my lips and point to the railed bed with their sleeping brother.

David blurted, “You should have seen it, Lala!”

I herded them out into the hall where we stood under a huge portrait of one of the King Georges. “Tell me then,” I said hugging each of them in turn and expecting to hear how they had been awed by the solemn occasion.

David told me, “Well, everyone yelled a bunch of words in Latin, which we didn't know, but don't tell Madame Bricka because learning French and German is hard enough.”

Bertie: “And Princess B-Beatrice dropped her program out of the b-box and it made a b-big noise down b-below.”

Mary: “Oh, Lala, you should have seen it. Her program plopped right into a golden cup below and people gasped, but we laughed.”

David: “Until Mama made us stop.”

“Good gracious, I would have made you stop too,” I told them as Hansell and Finch, who had gone along in the carriage but not into the Abbey, caught up with them.

Hansell: “Beautiful, stunning, historic, especially the crowning.”

David: “But the old Bishop of Canterbury . . .”

Hansell: “Archbishop.”

David: “. . . stumbled going up the steps with the crown. Grandpapa—I mean, really King Edward VII—had to make a grab for him or he would have fallen and the crown gone flying.”

“Oh, my,” I said. “Grandpapa—King Edward—to the rescue again.”

Bertie: “And another good p-part. P-Papa had to kneel before the king and say he would and ob-bey him.”

“I can see why you especially liked that part,” I told them as Mary grinned and David nodded. “But that does not mean that the way your grandpapa lives with his parties and fun is the way your papa must rear all of you.”

“So,” Hansell put in, “is
that
what they were thinking?”

“This is a special day,” Finch declared, “but it's back to rules and routines tomorrow.”

Finch and Hansell led the boys down the hall to their room, where they would have tea with Mary, little Harry and me joining them soon.

“Well,” Mary put in and squeezed my hand, “I told them Father's vow of obedience didn't mean that, but it was fun to pretend that Father would be kinder and love us more.”

“Mary,” I said, my voice severe, as I sat in a chair and pulled her close to my knees so we were face to face, “your father only wants what is best for all of you, to learn to follow rules, especially for the boys, to toughen them up for the real world they will face someday outside of York Cottage and Sandringham. In his own way, he loves you very much.”

“That's what Mama says. When he's king, he'll have to deal with all those people we saw today, but I think he's really as shy as Bertie. The Irish are a problem too I heard Mama say. Lala, they set off bombs and hurt people! They want what they call free home rule and independence, but doesn't everyone? David does, so Bertie does too. Even me, and I'm a girl.”

As big as she was, I pulled her on my lap and held her close. “Everyone thinks it's an easier world for us girls, even for grown women, my dear, that we must be cared for and coddled because we are gentle and weak. But that's not true. We will face lots of problems, lots of challenges. But you are bright and strong, and you will be fine. And I do think it's time you had a tutor of your own.”

She looked hard at me, then nodded and kissed my cheek. “Like that gamekeeper said to you at the football game, there are always problems, and we have to take the good with the bad?”

Chad. She'd sensed something between Chad and me. Out of the mouths of babes . . . well, Mary had always seemed older than her years.

“Yes,” I managed. “Something like that.”

W
on't you go way up in the stone tower with us, Lala?” Mary wheedled for the third time. “We want to see the ghost, and Midder Hansell and Finch have gone deer stalking with Papa.” She gave me her sweetest, good-girl smile.

Immediately after the coronation in August of 1902, the Waleses had taken us on the train to the Highlands of Scotland. Three miles down the River Dee from Balmoral Castle, the sovereign's Scottish home, Abergeldie Castle, was now in the possession of the prince, though it was rather an ancient, primitive place. The children were all convinced it was haunted.

The original granite walls were covered with gritty, white stucco. Finch ordered the boys to stop picking off pieces and flipping them at each other, but they still did it behind his back.

But now, since I believed it would be a good time to prove to the children that there was no such thing as ghosts—
except those who haunted the heart—and leaving little Harry behind with Martha, I followed the three eldest up a circular, worn stone staircase toward the wooden cupola of the tower. At the top David lifted the rusted iron latch and pushed open a creaking door.

“Eeeek!” Mary shrieked when a bat dove at her and flew down the staircase. “Bats are always with witches, aren't they, Lala? And this ghost was burned as a witch!”

We heard mice or rats skitter away, and I sneezed from the dust. Spiderwebs hung so thick that one laced itself across my face. “Ugh!” I muttered. Then, brushing it off my damp skin, I told them, “The bats are real, and people used to fear witches, but we know better in this modern age.”

“Isn't this place grand?” David declared, looking around at the dirty, decrepit chamber.

“More like eerie and scary,” I said, wishing now that I'd forbid this excursion. Mary kept close to me, but at least Bertie wasn't stepping on the hems of my skirt as he had on the way up the stairs.

“That's what I mean,” David insisted, edging over to the open casement. “Look out these windows. I bet right here is where they caught her when she ran, then they took her to that hill over there and burned her at the stake!”

“It was a dreadful time of superstition,” I told them, wishing Hansell was here to fill in the proper history. “Poor Kittie Rankie. Even now, I feel so sad for her.”

“Me too,” Bertie said, looking out. “B-But I want to hear those sounds of her crying and moaning here, like Father's two Scotsmen said.”

On this annual trip, the prince had taken it upon himself to
add two Scots to the household. One, Mr. Forsythe, played the bagpipes a bit before eight each morning. He stood under the prince's window but the music woke us all. Poor Princess May—pregnant as she was again and hating every minute of it—did not wish to rise so early.

From what I could tell, the other Scot, Mr. Cameron, drank too many “wee drams” every evening and was never up early. He told the boys tall tales of fighting in the Boer War. He also filled their heads with stories about local witch hunts.

But all that aside, I found the wide vista of the Highlands stunning. Now, as I gazed out from the tower, the purple haze of heather spread itself among the bracken, and, in the farther distance, the sky boasted three kinds of clouds. Birds sailed past at eye level. We could hear the rattling stream, looking like a silver ribbon below, as it bounced over granite boulders to feed the River Dee. Out the other way I could see the roads through the forests we'd traveled during carriage rides with Princess May to have picnics.

I'd wished Rose could have gone along on those, but such was not among her duties. Even here, she was often busy mending or overseeing the ironing of layers of Her Highness's clothing. Rose did not like the chatty Scottish girls who helped with that, which made me realize that her duties weren't always fancier than mine. Granted, I'd rather oversee a torn silk chemise or broken bone of a corset than a soiled nappy, but I'd also rather deal with naughty, loud children than silent, stunning silk dresses.

“Just like Lala, I don't believe in witches or ghosts,” Mary said, though she still stuck tight to my side.

I did believe in the kind of hauntings of lost loves, but I assured her, “Good for you!”

At that, the old door blew shut with a bang. Everyone jumped. Even I couldn't muster up a laugh but went over to the door to open it. Enough of this place, I thought, despite the view.

But the latch would not budge. Had something caught when the wind—surely, the wind—slammed the door?

“David, come over here and help me lift this latch,” I told him, trying to jiggle it.

We tried together. I peered through the keyhole for all the good that did. And I must admit there was a swirling sort of mist, surely the chill wind moving dust on the stairs, so I said nothing to the children. But my stomach began to cramp at the thought of an angry ghost in a white gown.

“I c-can hear her moaning,” Bertie announced.

“Nonsense. It's the wind in the top of the cupola above us,” I said, trying to keep calm, but I was getting annoyed—no, panicked. I had not told anyone where we were going, including the nursemaids, but had merely said we were off on a lark. Some lark, I thought, as another bat whipped past us and circled above our heads before darting out a window opening. If it weren't for that dratted deer stalking that went on for the six weeks we were here—alternating with shooting game birds, of course—Finch or Hansell would be with us. Now we would be late, actually missing, when Prince George returned and expected us to appear in Princess May's sitting room precisely at four.

I yanked again at the door, hurting my fingers, and then gave up. It took us an hour, taking turns shouting out the windows, before we caught the gardener's attention and he came up to let us out.

“M
RS.
L
ALA, WE
have never had this tardiness problem before,” the prince addressed me when we straggled in late—and sin of
all sins, the boys were not pristine in appearance. I warrant I was disheveled and windblown too, but I'd hustled everyone here straightaway rather than be even later.

“The children were very keen to see the tower and the lovely view, and I know you appreciate their curious minds. But I regret that the door of the tower slammed shut on us and the latch caught,” I told him. “We did our best, Your Royal Highness.”

“It is not enough to do your best, but you must do what is necessary.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked at me through narrowed eyes, and I waited for more of a dressing down. I knew now how the boys felt, for I'd often suffered with them in a royal rant.

“Well,” he said, “at least their curious minds, as you call them, go to the heart of what I've decided today.” He held up a stiff arm and open hand toward their mother to keep her from interfering. “In the immediate future, there are several things the princess and I believe will help to educate the boys and Mary. Some real-life experiences and a bit of exercise for the body as well as the mind.”

“Yes, Papa, we're listening,” David said.

In those few words, I could hear the excitement in the boy's voice. I'm sure he was hoping that the bicycles he and Bertie lusted for were coming, and Mary, no doubt, had her heart set on a horse. At least, I noted that David had begun to try to deflect criticism of Bertie's stuttering by speaking for him at times. As selfish as David could be—and as possessive of my time and attention—I was grateful for that.

“Mary will have her own governess soon,” the prince announced. “And the three of you will be taking dance lessons in the coming winter. We've retained Miss Walsh to teach you, with
about thirty others of your class who will learn also, when we are in London with special lessons or other times at Sandringham. You need to know the polka, the waltz, and the Highland schottische.”

Though the boys knew to stand as stiff as soldiers—as naval snotties, rather—I saw David's shoulders slump. I could read him, even if his parents could not.

“As for manly pursuits for you boys,” the prince plunged on, “I want you to begin observing the game shoots and eventually to learn to shoot with the other guns, including the king and myself.”

Both boys nodded.

That meant, I realized, that they would be near Chad again since he tended the game birds and often controlled the shoots. He had seemed to be so good for the boys. Fortunately, I would not be there, except perhaps to glimpse him from afar if Mary and I ever went out with the ladies to watch or partake in the luncheons the women guests attended. My mind began to wander, until I realized what else the prince was saying.

“And, I want each of you—Mary too—to know more about the fauna, especially the bird life, the natural beauty of Sandringham Estate, so I've retained Chad Reaver to instruct you on such. It was his suggestion and a very good one. Finch and Hansell may go too, but Lala should accompany Mary each time she is along.”

The children's mother finally got a word in, which was a good thing, because I wondered if I'd imagined what he'd just said. Chad had suggested it. I had dreamed of him ever since the football game, wishing I'd had more time to talk to him, wanting to . . .

“Mary,” her mother said, “we believe it's an important part of your education to know about a great estate, its flora and fauna, especially the birdlife. Your grandpapa may have a new, squawky parrot he spoils, even at the dinner table, but I mean the natural English birds, the partridge, woodcock, and grouse that your husband—far in the future, of course—may value and hunt, so . . . and, oh, yes, all three of you will, of course, eventually learn to ride.”

“Eventually?” Mary echoed with a sigh.

But I was hardly listening again. I was going to get to be near Chad—by royal order. Thank heavens, I wasn't to speak right now, for I fear I would have sighed with longing like Mary or stuttered like poor Bertie.

A
LTHOUGH
D
AVID AND
Bertie practiced loading and shooting guns at targets that autumn, the king's gathering of family and friends was to be the first shoot Mary and I would attend. It was this Saturday, the eighth of November, the day before the royal sixty-first birthday. We had just recently returned from Scotland, so the children had not yet had any nature walks with Chad, perhaps would not until spring. At least now Mary and I would see what the continual banging of the twelve-bore Purdey shotguns was all about, for the men's hunting sometimes made it sound as if we were at war.

Even more exciting, many guests, including the king's cousins, Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany, and Tsar Nicholas of Russia, were at Sandringham to celebrate the king's birthday.

And, to my amazement, the guest list also included Mrs. Alice Keppel and her husband, George. How the queen would cope I did not know, but Mabel, who was now underhouse
keeper at the Big House, told me that Her Majesty was used to it. Mrs. Keppel had been in the king's life for almost eight years, and when the queen greeted her for this visit, Her Majesty had merely inquired how Mrs. Keppel liked her collection of Russian Fabergé animals.

Now Mary and I were in the day nursery playing with Harry while we awaited our summons to join the hunt group for luncheon set up under a tent beyond the village.

“Lala!” David cried as he burst in. “In case Father makes me recite before the king or the Kaiser—I don't mean in German, like later tonight—won't you listen to my poem again?”

“Of course,” I told him, though I too had long ago memorized the verses. It amused me that it was entitled “A Father's Advice,” because it seemed to me that's all the boys had gotten lately. “Go ahead,” I prompted. “And Mary, don't mouth the words with him this time.”

I must say without much of the feeling both Hansell and I had coached him to put into it, David recited,

N
ever, never let your gun

P
ointed be at anyone . . .

Y
ou may hit or you may miss,

B
ut at all times think of this:

A
ll the game birds ever bred

W
on't repay for one man dead.

“Bully! Word perfect,” I told him. “But don't forget to say it with emotion. Pause a bit, then emphasize those last two lines.”

“Righto. Lala, wait until you see the kaiser. When he was born, he got a withered left arm somehow, but he hides it and still
shoots well, that's what Papa said. See you later!” He was already out the door.

I was also excited about the luncheon, but I hoped not to observe the shoot today. I would like to see Chad but I wasn't sure I could stomach seeing all those beautiful birds driven out of their hiding places and brought down by crack shooters.

David and Bertie were long gone to the shoot when Mrs. Wentworth appeared at the open door and knocked on it once. “The shooting is over for the morning, Mrs. Lala, so you and Mary can go on out. You can ride the omnibus with the staff who are taking out more covered dishes for the lunch,” she added and hurried back to her tasks.

I left little Harry behind in the undernurses' charge. I must admit, I was almost as excited as Mary, but not for the same reasons.

O
N OUR WAY
out to the luncheon site, a cluster of men and women brandishing pitchforks and scythes ran out of a woodlot and blocked the road. I pulled Mary closer to me on the inside bench of the omnibus. They had handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths as if they were highwaymen. Were we to be robbed right here? One of the footmen tending the boxes of food cursed, and one of the maids screamed.

Our driver pulled the horses to a halt and ordered, “Clear the road!”

No one budged. I could see seven of them as I craned around but I did not stick my head out. One man among them shouted, “Tell 'em fancy shooters, king and prince too, that 'em groundskeepers and bird beaters been tramplin' our crops, usin' our land. We don't want all that open space with 'em bird culverts. You tell
'em, 'cause they don't listen to the likes of us, even Reaver don't much!”