28 September 1959
Jean did not work on Mondays. The pub did good trade on Saturdays and so she worked with good humor, knowing that she would have Sunday and Monday all to herself, two days to spend exactly as she pleased. It was still a weekend, she told herself, just on a slightly altered schedule, and it suited her just fine. The work at the pub kept her hands busy, and those two days of rest allowed her ample time to putter in her back garden and catch up on her reading. It was a different sort of life to the one she'd known in the castle; even when she wasn't officially on shift she had always been at the beck and call of the royal family. She lived where she worked, and that sometimes made it feel as if the work itself never ended. Not so, now; she was in the pub most mornings by 7:00 or 8:00, and there until the dining room closed at 6:00. It made for a long working day, but the remaining hours were hers and hers alone, to spend exactly as she chose, and John did not prevail upon her on her days off.
Finding herself faced with a sudden wealth of free time, then, she had settled into a sort of routine. Sundays were for Eadie and church, for catching her breath after a long week. Mondays were for attending to any of her household chores that had been neglected during the week, but truth be told she had always been a naturally tidy sort of person, and one person alone in a small cottage did not make such a very big mess. And so she took her time, on Mondays; she walked out of her cottage on Monday mornings with the autumn sunlight bright upon her face, and went down the lane to the newsagents. She'd buy Sunday's paper - she still hadn't arranged for a delivery of her own, and Max at the newsagents always kept Sunday's paper back for her - and she'd carry it down to the cafe. If the weather was fine she would sit at a little table outside, order coffee and a pastry and read her newspaper while her neighbors passed her by on their errands. Jean had become familiar to most of the men in town thanks to her work at the pub, and her presence at church - and at that little cafe - meant she was familiar to most of their wives, as well. When people walked by they smiled at her, and sometimes stopped to chat, and all in all she thought it was not such a very bad life to live.
On this particular Monday she did not wake with any indication that trouble was in the offing; she had slept well and the weather was fine. Her shoes were comfortable, and the pavement was clear, an easy path to tread. She passed an old man walking a dog, and a friendly lady pushing a pram, and saw no reason to fret. In less than ten minutes she had reached the newsagents, and Max was waiting for her with a grin on his face.
"Oh, you'll have a treat this morning, Mrs. Beazley," he said as he retrieved the paper he'd held back for her. "You might want to buy today's, too, while you're at it."
"Is that so?" she asked, smiling as she reached into her purse for the coin to pay him.
"A sneak preview for you," he said, and then he laid The Herald flat on the counter so she could read the headline. There, in stark black and white, was a picture of Lucien standing in front of the castle - ostensibly speaking to a crowd of reporters - and the words above read LOST PRINCESS: THE KING'S SECRET LOVE CHILD RETURNS.
"What on earth?" Jean gasped, the coin tumbling out of her hand to clatter against the countertop. She did not have a television, and while she had been listening to the wireless the night before she'd had it tuned to a station that played only classical music, and had not heard a word of news since she'd left the pub on Saturday evening. Before this moment she had never imagined, never dreamed that Lucien's daughter might come home, that he might tell the world of her existence, but there was no denying it now; the cat was out of the bag, as it were. Jean snatched up the paper at once, eager, desperate almost to read it, to learn how this had come to be, to see for herself if Lucien and his child were well, and happy.
"And this is today's," Max added, pulling out another copy of The Herald for her inspection. This headline was more insidious; SECRETS AND LIES: THE KING'S SECRET MARRIAGE, THE PRINCESS, AND LADY ANN, it read, and Jean's heart dropped like a stone in her chest.
"I'll have that one as well," she said faintly, rummaging through her purse for another coin.
"Thought you might," Max told her, grinning as he took her payment. "People been knocking down my door all day looking for news. It's all anyone can talk about it. Can you believe that, eh? Never would have thought he was the type to go off marrying some foreign girl in secret. I always thought he was too grim for all that."
Jean tucked both papers under her arm and stared at him, aghast at the very idea. Lucien, grim? Lucien with his warm smiles, his big booming laugh, his playful, impulsive nature? Lucien who had pulled her into his lap and kissed her, laughing? He was the farthest thing in the world from grim, and she could not bear the thought of anyone misunderstanding him so completely.
"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," Jean said, trying not to scold him, and then she turned and left that place, not quite running but moving at a good clip. Her thoughts were racing, and her feet carried her away from the newsagents, not towards the cafe but back towards home. She wanted, very much, to be alone while she read this news, did not want any interruptions, did not want to have to try to school her features or hide how much this story meant to her, the questions it inspired in her.
As soon as the cottage door was closed and locked behind her she kicked off her shoes, and started up the kettle. She made herself wait until she'd poured a cup of strong tea and settled at the table, but then she spread Sunday's paper open in front of her, and began to read.
On Saturday morning, the article began, King Lucien called a press conference to deliver a prepared statement to reporters. A copy of that statement follows.
Jean's eyes darted across the page, devouring the words, and as she read she fancied she could hear Lucien's voice in her mind, his strong, steady voice carefully proclaiming these shocking truths. It was all there, laid out quite plainly, the story of how Lucien had wed his girl in Singapore - Mei Lin, and now Jean had a name to give this shadow from her king's past - how they had conceived a child, how he had tried to send his family to safety before the Japanese had invaded, how he had been taken prisoner. That particular piece of information had never before been made public, and Jean's heart ached knowing how very much Lucien hated pity, how much he would have hated proclaiming such a thing. Most of this story she knew already, how long Lucien had searched for his child, how the security services had found her, how Lucien had gone all the way to China to see her. What she had not known was how the princess had come home, but the statement addressed that, as well.
The king's statement explained that the princess had been married and living peacefully in China until the sudden, unfortunate death of her husband. Now widowed and expecting a baby she had done the only thing she could do, and come to her father's house.
I would implore you all to treat my daughter with the respect she deserves, not just as a princess of this kingdom, but as a wife, a mother, who has suffered a terrible loss, and wishes only to find peace. It would be inappropriate and unkind to force her to make a public appearance given her delicate condition, but in the future you will come to know her, and I hope you will come to love her, as I do.
That was how the statement ended, the earnest plea of a father trying to protect his child. Tears gathered in Jean's eyes as she read those words; that poor girl, she thought sadly. To live her life believing she had been orphaned, abandoned, to try so hard to make her own way in a country where conditions were so very fraught, to have captured some bit of happiness only to have lost her husband before their child had even been born. It was terrible, dreadful, a string of losses and indignities that anyone would find difficult to bear. Jean knew what it was, to lose a husband, to be forced to raise a family alone, to face a future that was dark and full of uncertainty, and she felt a certain kinship with Princess Li, one widow to another. The princess's life would chart a very different course, however, for while Jean had been faced with poverty and deprivation the princess had a warm, comfortable home to run to, a father who would move mountains for her, and more money than Jean had ever dreamt of in her life. She'll be all right, in time, Jean told herself; Lucien will see to that.
The article went on to give more details surrounding the princess's arrival and what could be expected in the days ahead, but overall it was rather dry and veered away from sensationalism. When she finished reading it she set aside Sunday's paper and picked up Monday's, and there she found a very different sort of story. This article had been written by someone else, and it was dripping with innuendo, though it stopped just short of outright incrimination.
Sources within the castle have reported that the relationship between the King and the Lady Ann, who until now had enjoyed the King's favor, and who was rumored to be the natural choice for his queen, have soured. According to these sources the King had intended to announce his engagement to the Lady Ann - who has been living in the castle for just over a month now - at Christmas, but the arrival of his daughter appears to have changed his plans. The revelation of the King's lies has angered his lady love, and according to our unimpeachable sources he has not been in her company for days, choosing instead to dote upon his daughter.
On and on it went, detailing the nature of the King's relationship with Lady Ann - and making much of her living in the castle, and all that that implied - and the possible catastrophic consequences of the princess's arrival at the castle. Though it turned her stomach to read such vulgar things about her king, written by people who did not know him, who could not hope to understand him, Jean forced herself to finish the article, and then she laid the paper aside, and took up her now tepid cup of tea.
Princess Li had come home. For that fact Jean was grateful, for she knew that nothing in the world could have made Lucien so happy as to have his child beneath his roof, with a grandchild on the way. He had been so worried about her, and now he could set his mind to rest, and that was all for the good. Jean rather thought he deserved some good in his life, after all his many losses.
As for the rest of it, Jean's mind was racing. I don't want to dance with her, the king had told her once; I don't care a thing about her...I don't give a damn about Lady Ann. Though Sir Patrick had been quite keen on the idea Lucien had been very clear that he was not interested in marrying the woman, but Jean knew that her sudden departure had thrust him into the Lady's clutches. Before now she had almost come to terms with that thought, with the knowledge that she had lost him to another, to a woman he did not love, for the sake of the kingdom, for the security of his family. But now, oh now the princess had come home, and any day now she would present her father with a grandchild, another heir to the throne. There would no longer be a need for a new queen, a new baby, not in the way that those things had been needed before. He was free, now, to cast Lady Ann aside. If he wanted to.
And Jean could not help but think that if she had not acted so rashly, if she had only listened to Lucien, if she had only been content to wait and bide her time, perhaps now might have been her moment. Perhaps now, now that the succession was settled, now that the king's daughter was home, they might have been better placed to plead their case to Sir Patrick, and move forward together in love and in hope. But she had left, had been rash and determined that there was no other option, and now she was alone. For even if the king decided against marrying Lady Ann it was not as if he would come for Jean now; she had broken his heart, left him cold and lonely, and surely he would not trust her to treat him more gently in the future. If only she had waited everything would be so different, and yet it was too late to change the course of her fate now.
It was only a dream, she told herself as the tears slipped silently down her cheeks. Only a dream.
"I'm serious, Matthew," Lucien growled as they walked together along the corridor toward the dining room. "We have to find out who's been talking to these journalists, and when we do…"
"I'll string them up by their toes," Matthew answered grimly.
"If I don't get to them first."
Lucien had been outraged that morning when Peter slunk into his suite and handed him the day's papers. Every newspaper in the kingdom had run a headline about Li, and most of them had been unfavorable, to say the least. Sources inside the castle had leaked all sorts of juicy details about his private life, about his child, about bloody Joy, and to say that he was angry would be to make a gross understatement. A towering fury such as he had never known had filled him, and he'd lit the papers on fire and left them to smolder in the bin, raging and wishing there was more that he could do. It was the height of cruelty, he thought, for these people to make such wild accusations about the women in his life, about his own plans, to use Li for target practice when she was in no condition to defend herself. With no other choice he'd arranged a meeting with Rose Anderson from the Press Office for that afternoon; it was time to do what the journos called damage control while Matthew turned his efforts towards rooting out the leaks within the castle.
They were heading to the dining room for breakfast, but they had not quite reached it when a maid came hurtling down the corridor behind them.
"Your Majesty!" She called out raggedly, skidding to a stop in front of him and fumbling her way through a curtsy, gasping for breath.
"Is everything all right?" Lucien asked at once, quite shocked by the utter lack of decorum; the maids were usually timid as mice when he was around.
"It's the Princess," the girl gasped. "Her waters' broke, and she's crying out something awful. I think the baby's coming."
All thoughts of retribution and wrath deserted Lucien at once, as terror and joy swelled within him. He had known this moment was coming, had been expecting it for days, but now that his grandchild's imminent arrival was upon him he hardly knew what to do with himself. As Li's father he could not have been happier, more elated at the thought of the baby's birth, but as a doctor fear wound its way round his heart. Li's ordeal was only just beginning, and there was no telling how things might go for her. But it's too late to stop it, he thought.
"Send for the midwife," he barked at the maid, for a midwife had been installed in the castle the day after Li arrived, and had been checking on her every day. He did not wait for the maid to acknowledge his command, nor did he spare a moment to speak to Matthew. He only gave the girl his orders, turned, and then ran down the corridor towards Li's room as fast as he could.