London, England
July 2014
A child came out to wonder
I nudge Jake with my elbow. "Penny for your thoughts?"
He looks up at the building in front of us, then over at me. "I'm trying to decide whether it's too large or not large enough."
Smiling, I shake my head. "It's a bit of both, I think."
It really is. Taking Wren House out of context, it's ridiculously large for one person, but considering who that one person is, it's almost… well, not normal, but… not as grand as expected. It might be situated within the boundaries of what is the Kensington Palace complex, but if one expects princes to live in actual palaces and castles proper, a home like Wren House would certainly come as a surprise – and that's despite its five bedrooms, five reception rooms and an as yet undetermined number of bathrooms.
Putting an arm around Jake (when did he grow taller than me?), I guide him towards the entrance door. Looking over my shoulder, I call out, "Izzie? Are you coming?"
Moments later, there are footsteps and a spray of gravel as Izzie sprints towards us. "I'm here!" she announces, dramatically raising her hand to her temple in an imitation of a salute. (We went to watch the Changing of the Guard yesterday and the soldiers in their bear skin hats left a lasting impression on her.)
I push the code into the number pad and wait for the front door to swing open. Sticking my head in, I call out, "Ken?"
But my only answer is silence. Looking around the entrance hall, I notice that the entire place has a feeling of emptiness. There's no-one here.
"Not home?" asks Jake.
"Doesn't look like it," I reply, pulling the door close again. "He should have been back by now, but he had an engagement this morning. Maybe it ran over time."
Izzie pouts. "But he promised us a surprise!"
"I know he did, sweets," I sooth her. "I'm sure he'll be back soon. Let's check at the office whether they know anything."
I try to make it sound exciting, but at seven, Izzie isn't so easily fooled anymore. "Offices are boring," she informs me.
Can't argue with that.
"There are nice people in this particular office," I promise her. "They might tell us where Ken is and then we can go get our surprise."
Strictly speaking, I suppose it's my surprise, given that today is my 25th birthday, but I have a feeling my niece wouldn't agree with that assessment.
Izzie considers me, appearing torn. It's only when Jake stretches out a hand towards her and encourages, "come on, Iz, let's have a look", that Izzie reluctantly nods. Apparently, her aversion to offices runs deep.
With Jake firmly holding his sister's hand, we walk over to the palace building. The official part of Kensington Palace is comparatively small, but the entire complex is a maze of buildings, corridors and courtyards that most tourists aren't aware of. Ken's staff offices are at the back of the palace, not too far from Wren House.
As we walk towards it, I spy a familiar head of golden curls and raise a hand to greet Persis. She, however, takes one horrified look at Jake and Izzie and vigorously shakes her head.
(Persis, it must be understood, is terrified of children. It's not a very convenient fear for a royal to have.)
"Who's that, Aunt Rilla?" asks Izzie, squinting in direction of Persis. (I make a mental note to talk with Joy about getting her eyes checked.)
"That's no-one, darling," I lie, moving to block Izzie's view of Persis, lest her eyesight is better than I assume.
Jake, having both excellent eyes and an excellent memory, raises an eyebrow at me. Clearly, he, at least, has recognised Persis.
While Izzie cranes her neck to try and get a better look at a retreating Persis, I lean closer to Jake and warn quietly, "If we tell Izzie that that there is a real life princess, we won't ever reach the office."
"Good point," he mutters back.
Grasping his sister's hand tighter, he lengthens his stride, leaving Izzie no choice but to start jogging to keep up with him.
"Not so fast, Jakey!" she immediately protests, but Jake doesn't slow down until Persis is safely gone and the three of us have reached the outer door leading to Ken's staff office.
We've barely entered, when we're spotted by Charlotte, Ken's personal assistant. (I must admit to not being entirely sure what her job description entails. I've learned their positions, but I'm still hazy on what most of them actually do day in, day out.)
"Miss!" Charlotte exclaims, looking a little flustered. "We weren't expecting you!"
"It's okay," I assure her quickly. "We just came to ask whether anyone here knows where he is." In this office, there's no need to clarify who 'he' is.
Charlotte shakes her head regretfully. "I don't know anything. According to his diary, he should have been back by now."
"That's what he told me, too," I confirm. "If it's alright, I'll ask the others whether they know anything?"
"Absolutely," agrees Charlotte, quickly stepping aside to let us pass.
As I walk down the corridor, Jake and Izzie in tow, I briefly stop to look into the office to my right. It's where the communications team has their desks, and I quickly greet Arlene, the Chief Communications Officer, and her two deputies, Emmett and Roisin. He's an old hand, but she is only in her third week on Ken's staff roster.
With his air force training finished for good, Ken has been indicted into what is a full-time royal position. Accordingly, his staff was given a boost as well, with the addition of Roisin and Andrew, who's the second assistant private secretary.
Andrew is sharing an office with Melissa, who was recently promoted from assistant to the private secretary to simply assistant private secretary (and yes, I've been ensured there's a marked difference), but when I reach it, only Melissa is there.
"Miss Rilla!" she calls out, getting up from her desk. "And you two must be Jacob and Isabella!"
"Hullo, Miss," Jake greets. Izzie just eyes this strange, cheery woman with distrust.
"We don't want to keep you for long, but we're looking for him. You don't happen to know whether he's still at the army thing?" I ask Melissa.
She nods. "Apparently, it's been rather difficult to get him to leave. Oliver had Felix sent a message to tell us they're running late and ask us to inform you as well."
Oliver is Ken's private secretary, which is the highest-ranking position among his staff. Felix is what they call an equerry, that is, a military officer seconded to serve a member of the royal family. I have no idea quite what he does, but he usually accompanies Ken when he's doing something military-related.
Today, Ken is at some army base to open a new rehabilitation centre for soldiers wounded on active duty. I should probably have known he'd be hard to pry loose, given how strongly he's drawn to the military. After his return from Scotland, they even gave him a part-time position with the Headquarters Air Command over at the air force station in High Wycombe, to soften the blow of finishing his pilot training. Luckily for me, High Wycombe is just an hour's drive from London, which enables Ken to firmly base himself at Wren House and the two of us to actually see each other. It's nice, seeing him.
(Nice enough, even, that I'm once again reminded of Toppy Wentworth-Watson – or, Toppy Home now – predicting that he'd be given just such a military job after his training. With this part of her prediction come true, I can't help wondering about the other part of it. The one that focused on Ken's private, rather than his professional life.)
Shaking off my thoughts (Jake was beginning to look at me oddly), I smile at Melissa. "Any idea when to expect him?"
"Not for another hour," she answers regretfully. "In the meantime, maybe Jacob and Isabella would like to have a look at Kensington Palace?"
She looks over at the children (I wonder how long until I'll have to stop calling Jake that?) and while my nephew just shrugs politely, Izzie's interest is clearly piqued. "A real palace?" she asks, staring up at Melissa in rapture.
I refrain from pointing out, that strictly speaking, we already are in a real palace. I know that for Izzie, unless it looks the part, it doesn't count. And her idea of a palace includes more gold and swirls than Joy would be comfortable with.
"A real palace!" declares Melissa, smiling widely. "We even have a special exhibition about the Hanoverian Kings on. It's called Glorious Georges."
"George!" exclaims Izzie, while turning to me. "Just like your George?"
"Just like my George," I confirm, despite knowing that George would be indignant at the suggestion that he's owned by anyone, even me. "He was named for King George III."
"The mad one," chimes in Jake. (Trust him to know.)
Izzie frowns at him. "George is not mad!"
"No-one suggested he was, sweetheart," I sooth her, draping and arm around her shoulders and pulling her into my side. "He's the best of cats."
"He is!" insists Izzie, glaring at Jake for good measure. He, for his part, rolls his eyes at her, but he does it in the long-suffering way of someone very used to her antics.
Melissa follows this exchange with some puzzlement, so I quickly tell her, "We'd like to look at the palace." 'The palace', in this context, meaning the oldest part of KP that is nowadays open to the public.
"Great!" Melissa claps her hands together. "Please follow me, everyone!"
I don't tell her that I could find the way easily by myself, instead allowing her to play the guide. I steer Izzie to the door, keeping her close to me. Jake, I know, will come with us, because Jake is reliable like that.
With Melissa leading us, we cross the Prince of Wales' Court and pass through a short corridor to the larger Clock Court. Entering another building and walking along a longer corridor stretching to our left, we reach a door that leads us to the aptly names King's Grand Staircase. (The King in this case was, if I remember correctly from Owen's explanations, the first of the Georges.)
"There we are!" announces Melissa cheerfully.
"Thank you." I nod and smile at her, waiting until she has withdrawn, before turning back to the children.
Izzie gazes up at the rather impressive staircase, her eyes round and her mouth falling open. Apparently, this meets her expectations of what a palace is supposed to look like. Jake, on the other hand, glances furtively at a group of tourists, who were evidently surprised by our appearance. Their expressions as they stare at as are not so very differently from Izzie's as she gapes at the painted walls around us.
"Aunt Rilla?" she asks loudly. "Who are all these people?" She points at the people who have been painted to look like they're surrounding the staircase, leaning down to catch a glimpse at whoever is ascending.
Suffice to say, I know none of them. I think they're probably courtiers of some sort?
Not that I can admit that to Izzie, naturally.
"Well, I believe this one is called Bernie," I tell her instead as we walk up the stairs and point to a painted man in a funny hat. "He's a balloon manufacturer."
"He's not named Bernie, Aunt Rilla!" protests Izzie, giggling.
"I believe he is," I insist. "And the woman next to him is Christabel, his sister."
From behind us, Jake adds, "Christabel breeds poodles. She is famous for her prize-winning royal poodles."
"So she is." I nod, trying to keep a straight face.
Izzie is laughing properly now, clearly delighted with the whimsical tale Jake and I are spinning.
"Do you see the young boy over there?" asks Jake, leaning forward so he's almost level with his sister. "His name is Xavier. He has bad breath."
"And next to him is his mother Orchid, who tunes triangles for a living," I declare with regards to a woman in a blue dress.
"Triangles don't need to be tuned, Aunt Rilla!" Izzie informs me through her laughter.
I make a point to look surprised. "Not? Well, I didn't say she was very successful at her job."
"More successful than poor Hawk. He trains mealworms as carrier animals," explains Jake seriously.
"Bless him." I shake my head mournfully.
Izzie is overcome by giggles, not made better by Jake snatching her and starting to tickle her sides.
(I'm dimly aware of the tourists around us, probably hearing bits of what we say and thinking us quite mad, but honestly, I don't care. Let them think what they want!)
Freeing herself from her brother's grasp, Izzie runs ahead, up the stairs and straight into the long King's Gallery (named for, I think, King William III, just to be confusing), thus kick-starting our tour through the palace. As we walk, Jake and I continue to spin our tale about Bernie and Christabel, Xavier and Orchid, and poor Hawk and his mealworms, keeping Izzie suitably entertained.
She also appears to be rather taken with the rooms designed for the use of various kings, but the less ornate queens' rooms clearly disappoint her and she's vocal about the unfairness of it. (If there ever was a feminist in the making, it's this girl.) I try to explain that while Windsor Castle is a fortress and Buckingham Palace is real representative palace, Kensington Palace has more of a country house feel, but Izzie just wrinkles her nose in boredom and so I go back to talking more about how Xavier's breath is so bad it's been discovered to wake the dead. (The idea of this seems to fascinate Izzie, much more than it scares her.)
Between the tales and the palace rooms, we're well occupied and the hour passes more quickly than expected. It's for that reason that, when a pair of hands places itself on my hips without warning, I jump.
Izzie laugh. Jake grins. The Australian tourists by the window gape.
"Hello, love," Ken greets me cheerfully.
"Hello yourself." I turn to look at him. (Noticing, not without a sliver of regret, that he's changed out of his uniform.)
"Hey Ken," Jake chimes in.
"Hey Ken," parrots Izzie, jumping up and down in excitement.
(The Australia tourists continue to gape.)
Ken bends down to kiss me softly, murmuring "happy birthday" against my lips.
Behind us, at least two of the Australian tourists gasp loudly. Jake grimaces and turns away. Izzie claps her hands in front of her face, loudly proclaiming, "Ewww!"
Taking a step back, Ken reaches out to ruffle her hair. Izzie stares at him in indignation, patting her hair down violently.
"I'm sorry for having kept you waiting," Ken apologises, looking at me. "Especially today."
"It's fine," I assure him, smiling to show that I mean it. "I know it was important to you."
"We looked at the palace," pipes up Izzie, her disarrayed hairstyle immediately forgotten. "I think it's mean that the boys got the nicer rooms."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ken tells her, barely hiding his smile.
Izzie nods importantly. "But Rilla and Jake told me all about how Hawk teaches his mealworms to crawl in code."
Jake and I share a conspiratorial smile. Ken blinks in confusion.
"Absolutely," he says, trying to hide his bewilderment. "The famous Hawk and his famous… mealworms."
Looking up at me, he mouths, "What?"
In reply, I just shrug and smile. He gives me a dark look that would be more convincing if he wasn't also doing his hardest not to break out into laughter.
"Alright then," he tells Izzie, taking her hand. "So, tell me about Hawk and his mealworms."
"And Christabel and her poodles!" insists Izzie, skipping along next to him. "And Xavier whose breath is so icky he can wake dead people!"
"Yes," replies Ken, his voice all strained from the effort of not laughing. "About them, too."
So, Izzie tells him about them, chatting a mile a minute as we cross Queen's Gallery and descend down the adjoining Queen's Staircase. (Both are much less ornate than their male counterparts. Izzie is on to something there.)
"You know," remarks Jake conversationally as we follow Ken and Izzie downstairs, "if you don't marry him, Iz absolutely will."
I reach up to lightly box his ears.
"I'm not discussing this. Not with you and certainly not here," I inform him, doing my best to look authoritarian.
Either I'm doing a bad job or it's simply lost on Jake, because he just shrugs, as if to say 'suit yourself'.
At least he drops the subject, which is just as well since we've caught up to Ken and Izzie waiting by the foot of the stairs. Under Ken's direction, the four of us cross Princess Court and move back into Clock Court where we're all bundled into a car that is set to whisk us away to where Ken's promised surprise awaits.
The surprise that turns out to be –
"A magic show!" cries Izzie, her expression rapturous.
Ken smiles at her. "Do you like it?"
"I love it!" exclaims Izzie, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door. (Beckett and Butcher follow them discreetly. Saunders, I notice, hangs back a little.)
Over his shoulder, Ken looks at Jake and me. "And you two?"
"Of course we love it," I assure him, while elbowing Jake in the side not too discreetly.
"Absolutely," Jake scrambles to agree. "We, uh, love it. Very much so."
Ken shakes his head at us, but he's still smiling. Jake and I exchange a grin. (We're just teasing and I know that Ken knows it. The magic show is a lovely idea.)
As it always happens when Ken turns up somewhere, the employees fall over themselves to assist him, while the other guests stop whatever they're doing to stare. The bravest among them – or the most brazen, however you look at it – pull out their phones to take pictures. Noticing them, Ken smoothly slips between Izzie and the phone cameras, turning her to face in the other direction.
'Thanks' I mouth at him, and he nods to acknowledge it. He knows that Joy hates for her children to be photographed by strangers and there were already enough people snapping us back in Kensington Palace today.
(But we can't hole up inside and hide forever, can we?)
"Look away from them," I quietly instruct Jake, seeing as there's no chance of me blocking him.
"You bet," he mutters back, lowering his head and turning it to the side.
When we reach Ken and Izzie standing in the foyer, he's shaking the hand of a man I presume to be the head magician, or whatever they call him. (They always roll out the head honchos for Ken.) Izzie stares up at the man and his ridiculously tall top hat with awe.
"Miss Blythe," the man greets me, extending a hand. "My name is Jones. We're so honoured that you chose our humble venue to spend your birthday."
Looks like someone read my Wikipedia page.
"I'm glad to be here," I reply, smiling politely and shaking his hand.
I refrain from introducing the children and Mr Jones doesn't ask, instead waving us through to the main theatre. It's deliciously old-fashioned, all twinkling lights and red velvet, with little circular tables dotted around the floor in front of the stage.
"Ooohh!" makes Izzie and I can't say I disagree.
Mr Jones leads us to a table right in front of the stage, where Izzie immediately scrambles onto the chair with the best view. Jake raises both eyebrows at her, but when I nudge him, he smiles good-naturedly and sits down opposite his sister. Ken makes a point to pull out my chair (it should be my birthday more often!), before moving around the table to sit next to Izzie.
(The PPOs have melted away into the shadows, but I know they aren't far. They never are.)
Behind us, the theatre slowly fills with people and before long, the light is dimmed and the heavy curtain drawn to the side.
The show is truly amazing.
Izzie stares at every new act with wonder in her eyes, repeatedly tugging at Ken's sleeve and excitedly demanding, "Have you seen that, have you seen that?" Jake watches the tricks closely, leaning over to me several times to quietly tell me his theories about how they pulled this or that trick off, and that's how I know he's enjoying it, too.
At some point during the show, Ken reaches over the table to take my hand. When I look up at him, he inclines his head questioningly and I beam to show that yes, it was a splendid idea. When he smiles in return, it is warm and loving.
It really was a splendid idea of him. There's no doubt about it and certainly not when I look at Izzie staring open-mouthed at the man doing truly magical things with soap bubbles or at Jake, concentrating on trying to figure out how they pulled off the card trick with audience participation (where they have all of us shuffle and re-shuffle our set of cards so often that in the end, somehow, we're all holding the ace of hearts).
By the end of the show, we're not the only ones on our feet, giving a standing ovation.
"That was… that was…" Izzie, unusually, appears to be speechless.
"Magical?" supplies Jake, grinning. Izzie glares at him.
I just prepare to intervene, lest they decide to ruin the evening by fighting, when Mr Jones appears at Ken's elbow and defuses the situation by offering, "Would you like to meet the performers backstage?"
What a question!
As the rest of the audience trickles outside, Mr Jones leads us behind the stage to where the different performers are waiting. (It's a bit funny to think that they're probably as awed to meet Ken as Izzie is to meet them. Celebrity works in odd ways.)
Izzie immediately runs up to the man with the soap bubbles, demanding he make more of them, just for her. (Really. That girl has charm in abundance, but not a lick of manners.) Jake, as ever his sister's polar opposite, slowly approaches the woman who did the card tricks and politely asks to see the one with the ace of hearts again, so he can try and understand it. But no explanations for Jake, please! He's adamant that he wants to figure it out himself.
While I watch them, I feel Ken wrap his arms around me from behind and settle his chin on the top of my head.
"Done with the handshaking?" I ask him.
"Apparently so," he confirms, his voice relaxed.
(I sometimes wonder whether the royals ever hurt their fingers, what with how many hands they shake day in, day out.)
Dropping a kiss on the top of my head, Ken asks, "Is it a good birthday surprise?"
"It's amazing," I answer, truthfully, and crane my neck around to smile at him.
"I'm glad," replies Ken, his smile mirroring mine. "Originally, I had a romantic weekend getaway planned for us, but I thought it might not be so romantic with a too-aware teenager and a too-opinionated child in tow."
"Probably not." I laugh. "Though there's no-one holding us back from going on that weekend trip when their parents have collected them again…"
I trail off, raising my eyebrows meaningfully. A slow grin spreads over Ken's face. "Indeed there isn't. In fact, I –"
"Aunt Rilla! Aunt Rilla!"
Ken's hands drop from my waist as we both turn to look at Izzie running towards us. She's waving her hand in the air and I catch a glimpse of something sparkling.
"Look what the man magicked from his hat for me!" Izzie cries delightedly. (Briefly, I'm sending a thanks to the heavens that whatever she's holding, it's too small to be a white rabbit. Joy would kill me!)
"What is it, sweetie?" I ask, stretching out my hand for the thing she's brandishing.
Izzie doesn't relinquish her hold, but she allows me to see the necklace in her hand. It has a charm in the form of a little silver crown, with a single sparkly stone set in one corner. (I dearly hope it's fake. The security clasp on the necklace doesn't make me feel too optimistic.)
I barely have time to look at it, before Izzie snatches the necklace away again. (Clearly, she's afraid that I will make her give it back to Mr Jones.) At the same moment, I notice Jake, on the other side of the room, holding up a book and asking, "Is that really Stephen Hawking's signature?"
(If it is, it must be a good few years old.)
Looking from Izzie, running away with her necklace in her fist, and Jake standing next to a clear box where someone presumably made his book appear, I realise that it wasn't magic that is responsible for this.
"And here I was, thinking that on my birthday, I get the presents," I tell Ken conversationally and raise an eyebrow.
He smiles slowly. "Then why don't we see whether we can do anything about that?" he asks. "I think I spotted something earlier… right here…"
He reaches up, touching his hand to my left ear and that's when I'm certain that yes, he planned this.
As he moves his hand back, I spot something sparkling and for a moment, my heart beats twice as fast –
But then I see that it's a pair of earrings that he's offering me and my pulse slows again.
Gingerly picking up one of the earrings, I examine it closely. It's clearly antique, or made to look like it. There's a little bow, set with tiny pyrite splinters, and below it, an almost perfectly round pearl.
"They're beautiful," I tell Ken, meaning every word.
"I'm glad you like them," he replies, smiling. "They were my grandmother's."
Abruptly, I raise my head. "Your…"
"My grandmother Alexandra," clarifies Ken. "My grandfather gave these to her on their fourth wedding anniversary. I remember that she always liked wearing them, especially in private. After her death, no-one claimed them – Aunt Mary's style is more modern and my mother really only likes rubies – but I think they will suit you perfectly."
I blink rapidly, trying to process that. "I couldn't possibly…"
Ken drops both earrings into my open palm and closes my fingers around them. "I want you to have them."
"But they're a family heirloom!" I protest. The tiny prongs of the earrings dig into my skin.
"So?" he asks, smiling. "They're just right for you."
Not knowing what to say to that, I slowly open my palm and look down at the earrings, sparkling in the dim light. They aren't… they aren't what I initially thought, in that first fraction of a second, but… they're something.
My heart beats a little bit faster again.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Circle Game' (written by Joni Mitchell, released by her in 1970).
To JoAnna:
Oh, it will absolutely be the best kind of drama! Not for the characters, but certainly for us. I have a very interesting subplot planned that will catapult Leslie and Ken into their very darkest moods and we will certainly see how Rilla deals with that - and helps them deal with it, too. It's a little way off yet and I still have to write it, but I think it will be a pivotal time.
Ken's a bit of a slow learner, but he's no lost cause ;). He took notes about where he failed before and he's definitely trying to do better. There's introducing Rilla to his public royal life in ways he never did before, there's introducing her to his wider family and yes, there's sticking by her side to make sure she's alright through it all. Rilla is no damsel in distress and handles even odd situations well, but she certainly prefers Ken veering towards being a little too protective compared to him being barely present. She can handle this, but it's easier with him by her side.
You're absolutely not reading too much into Great-Aunt Tanya's approval of Rilla! ;) As you said, Owen and Leslie primarily see her as the woman to make Ken happy , but Great-Aunt Tanya has lived a century of being a royal and she knows what it takes. I think she's heard quite a bit about Rilla and observed her, too, so her approval is not to be underestimated! Plus, I like writing her because of her attitude and her family history, which was fun to compose. (Yes, I did save Olga from the Bolsheviks, but I made her enter into an unhappy marriage and killed her in childbed shortly after her family died, so... not much of a happy life either, sadly. At least she got to be a mum in this, I guess?)
You're a fellow PhD sufferer! My condolences! I submitted my dissertation seven weeks ago and I'm so glad it was before the world plunged into madness, so I really feel you having to finish it under these circumstances. It's tough, having to concentrate on a PhD when all of this is going on. I wish you much strength, both in getting it finished and in getting through the craziness we now call life!
To Guest:
I've sat on the title of the last chapter for quite a while before finally using it, because it's such a great fit. Of course, the complete line is "Into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown", but ff-net doesn't allow chapter titles as long as that. But the second half really fits well with regards to Rilla, so in my mind, the previous chapter always had the longer title, encompassing the entire lyrics.
Ken's extended family has been very clear in my mind from early on as well, so it was much fun to finally write them! Great-Aunt Tanya is indeed a duck and will prove to be supportive of Rilla. Tom, Dick and Harry are a case of "you get what you pay for", but there's more than meets the eye when it comes to their mother. We will re-examine Aunt Mary's opinions and her past at a later date and not all is as it seems here.
Judging from RoI, I always felt Rilla had a knack for organising things and for dealing with unforeseen situations. She's very young and living through incredibly trying time (while raising a baby!) without much emotional support, what with her parents being mostly absent. She's resilient and she rises to a challenge, if it's a war or a goat eating the wedding bouquet ;).
