While Annie studied the missive, the dark evening sky above London erupted in a downpour. Rain sluiced down the windows of the hotel suite as lightning flashed, reflecting in the River Thames. The peals of thunder bounced against the building like the solid clap of cannon shot.
“Umbrellas. Perfect. Umbrellas will complete the disguise,” Hannah said cheerfully. “Everyone will be carrying umbrellas.”
Hannah and Kaiulani stood side-by-side before the floor-length mirror and studied their reflections.
Hannah seemed very small in Kaiulani’s severe black dress. Kaiulani was clothed in the blue velvet gown Hannah had worn to see The Gondoliers. She adjusted the bodice with a critical eye. Andrew would be unable to keep his eyes off her. Totally as it should be.
Hannah remarked, “You and me: the Princess and the Pauper. Pretty good.” She adjusted her chin to the appropriate “royal” angle. “But really, Kaiulani. After tonight, you are so very much in my debt.” She plucked at the puffy shoulder of the black monstrosity. “Don’t think I won’t collect, either.”
Kaiulani tilted her head and mimicked Hannah’s smile. “We should write a novel about us.”
Annie, arms crossed, appeared at the door. She scowled at them and waved the letter. “That story has been already told. Mark Twain.”
Kaiulani blinked innocently at her elder sister. “Blast. I thought we had a future in literature. After all, Andrew’s father is a publisher.” She picked up a black opera cape from the back of a chair and twirled it round herself like a matador preparing to face a bull.
Hannah did a two-step and took a bow. “We’ll add a new twist to an old plot.”
Annie’s dark brown eyes glinted with resentment. “Twisted is the correct word! Papa sent me to England to look after you, Victoria Kaiulani. To see you perform your duties. Now look.”
Kaiulani defended herself. Putting her hands on Annie’s shoulders, she said, “But you’ll be with Winston. And I with Andrew. So look after me, Annie. You remain the most perfectly proper chaperone. You are filling your responsibility. Besides, Hannah is the one who is going into harm’s way.”
“What do you mean?” Annie replied suspiciously.
“You know how treacherous those missionaries can be,” Kaiulani said, winking at Hannah.
Annie stamped her foot. “But you—Kaiulani? How can you? Princess Kaiulani is supposed to be at St. Mark’s,” Annie insisted, “and I should be with her. How could I have imagined going to the theatre when we should be at the church together?” Annie’s attention was drawn to the window by another flash of lightning. It illuminated the pulpit-shaped alcoves on Blackfriars Bridge. Annie blinked at the sight as if she saw judgment written there.
Kaiulani extended her hands, palms up, weighing the choices. “On one hand, theatre tickets to Lillie Langtry. On the other hand, a missionary convention at a church in Mayfair. A tough choice, Annie.”
Hannah put her arm companionably around Annie’s neck. “What harm? Who will know? I can manage. Go on, you two.”
Annie shrugged off Hannah’s touch. “But Kaiulani is my responsibility,” she insisted, though less forcefully than before.
Hannah consoled, “A chance for you and Kaiulani to see Lillie Langtry in her last performance before she sails to America. Annie, you cannot deny such an adventure is heavensent. If I wasn’t needed to stand in for Kaiulani among the missionaries, I would love to see the Jersey Lily.”
Annie’s resistance began to crumble. “If Andrew Adams was not so devil-may-care, I might agree. But he’s so—”
“Handsome,” Hannah finished. “Handsome.”
“He knows it too.” Annie pouted.
Kaiulani kissed Annie lightly on the cheek. “Come on, Annie. The missionary committee will be here any minute to escort the princess to the hall. All you have to do is this: you answer the door and present HRH Hannah to them. Hannah goes off to the convention and gives my little speech, and they will never know the difference.”
Annie had no further opportunity to protest. The expected knock sounded at the door of the suite.
Kaiulani whispered, “As Holmes said to Watson, ‘The game is afoot.’ ” Petticoats rustled as she retreated to the dark bedroom.
Annie froze. “What do I do?”
Hannah grinned. “Answer the door and introduce me.”
Annie hesitated only a moment before she opened the door. There was no turning back now. Hannah stepped forward as the women in the hall curtsied deeply.
Annie swallowed hard. “This…this…may I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Victoria Kaiulani of the Kingdom of Hawaii?”
Kaiulani remained in the dark bedroom, listening to the excited voices of the four women who had come to escort the barbarian princess to the convention.
“You are so lovely, my dear.”
“Your father is from Scotland?”
“Your Royal Highness! We have anticipated this moment for months.”
“We have read in The Times that R. L. Stevenson is quite taken with you. He says you are the future of the Hawaiian monarchy.”
Hannah, gracious and royal in bearing, thanked them all, then gave a backwards smile over her shoulder toward the half-open door where Kaiulani listened. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve so been looking forward to this evening.”
Chapter Eleven
Rules Restaurant, near Covent Garden, had been in continuous operation for over ninety years when Kaiulani, Annie, Andrew, and Winston visited there for an après-theatre meal. The dining room was a cramped narrow hall, sandwiched between the kitchen and the front windows looking out on Maiden Lane.
“They say Charles Dickens walked by here, smelling the roast beef and Yorkie pudding, when he was a starving boy. He earned just six shillings a week putting labels on boot-blacking bottles,” Winston noted.
“Starving street urchin,” Andrew said, removing his top coat, tossing his gloves into his top hat, and handing both to the attendant. “Like me. Famished.”
Winston was in the dark blue dress uniform of a Gentleman Cadet of Sandhurst. To Kaiulani he looked both slimmer and more fit than when they had met at Sundown.
Andrew spoke over Winston’s head to Kaiulani. “So poor Hannah is playing the role of the princess again tonight.”
Kaiulani replied, “If I could have been two places at once…”
Andrew remarked, “Quite a phenomenon, this gypsy fellow. All the riffraff of London flock to hear him preach. I’m going tomorrow night to write a story about him. See if I can find the appeal.”
Annie countered, “The appeal is the same as it was two thousand years ago. The kingdom of heaven.”
Andrew laughed. “Heaven? Not for the likes of me. St. Peter would see me coming and slam the gates of heaven, I’m afraid.”
Kaiulani studied Andrew over the top of the menu. “You’re a difficult case, but there must be room even for you, Andrew. I’ll ask Hannah’s expert opinion tonight.”
Rules was decorated with cartoons and satirical drawings of the most famous personages of the last hundred years. There were caricatures of literary figures, stage performers, and politicians. The quartet of young people was seated under a matched pair of drawings depicting Henry Irving as Hamlet and Ellen Terry as Ophelia. Irving’s long face, aquiline nose, and bushy eyebrows lent themselves to exaggeration. The artist who depicted Miss Terry’s sweet, troubled expression clearly had been more sympathetic.
“But why bother with drawings when we can gaze on the genuine article?” Andrew queried. “See?”
In the far, rear corner of the restaurant Irving and Terry were deep in conversation over their coffee.
“Partners in running the Lyceum Theatre,” Andrew said, displaying a newsman’s conceit at having insider knowledge.
“What did you think of Miss Langtry’s performance?” Winston asked Kaiulani.
“I felt she lacked enthusiasm,” Kaiulani remarked. “As though her thoughts were elsewhere.”
&nb
sp; “Too right!” Andrew said. “Probably on the prince. They used to have their assignations in the private room just above where we’re sitting. But His Royal Highness, Bertie the Bounder, threw her over.”
“That doesn’t seem like a proper way to refer to the Prince of Wales,” Kaiulani challenged.
Andrew shrugged. “Everyone calls him that, eh, Winston?”
Winston grimaced. “My cousin, Bertie the Bounder, who will someday be the seventh king named Edward, would have trouble denying it. But we were speaking of Miss Langtry.”
“Were we?” Andrew challenged. “I thought we were speaking of juicy gossip.”
“Miss Langtry has business interests in this country and in America,” Winston said. “Besides being a performer, she owns ranches and raises race horses. She travels and keeps up on the news from both countries—something you are no doubt mindful of, Princess.”
Kaiulani studied Winston’s level gaze. He seemed to be offering her the chance to speak about politics and her concerns for her homeland. She admitted, “I know that certain parties in the United States have designs on my country. Is this a topic the gentlemen cadets discuss?”
Andrew chuckled. “Not likely! Between drilling and saluting and cadging the next bit of coin to pay their gambling debts, no time for world affairs. Here, waiter,” he said. “Bring us a decanter of claret and the quail egg tart to start. We’re perishing.”
Andrew had not asked the others for their preference, but no one argued with his choices either.
Winston corrected, “We spend a great deal of time reading history and discussing world events. The price of rice connects to unrest in India; riots in Bombay; that sort of thing. Since a graduate’s first posting may take him anywhere from the Sudan to China, he’d best be up on politics.”
Winston directed his attention to Kaiulani and added, “We know America is interested in Hawaii for more than just sugar. America has reached the continental limit of her ‘manifest destiny.’ The U.S. is now looking beyond her shores. To do so she will need a permanent re-fueling station and naval base in the mid-Pacific.”
Kaiulani agreed. “And Hawaii is halfway between the western U.S. and the Orient.”
How much more assured and self-confident Winston was, she thought. Sandhurst agreed with him.
“Here’s the wine,” Andrew said. “French.”
Kaiulani and Annie declined, while Andrew let his goblet be filled to the brim. It was clear that a discussion of politics was not what Andrew had intended tonight.
Yet Kaiulani thirsted for some insight into the concerns of her home. “The British Empire stretches around the world. If there was an alliance with England, how would England treat Hawaii differently than would America?”
Winston took a sip of his claret and set the glass down again. “In the future England must become allies with other nations—a close brother-hood of nations—perhaps a commonwealth of member states.”
Kaiulani probed, “And if you were prime minister, this is how you would propose to treat Hawaii Nei? As a member of a British Commonwealth?”
Andrew mocked, “Can you imagine Winston as prime minister? He speaks his mind too freely—is too obstinate. Politics is all about compromise.”
“Ignore him,” Kaiulani urged Winston. “Please go on.”
“Yes, do,” Annie seconded.
“Ah, here’s the tart,” Andrew announced. The quail egg confection was a bubbling hot quiche of roasted quail eggs in cheese and rich sauce. Annie served out the appetizer.
Kaiulani noticed that Winston’s portion was larger than the others received.
Winston, at a warning look from Andrew, wrapped up his remarks by saying, “From what I have read, Britain wants to partner with the Hawaiian kingdom, Princess, but not to dominate your government or destroy the monarchy. Along with that partnership would come the protection of the royal navy.”
Andrew draped his arm around the back of Kaiulani’s chair. “The princess already knows where to look for British protection.”
Andrew was so forward, Kaiulani thought. Handsome and shallow. Why did she allow him to take such liberties?
“But enough of my barracks-room debate,” Winston said.
Andrew snorted in his wine glass, then refilled it.
The roast beef trolley arrived. Carving the joint with a practiced hand, the waiter also served out Yorkshire pudding, brown gravy, and roasted potatoes. Andrew contemplated the meal with satisfaction.
“Tell me about your schooling,” Winston asked, redirecting the conversation. “How do you like Harrowden?”
“The teachers are excellent,” Kaiulani said, “but I despair of ever learning French. Art and music are wonderful, but there is no political discussion at all. I’ve learned more tonight in conversation with you than in an entire term at Harrowden.”
“You’re right to concentrate on languages,” Winston encouraged. “I doubt that a girl’s education at Harrowden is enough to prepare you for what your future holds.”
“I would like to meet Queen Victoria,” Kaiulani confided. “She was about my age when she came to the British throne. I want to know what she felt, and how she coped.”
Annie nodded vigorously.
“I’m sure Queen Victoria will receive you,” Winston said. “What would you ask her?”
Andrew tucked into the roast beef with more scraping of his knife and fork than strictly necessary.
“How to govern wisely,” Kaiulani said frankly, “in case I am queen one day. Did she always know how, or did she have to ask for wisdom, like Solomon?”
“Kaiulani,” Winston returned, “I’m certain the queen prays for wisdom every day. But she also surrounds herself with wise counselors, and she reads, constantly. Learning needlepoint and the proper way to serve tea is not the education you require.”
“You’re right, of course,” Kaiulani agreed. “I must understand both policy and politics.”
Winston saluted her with an upraised glass. “Perhaps you should be studying politics and military tactics at Sandhurst.”
“And you, Winston, attend Harrowden Girls School,” Andrew returned. “Then you might have a prayer of getting a girl to pay attention to you.”
Andrew never saw the scowl Annie aimed at him, or he might have flinched, Kaiulani thought.
Winston leveled his gaze at Andrew. “We already know the princess can ride well enough to lead a cavalry charge. And her sharp wit is a two-edged sword that can pierce an English boor through the heart.”
* * * *
1973
The theatre program featuring Lillie Langtry lay open on Sandi’s lap. The black-and-white photo of Miss Langtry showed the imperious, unsmiling actress in Shakespearean costume.
Sandi scanned the list of performers and imagined Kaiulani, her sister, Winston Churchill, and Andrew as they must have been eighty years ago. A ticket stub and a single rose were pressed between the pages of the bill.
Auntie Hannah laid her head back against the cushion of her rocker and sighed with contentment. Did she hear some long ago melody Sandi could not hear? “It was a fine night,” the old woman mused. “A night of awakening.”
“For Kaiulani?”
The old woman smiled as though surprised to look up and see Sandi in the room.
“Oh. My dear girl, I almost forgot you were here. For Kaiulani. Ah, yes. That conversation with the young man, Winston. It was an awakening.”
Sandi thumbed through the program. “And Andrew?”
Auntie Hannah wagged her head. “Poor Andrew. In those days, more interested in a pretty girl and a quail egg tart than the fate of a kingdom. By the time Andrew tried to kiss Kaiulani good night, she was finished with him. A cad. A bounder, Kaiulani told Annie. Andrew was too shallow and foolish, she said. He had no care for what would come upon the world. Her world. This world. Hawaii Nei. As the evening came to an end, Kaiulani was more and more impressed with Mister Churchill’s wisdom. She made up her mind that if she would on
e day be a queen, she would invite Winston to be a part of her cabinet. She declared she would never marry. Like the first Queen Elizabeth, she would dedicate herself to her people and her nation. And poor Andrew Adams would be consigned to the dust bin of her memories.”
Sandi studied her notes. “Yet Andrew Adams appears again in Kaiulani’s life. Here in Hawaii. When she came back. A tragic figure. Sitting beside her tomb.”
Auntie Hannah was silent for a moment at the memory. “My dear, you must not leap ahead. How will you understand the end of the story if you do not learn the details as they unfolded?”