The Last Princess Read Online Free Page B

THE GUARDS THROUGH PADDINGTON STATION IN the predawn darkness, dodging the shafts of cold rain that poured through the broken ceiling. Past the boarded-up ticket windows, past the workers unloading freight cars of coal and wood, past the white-haired woman in the deserted food court, selling cups of tea from an aluminum pot. The dust falling from the ceiling settled on our headslike snow.
    Outside the station, the morning air was already thick with gray soot. The street felt eerily deserted. Without artificial light it was impossible for anyone to begin work until later in the morning. Our black Aston Martin was the only car onthe street, though there were plenty of horses, most tethered to wagons or crude-looking carts. A few wealthier citizens who could afford tokeep a pair of horses had chained them by their saddles to salvaged metal trucks. They looked awful, with wide, sad eyes and thin bodies. I thought of Jasper, well fed and free to run through the fields of Scotland, and felt guilty.
    “The drains are overflowing,” Mary complained as she stepped into the car.
    I could only nod as we pulled out and headed toward the palace. I clutched Polly’s letterin my pocket. Flooded streets were the least of our problems.
    As we entered the gates of Buckingham Palace, the guards stood to attention, saluting us, still wearing their traditional black hats and red coats with shiny brass buttons. The palace itself hadn’t really changed, though the brick-and-limestone facade was darkened from the dirty air and most of the windows had been boarded up to keepout the cold. We lived in a small section of the palace, closing off the rest to conserve light and precious heat. There was so little oil left in our tanks that we saved it for the coldest days.
    Inside the great hall of the East Wing, our father stoodwaiting for us, flanked by two guards holding swords. As excited as I was to see him, I stopped when I saw the guards. They had never been therebefore.
    “Mary, Eliza, Jamie!” our father called out in his booming voice, holding out his arms. I ran to him, burying my face in his soft sweater, breathing in his familiar spicy scent. I wanted to stay in his arms, to fall asleep there and never leave, but instead I pulled back and felt for the letter in my pocket. “Dad,” I said quietly. “I need to talk to you alone.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes,” I whisperedin his ear. “Polly says—”
    “Eliza,” my father stopped me, his voice terse. “This is not the time.”
    He turned away from me to address Mary and Jamie in an overly happy voice. “Tell me everything about your summer! Did you swim? Ride? Did the blackberries grow this year?” He lifted Jamie in the air like an airplane as the sound of my brother’s laughter filled the hall. It was the first time I hadheard him really laugh since we had left for Balmoral three months ago.
    But all too soon his laughter turned into a deep, rasping cough. My father hugged Jamie, patting his back.
    “I’m okay, Dad,” Jamie managed, trying to hold back the next coughing fit.
    “We’re getting you some medicine right now.” My father carried Jamie down the corridor toward the palace doctor, not even looking back at meand Mary. The brittle sound of our brother’s cough echoed through the hall after them.
    I reached out and took Mary’s hand in mine, forcing a smile and shoving the letter deep in my pocket.
    “Let’s go to the ballroom,” I said, “and help decorate for tonight and try on our dresses. I’ll let you do my hair and makeup however you want.” I hated getting dressed up, and Mary knew it. She smiled throughher tears and squeezed my hand in response.
    “Let’s go the fun way,” she said, and we laughed as we kicked off our shoes, racing down the palace hallways, sliding in our socks on the cold marble floors.
    The ballroom had always been my favorite of all the rooms in the palace—especially the hand-painted ceiling, with its angels and fluffy clouds and