Chapter Eleven 10 January 2023 #3
“That’s right, ma’am,” Stewart said slowly.
“It is the way things are done, as you know. Prince Louis’s portion of your mother’s trust now goes to his wife, the Dowager Duchess of Somerset, when she turns thirty.
We also thought it best if perhaps Cumberland 1 remains hers for as long as she wishes. ”
Mum’s divorce payout had been close to ￡18 million, though she had burned through almost all of it to cover her exorbitant security costs in her final years.
No longer a working royal, she had been stripped of her taxpayer-funded protection, leaving her out in a world that hated her as much as it exalted her.
I was fairly certain there had been only about ￡10,000 for Louis and me to share by the time she died, although it was a relief Amira would always have a place of her own.
“That’s good,” I said. “For Amira, I mean.”
“Yes, ma’am. Depending on your own intentions, Cumberland 3, which is just across the quadrangle, is undergoing renovations that will be completed by spring. It would make a fine home for you.”
He glanced at me, but when I said nothing, he returned to his papers.
“Now, on the matter of income. I am sure you’re aware the Duchy of Exeter is reserved only for the monarch’s eldest son and heir,” Stewart said, his eyebrows furrowing again.
“This is according to law. With your father and brother gone, you are the monarch’s heir, but obviously not her male child, so the duchy—and its considerable profits—can never be yours. ”
Granny met my gaze. I wondered if they had strategised beforehand, deciding who should deliver which strange bit of news.
The Duchy of Exeter was set up nine hundred years ago to ensure that the king’s son enjoyed a lucrative income while he waited to ascend the throne.
Those who lived on the duchy’s prime southern land—whether they were pensioners, the owners of sprawling farms, or big corporations—were expected to pay him rent.
With more than 100,000 acres of land, as well as a few savvy investments, the duchy was today worth about ￡1 billion.
The arrangement meant that Papa, with zero effort, had earned an annual income of ￡20 million to buy all the lithographs his heart desired.
“The duchy goes back to being administered by the crown estate?” I asked.
As children, Louis and I had been required to sit through weekly constitutional history lessons with a private tutor.
I had only vaguely paid attention, knowing none of it would ever be my problem.
But a ￡1 billion parcel of land that would never be mine, under any circumstances, purely because I was a girl, was a fact that had stuck.
“Her Majesty the Queen will support you financially—if you choose to stay,” Stewart said. “But yes, the revenue from the duchy will flow back to the government.”
“Well,” I said, looking at Jenny, “congrats to you, I guess?”
She laughed a little, then stopped when Stewart shot her a look. Her face sobered as she turned back to me.
“We’re at the point where we must discuss your future, ma’am,” she said. “You are now first in line to the throne. Do you intend to wear the crown when it comes to you?”
I looked at their weary faces, these three people who made momentous decisions behind closed doors.
I had spent the last eleven years believing the crown should be quietly tossed into a city dumpster like a murder weapon.
It had turned siblings against each other, triggered wars, broken up marriages, enslaved millions, destroyed civilisations.
What did it say about me that I would now consider bearing its weight?
“She doesn’t know,” Granny said. Everyone turned to look at her. It was the first time she had spoken since I’d come into the room. “She simply doesn’t know.”
She rose from her chair, so we all stood too. We watched as she wandered over to look at the garden through the window.
“I wasn’t sure either, to be honest,” she said.
“Though I was never given a choice. I was just a girl. Everyone believed it was God’s plan, and who would question such a thing?
But the world feels like it’s on a precipice, doesn’t it?
The next monarch’s reign is likely to be the hardest in our family’s history. ”
She left the window and walked back to the table to prepare herself another cup of tea, waving Stewart away when he tried to help.
“The greatest challenge for my successor will be guiding this family through whatever lies ahead. I’d like to believe this planet isn’t doomed, but there will be sacrifices to make and people will be afraid.
I’ve lived through wars. When people are scared, they can become…
irrational. The next monarch could be a symbol of hope, a great unifier, a stabiliser,” she said, sipping from her cup.
“But if they fail, they’ll be tossed on the scrapheap. ”
The woman who was my grandmother had vanished. Her radiant alter ego, Queen Eleanor, had emerged. She sat back down and wordlessly encouraged us to do the same.
“I still believe the crown lands on the head that God chooses. But perhaps He needs to guide his chosen one,” she said.
“If Alexandrina needs a little time, she may have it. I propose that a year from now, I proclaim my heir to be the next Princess—or perhaps Prince—of Scotland. I didn’t give Freddy the title until he was five, so a year won’t hurt.
I also think Scotland probably deserves time to get used to the idea, don’t you?
The independence movement is stronger than ever. ”
Stewart and Jenny looked at each other and something invisible passed between them.
“Ma’am,” Stewart said, “a female heir presumptive has never received the title of Princess of Scotland before.”
“Yes, thank you, Stewart,” Queen Eleanor said. “I was educated by some of this nation’s greatest constitutional and legal scholars, I am Great Britain’s longest reigning monarch, and I read and sign every piece of legislation presented to me by parliament. I’m quite aware of the title’s history.”
Stewart flushed, but the Queen cut him off before he could speak.
“Unlike the duchy, the Scottish title is the monarch’s personal gift to their heir—traditionally their firstborn son. But this week, we find ourselves in exceptional circumstances. For the first time in a very long time, a woman is not the heir presumptive, but the heir apparent.”
I looked at her, stunned. Women who are first in line to the throne are almost always relegated to the title of heir presumptive—a placeholder just in case the monarch manages to replace her with a son.
To be heir apparent is to be untouchable.
In the long history of our family, no woman had enjoyed this inviolable position. No woman except, now, potentially, me.
“Freddy is gone. Louis is gone. There is no possibility that a son will be born with a better claim to the throne than Alexandrina,” Granny said, folding her hands before her. “So it is hers. Unless, of course, she doesn’t want it.”
She rose from the table and scooped up the black patent handbag that had been resting on a stool by her chair. We all stood as well.
“Prime Minister, if Alexandrina decides to give up her place in the line, you can draw up the bill for parliament, and we’ll proceed with Prince Richard,” the Queen said. “I’m going for a ride. I’d like to reflect on the week’s events in peace.”
She left the room with Stewart trailing behind her, and I wondered if he would attempt to change her mind. Jenny and I watched them leave. As soon as they were out of sight, I collapsed back into my chair, my head swimming.
One year. I had one year to choose. I had expected to be forced to come to a decision, but instead I’d been granted a reprieve.
“Well,” Jenny said, raising her eyebrows, “that was unexpected. But I suppose we have a plan now.”
“You must find all these archaic rules insane,” I breathed.
She shrugged. “I have two kids. I can’t imagine ranking them like that, or giving everything to my son simply because he’s a boy, and leaving my daughter with absolutely nothing.”
“Do you think she’s right?” I asked. “The next monarch’s reign will be the hardest?”
“I think all institutions are being re-examined, and they’ll have to justify their place,” she said. “Those that don’t evolve will be cast out before they even know it’s happening.”
I looked at her. “My mother always thought the crown could do more, but everyone told her we have to stay out of politics.”
She thought for a moment as she tried to force her binder into an already overstuffed bag.
“What are the three rights of the modern sovereign? To consult, to encourage and to warn? I imagine a queen who’s been a physician would have every right to encourage her government to invest more in the NHS, to advocate for more funding for cancer research and improve maternal health.”
“Surely that queen would be very controversial.”
She gave me an enigmatic smile. “I don’t know. I think she could effect a lot of change. She would be a role model for many people. I know I’d certainly like to have a weekly audience with that queen.”
I leaned back in my chair, feeling like I’d woken up in the driver’s seat of a car I had no idea how to operate. Maybe all I had to do was take the wheel. Or maybe I should open the door and roll myself onto the ground before I crashed.
“If it’s not me, it’ll be Richard, and everything will probably be fine.”
Jenny hesitated and then looked around the room to make sure it was empty. She leaned towards me.
“All I can tell you is that if it’s King bloody Richard, it’ll end with a guillotine,” she whispered. “And I know plenty of people who’d be happy to be the executioner.”
She started gathering her things to leave. I wondered what she knew that I didn’t.
“Prime Minister,” I called as she walked to the door, “say I don’t want it. What happens to the Duchy of Exeter?”