Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-one
Scottie
She was alone with Kate at Hadsby again. After three days in the royal wing of The Queen’s Hospital, her physician cleared her to return home.
Yet she had strict orders to rest. A steady train of nurses and physios rotated in and out of Monarch One throughout the day.
This morning Edric trained down to Port Fressa for patronage duties and to retrieve his tux for the Rose Ball. John and Gus, with their families, also returned to the capital city to settle into their apartments, handle the queen’s business, and prepare for the ball.
At the moment, Scottie had a more serious issue on her mind than the ball.
The books. The ones she and Michael had carried down the mountain.
She was set to tell Kate this morning, but now it was teatime, and as the queen sat across from her at the windowed corner table, Scottie glanced toward the door, waiting for someone to announce Michael.
Would the queen think she was intruding? Or trying to change things that were none of her business? Was the queen strong enough to hear the news?
“You look pensive,” Kate said, setting down her cup of tea. She’d lost more weight, and her skin had a thin, angelic appearance. “Are you nervous about the ball? Did you finish your dance instructions?”
“Yes, last night.” Michael had joined her in the ballroom with Lady Carla Everstone for instruction on the waltz, two quadrilles, and the finer points of the Ildys dance.
Once again, she’d rested her hip against Michael’s, her right arm across his body with her hand firmly settled in his while his left hand secured her waist.
The moment the music started, she was back at the Belly of the Beast, moving through the dance, ending face-to-face with Michael.
Speaking of… Where was he? He was supposed to be here.
“Scottie, can you push the window open?” Kate said. “Breathing in the North Sea air will cure me.”
“Maybe we can walk out to the old portico before dinner,” Scottie said, glancing at her watch. “I can push you in the wheelchair if you’re too tired.”
“And have the spying eyes see me old and broken, being pushed by my nursemaid daughter? Never. I’ll get some rest after tea, and we will walk together.” Kate lifted her chin with determination. “I’ll have you to lean on.”
Scottie started at the knock on the apartment door, listening, waiting, as a maid answered, then entered the living room.
“Mr. Michael Cross to see you, Your Majesty.”
“Bring him in,” Scottie said.
“What’s this about?” Kate glanced over her shoulder as Michael bowed, then approached with the leather books from the chapel under his arm.
“About after I went to see Hamish Fickle,” Scottie said.
“Interesting,” Kate said in a drawn out, inquiring tone.
“He said some things about the Blues and stealing land, so Michael talked to his dad, wondered if there was a way to prove any of it.”
“And?” Kate turned her attention to Michael. “Did he?”
“Yes, ma’am. He found a carefully preserved parchment listing records that had been moved from Perrigwynn Palace to Wenthelen Chapel, August 1643.
” Michael covered the edge of the parchment with a white cloth and passed it to the queen.
“Dad was surprised to see older, more obscure records and documents had been moved out of the Hall of Records.”
“To a damp, cold cellar?” Kate said, reaching for her reading glasses. “Who would approve such a thing?”
“King Louis the Fourth.”
Scottie took up the story. “Michael has spent three days with his dad digging into historical records, documenting a claim made by MP Fickle. Did the House of Blue steal from the Fickles?”
Kate peered at Scottie, then Michael, over the rim of her eyeglasses. “Out with it, Cross. What did you discover?”
“The House of Blue revoked the Midlands from the Fickles. But they were given the duchy with all rights and corresponding titles.”
“Impossible.” Kate sat back, hands folded on her lap, her queenly nature emerging. “How has MP Fickle convinced you of this web of lies?”
“It’s true, Kate.” From her rucksack, Scottie produced the portrait of Wenthelen. “Let’s start here.”
“Wenthelen. Stars above, where did you find this?” Kate carefully held the frame in her hands.
“In the chapel cellar. Tucked behind some large leather-bound books.”
“She’s so beautiful. I’ve only seen a pencil sketching of her in history books. She was beloved for her charity and kindness.” Kate dusted lint from the corner of the frame. “We must put this in the Royal Art Museum. Who is the artist?”
“We don’t know,” Michael said. “But we think it was painted in the early sixteen hundreds. The style is a mix of rococo and early Baroque.”
“What does Wenthelen have to do with the claim of the Fickles? And don’t look at each other like you’re afraid to tell me.”
“We don’t have to recap the history of Magnus the Third’s political marriage to Margarite, Princess of Denmark.”
“We do not.” Kate regarded Michael then Scottie.
“My father reminded me of this story when he refused to let me marry your father. Magnus the Third was a great and beloved king, he said, and if he could find happiness, then so could I.” She motioned for Michael to pass over another book.
“Magnus built the chapel for her before he died. She was an example to us all of Christian piety and love for others. I know she married, but there’s where the story ends. ”
Michael directed Kate to the marriage decree. “Look at the names, ma’am, and the endowed gift from Magnus.”
“The rocky land of the Midlands,” Kate said, leaning closer to the documents. “She married a Fickle? Why is none of this known in the royal records?”
“It was,” Michael said. “Before the lands were taken. Then the records were moved.”
“Well.” Kate sighed and slowly pushed to her feet. “I’m not sure what to think or believe but I feel as if I’ve known this my whole life. If not my whole life, since Hamish Fickle arrived on the scene. So a Blue ancestor married a Fickle? What was his name?”
“Caspas, styled as the Duke of Midlands.” Michael pointed to the spot on the decree where Magnus conferred the title, but Kate was not looking.
“Go on,” she said.
“Between the marriage and gift of land to the family, they prospered. The land had minerals and gemstones. They became farmers and experts in textiles from access to natural resources and the port. In the late seventeen hundreds, King Titus the Tenth imposed heavy taxes on the Midlands near the end of his reign, sort of an in-country tariff.” He handed Kate a delicately preserved newspaper.
“The Fickles became vocal about taxes and the monarchy for fifty years, all the way to King Louis the Fourth. He tried to broker a trade deal with Germany, but the Lord Midlands, a Bane Fickle, undercut him by negotiating a private and better deal for his own ducal territory, the Midlands. King Louis declared the act to be treason and took the land by royal decree in 1821.”
Michael produced several more documents. “My father and I tracked down these documents.”
“These were all in the chapel cellar?” In Scottie’s eyes, Kate seemed to wither a bit.
“Most, yes, ma’am. From what we can tell,” Michael said.
“The Midlands were prospering, and the duke took a bold step.” He produced his phone with a snapshot of another preserved newspaper page.
“This was too fragile to bring, but you can see the Lord Midlands, in 1820, pronounced himself part of the Crown through his great-great-grandmother, Wenthelen.”
“An illegitimate child would’ve never been in line to the throne. Even now.” Kate glanced at Scottie, then quickly away.
If she’d been born from a legal marriage, she’d be the crown princess, the heir to the Lauchtenland throne instead of O’Shay Shirts. But they never talked about it.
“That’s true, ma’am, but the law for succession from a legal marriage was not enacted until 1588. Wenthelen was born in 1530.”
“Then if Magnus wanted her to be his heir—”
“It seems my ancestor”—Michael swiped to another photo—“Wilhelm Cross was the presiding priest over the argument for the rights and sacrament of marriage, and that all legal heirs to the throne must come from a wedded union.”
“Goodness. I feel as if I’m following a spy movie. Does MP Fickle know all of this?” Kate sat, clearly weary, handing back Michael’s phone, then taking up the white cloth to turn the pages of the record book.
“Only that the Crown confiscated the Midlands by claiming treason and sedition, utilizing the courts in their favor, and within fifty years, the Fickles were impoverished outcasts. Hamish has no idea he’s a descendent from the House of Blue, nor that the Midlands were a ducal given to his ancestor, nor that he is Lord Midlands. Their records were lost in a fire.”
“I need to speak with the king consort and the prime minister.” The furrows on Kate’s brow deepened as she raised her teacup.
“I’ll be candid. I do not want Hamish Fickle in the House of Blue.
He’s a menace. Not that we’ve been devoid of our own menaces in the past, but one cannot kick out a son or daughter.
But inviting into the Family a man like the MP and his Renaissance Coalition—” She brushed her finger under her eye.
“Who stirred up a mob that nearly killed my daughter? It would be the end of the House of Blue. Which I will not tolerate on my rein.”
“Maybe, but Kate, what if learning he’s a Blue will bring him to our side?” Scottie said.
“Or what if he uses it as fuel to further his cause? No, I cannot see it. World wars have been fought between royal relatives. I’ll not have war in my own land, in my own house.
” Kate reached for her sweater and started for her room.
“I’m exhausted and with this news. We’ll have to return to Port Fressa tomorrow or the day after.
I’ll have to meet with the prime minister and the privy council. Please, pardon me.”
Scottie stood as the Queen of Lauchtenland left the room. “Michael, we wore her out.”