No one at the Great Western station that April evening took any particular notice of an impeccably attired gentleman, accompanied by his valet, as he disembarked from the first-class Toronto car and crossed to the livery at the east end of the building. Sarnia was an important town now: politicians and businessmen and pretenders of all sorts stepped off the 6:40 almost every day of the week. Such anonymity seemed to suit this visitor’s liking for the exchange which resulted in the rental of a democrat –sans local driver – was done with despatch and discretion. The valet took the reins while the Honourable Charles Gunther Murchison settled down into leather and velvet, and studiously ignored the regional scenery. They turned north-east up the Errol Road and drove into the dusk of early spring. It was almost dark when the driver, following some route previously committed to memory, veered into the lane of the Ramsbottom farm.
Having made introductions, Murchison dispatched his valet to the rig and turned to address Bridie, clearly the head of the household, directly. Chester perched on the edge of his chair, a spectator. Lily was in her bedroom, just waking from a restless doze.
“I have come on the most urgent of matters, Mrs. Ramsbottom, straight from the office of Governor Head himself. I apologize again for the suddenness of our appearance so late in the day, but when you hear what news I bring, you will understand our need for covert action. Several lives are at stake.”
Chester leaned forward; Bridie blinked but gave no ground. “Whose lives?” she asked evenly.
“Before I am permitted to offer detailed explanations, I must talk with your...niece.” He was like an eagle at home in this strange eyrie, his bronze pate feathered at the sides with silvery whiskers, his aquiline beak and assayer’s eyes piercing every shadow in the coal-oil gloom, his bearing regal as befitting a man who has twice been a cabinet minister, who stared down a dozen rebel guns in 1837 and prevailed.
“My niece isn’t well,” Bridie said. “She’s not available to you, sir, nor to the governor.”
Murchison took no offense. “I’m afraid she must be. The orders I am under, you see, come from Her Majesty.”
Uncle Chester fell part-way off his chair and barely recovered in time to abort the crick in his back. Lily opened her eyes.
“The Queen?”
“Yes. Directly from the palace, through His Excellency in Quebec. I have been asked to seek out and speak with your niece on a matter of the utmost delicacy and urgency.”
A glimmer of insight reached Bridie’s eyes, then faded in disbelief.
“With all respect, sir, my niece is ill and can’t be disturbed. If you tell me what you need, of me or her, I’ll talk to her in the morning. Surely even our Queen would understand the need not to upset a sick child.”
Lily raised her head, the better to catch Murchison’s words. “I appreciate your desire to protect your niece, Mrs. Ramsbottom, and I know His Excellency and Her Majesty would applaud your loyalty and solicitude. But it is imperative that I at least seeyour niece. If she is ill, I can return to speak with her tomorrow.”
“It’s all right, Auntie,” Lily said stepping slowly into the room’s light.
Twenty minutes later, Aunt Bridie was sitting in the straightback chair by the stove. Her face was ashen.
“You see,” Murchison was explaining in lower but no-less-formal tones, “I had no idea whether the girl had informed you of the possible paternity of the child. Indeed, we did not know for sure that the girl was ‘enceinte’, though one of our sources, a young man disguised as a lost traveller and sitting now in my carriage, reported the possibility to us two months ago. All this was carried out, you understand, at the request of Her Majesty after a belated confession on the part of His Highness. Then, of course, we had to use the utmost discretion possible to ascertain the moral character of the girl. It proved, as I’m sure you know, ma’am, to be unimpeachably stainless.” He was speaking directly to the stunned Bridie, averting his eagle gaze from the Lily’s heavy-laden figure seated to his right.
“It is the Prince’s babe,” Lily said again.
Murchison shifted tone and stance, as if he were a lawyer changing from defense to prosecution. “Now that these most difficult and delicate matters are clear, I have the awful duty to inform you of the decisions taken, as I have said, at the highest levels of state. I have been commanded to explain to you that these decisions have been reached after full consideration of the best and just interests of all parties concerned. The Prince, you will be pleased to know, is contrite and eager to make amends for his youthful indiscretion.” He looked about for some confirmation, but only Chester was nodding, unconsciously.
“Now that we know the baby will have royal blood in its veins, we are under the strictest obligation, as citizens and subjects of the Empire, to treat that fact with the awe and respect it deserves. Her Majesty expressly wishes the child to be born in circumstances most conducive to its general health, including the utmost care of the mother during the crucial days of her lying-in. The best doctors and midwives are to be consulted; a hospital or surgery must be close at hand in case of emergencies.”
“We got no hospital here,” Bridie said.
“Precisely. You take my very point,” the solicitor said, wheeling to face the invisible jury. “We have come to take Lily to a place where all of these conditions obtain, where both her well-being and that of the child will be assured. Moreover, we are not insensible of the social difficulties associated with a child born out of wedlock; the Prince himself was particularly concerned about this point. Hence, the immediate and secret removal of the girl to a house we have arranged in London will be of benefit to all concerned.”
“And after the babe is born?” Bridie said coldly into the ensuing silence.
“Mother and child can be returned here, of course. Not right away naturally. Perhaps a husband can be found for her, or a reasonable story concocted to account for the exceptional circumstances. Whatever arrangements are decided post partum,” he said relishing the Latin, “Her Majesty has commanded Her viceroy here in the dominion to disburse appropriate funds for the maintenance of the child till it comes of age. Furthermore –”
“We don’t want any of your money,” Bridie cut him off.
“Now, sweetie –”Chester said, but was silenced by a stare.
“Would you kindly get the girl’s things together as soon as possible? There’s a train leaving here in an hour; we’ve arranged a special car to be attached.”
Aunt Bridie stood up. “The girl, as you call her, only goes if she wants to. Please tell Her Majesty that we are quite capable of taking care of our own, royal blood or not. An’ we don’t take charity.”
“May I see Lily alone, then?”
Lily nodded to her Aunt.
“If you must.”
The privy-councillor and ex-Grenadier was disconcerted by the way the girl gazed directly at him while he lectured her, with just the slightest hint of disapproval. Moreover, the thumping of the baby on the drum of her abdomen was disturbingly audible.
“We understand your reluctance to leave home, but we ask that you reflect on all the advantages that will accrue to a positive decision to go to London. The lady who has agreed to care for you is a woman of the highest quality and discretion. We also recognize that you are part of a working family and that your loss over the next three months or so will impose serious hardships on your Aunt and Uncle. Thus, though your Aunt sees it as charity, His Excellency will, with or without her consent, deposit a hundred dollars in her account at the Bank of Upper Canada for each month you are away, for as long as it takes to resolve matters in a satisfactory manner.”
When Aunt Bridie and Uncle Chester were waved back in, they found Lily standing by the stove, her eyes brimming with tears.