Page 39 of The Heir Apparent
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’llproceed 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 Ihad 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?”
She turned to look at me. “Well, I suppose in that case, Prince Richard becomes both the monarch’s eldest son and her heir apparent, which means, legally, possession of the duchy goes to him.”
