Prisoners in the Palace by Michaela MacColl

Kensington Palace would stretch easily to feed this skinny boy. The cabinet gave him a place to hide during daylight. As for bathing, he wasn’t worrying, so Liza wouldn’t either. She did wonder, though: “What about, when you need to…“ She couldn’t think of a delicate way to ask.
    “A chamber pot ain’t choosy. My piss or Their ‘ighnesses—it’s all the same.”
    Liza didn’t know if she should blush or laugh.
    “And no one suspects?”
    “Miss, let me tell you ‘ow Palace life works.” He stroked his chin like an old wise man. “Kensington Palace is poorly run indeed. So many people are in charge, no one is responsible. An Inside Boy falls through the cracks.”
    Liza nodded, remembering her wait at the front door that first day. She also recalled Mrs. Strode disclaiming any responsibility for the Palace’s exterior. “You’ve never been caught?”
    “If anybody stopped me, which ain’t never ‘appened yet, I’d say I’m the chimney sweep’s boy.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “You’ve taken Annie Mason’s place, right?”
    Liza stared at him, eyes widening. “How do you know that?”
    “I ‘ear everything,” he said with an impish grin. “I’ll prove it. You speak the same funny spitting language they do. The Princess likes you. The Baroness wants you to be ‘er very own personal spy. The Duchess barely knows you’re alive. Sir John Conroy admires your looks.”
    The darkness hid the blush Liza could feel flooding her cheeks. “But how…those conversations were in different rooms. How did you hear all that?”
    “Never you mind,” he said. “But you watch out for Sir John. I tried to warn Annie, but she was stubborn, thinkin’ she could ‘andle ‘im on her own.”
    “You knew Annie?”
    “Knows ‘er,” he corrected indignantly. “She didn’t die when she was booted outta the Palace. She’s me friend.”
    Liza touched his arm in apology. “I’m sorry, but no one here will tell me about her. Do you know why she left?”
    Inside Boy began moving about the dark room. Staring out the window, with his back to Liza, he said in a low voice, “Annie’s well out of this.”
    So Inside Boy wouldn’t talk about Annie either.
    “So what could you be doing for the Princess down ‘ere at this hour?” he asked, turning back to her.
    “I needed this broadsheet.” Liza held it up.
    Inside Boy tugged at his collar as if to loosen it. “Funny sort of errand to do in the middle of the night. It’s what I’d call risky for a maid.”
    “I wasn’t always a maid,” Liza said. “I’m going to help the Princess hold her own against Sir John. When she’s Queen, she can make me a lady again. I could use your help.”
    “You’ll need more than me to go up against Sir John.” Inside Boy polished his fingernails against his pants. “What’s in it for me?”
    “Would you settle for knowing I owed you a favor?”
    “You can do one for me right now,” he said. “Get a note to Princess Victoria. From Annie.”
    “The Baroness would not approve.”
    “But the Princess would. You said you were workin’ for ‘er.”
    “Why can’t Annie send it herself?”
    “The Princess ain’t allowed to open ‘er own mail.”
    Liza thought that sounded quite likely. “What does it say?”
    He drew himself up, the very portrait of injured pride. “I don’t read other people’s private letters.”
    Liza giggled. “You just eavesdrop on their private conversations, eat their sweetmeats, and steal space in their wood boxes?”
    “I’ve got standards!” Inside Boy said, his voice raw and indignant.
    Liza smiled to herself, remembering how Mrs. Strode had said the same thing.
    “What can you tell me about the broadsheet?” she asked.
    He grinned and they both knew they’d reached a deal. He stuck out a filthy hand and with barely a moment’s pause, Liza shook it.
    Inside Boy said, “I can bring you to the cove who publishes it. You can ask ‘im