“I have to admit, I’m jealous that you were allowed to be part of the audience,” remarked a voice to her left.
May turned, startled to see Prince George standing next to her.
Belatedly, she realized that she needed to reply. “You didn’t enjoy acting tonight?”
“I loathed it. And I imagine that you would have, too.”
“I’d have preferred not to be left out.” Perhaps Agnes was rubbing off on her; May normally didn’t speak so bluntly.
George cast her a curious glance. They were standing near the edge of the oriental carpet, near a claret-colored tufted sofa.
“Perhaps you’re right,” George agreed. “At least if you were onstage with us, no one would have to worry about you forgetting your lines as Louise did.”
May was puzzled, though a bit gratified by the disloyalty to his sister. “What do you mean?”
“Just that you have excellent powers of recall. I’ll never forget that summer we were all children, when Grandmother offered a prize to whoever would be first to recite the catechism.”
May couldn’t believe he remembered; it was so long ago. “She promised that whoever could do it first would get a Bible embossed with his or her name.”
“Except that we were children, and not particularly motivated by the Bible as a reward. Chocolate would have been a better choice.”
Not to May. She had been enamored by the prospect of owning something marked with her name: the letters pressed into the cover by a stamp, never to be erased or undone. Something that was clearly, undeniablyhers.
“You learned the catechism within a matter of days, whilethe rest of us were busy playing at pirates,” George went on. His eyes lit on hers as he asked, “I hope you still have that Bible.”
“Oh…I never got one, actually,” May admitted.
“That’s not fair.” George was positively indignant as he added, “I have half a mind to tell Grandmother that she owes you a Bible.”
She owes me far more than that for ignoring me my whole life,May thought. “It’s all right. I’m sure she just forgot.”
Except that if it had been Eddy, or her beloved Alix, Victoria would never have forgotten.
May steered the conversation back to a safer level. “Tell me, why did you dislike the theatricals? I think you may have had the best part of anyone.”
“Because I had no speaking role and just napped on a tigerskin?”
“Was it comfortable?” May asked, and to her surprise, George laughed.
“Extremely. Have you ever seen a tiger? Eddy claims he shot one in Nepal, but I’m not sure whether to believe him.”
“I’ve never traveled to Nepal, of course, but I did see the tiger at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park.” May hesitated, then added, “I have to admit, I much preferred the hippopotamus.”
“The hippopotamus? You must be the only person in London who feels that way.”
“It’s not the hippopotamus’s fault that he was poorly named, and looks more like a hog than a Thoroughbred!” May protested. “One can hardly blame him for splashing people in retaliation.”
There had been such a fanfare when the animal had firstarrived in London, newspaper headlines proudly announcing theGreat African River-Horse. Then when people saw it—expecting some kind of Pegasus with fins—they were sorely disappointed. Within a week, children were throwing hunks of old bread at the hippopotamus, shouting insults in its direction.
May loved that the hippo ignored their criticisms, just gave a huge yawn of indifference and then jumped back into its pond, spraying water up onto the children. She wished that she could do the same when society threw barbs her way.
“Of course,” George said evenly. “I would splash people, too, if they kept me locked up in that pond with only the giraffes next door for company.”
He was smiling, May noted: a shy, almost playful smile. The remark was ajoke.
“Giraffes seem rather stuck-up, don’t you think?” she replied. “The way they’ve always got their noses in the air?”
It was a silly, nonsensical thing to say, but George chuckled appreciatively.
