The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1) (4 page)

“And this George Montshire of Virginia is my ancestor?”

“Yes, the rest is easy to reconstruct. The son that was mentioned in the letter died in the 1760’s and his son George, grandson of the original George Montshire, fought in the Revolutionary War. His son, also named George, migrated to Kentucky and his son George fought in the Civil War for Kentucky, losing a leg in the process. Kentucky George’s son George migrated to Texas and served as a sheriff. It is in Texas where the Montshires have resided ever since, though they don’t seem to have branched out at all. George Montshire, your father, was directly descended from George Montshire of Virginia, who himself was heir to the throne until it passed by agreement to William and Mary. And you, Mrs. Krebs, are the sole offspring of George Montshire. You are the legitimate heir.”

Renee hardly knew what to say. She got up and wandered around the room, twisting her hands.

“I always hated being called Georgina,” she said.

“I’m sorry, what was that? Can you speak up?” said Roberts.

“I said I always hated being called Georgina. It’s so old-fashioned and when I asked him why he named me that  he said everyone in our family was named George after someone important, though he didn’t know who, and he wasn’t about to break the tradition. I saw it as egotistical and superstitious, just one of the many things that pushed us apart. I wish I would have listened more,” she said.

Roberts spoke. “Though I have no children of my own, I have witnessed firsthand how complicated relationships between parents and children can be. Not even royals are spared it. But if it is any comfort, it is unlikely that your father knew of his heritage.”

“And you really want me to be your queen?”

“What we want is unimportant. You are the queen by right.”

“But I’m just a waitress,” cried Renee.

“And David was just a shepherd and yet he led the Israelites to glory,” said Roberts standing up to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You will grow into the role.”

Renee paced a few more minutes, sometimes stopping as if on the verge of speaking and then beginning her restless walk again, chewing her fingernails and thinking. Roberts and Chase remained still as if worried that they might frighten a doe into sprinting away.

She stopped suddenly. “How can I be the only heir? Didn’t any of the older Montshire brothers have children before they died?”

“No, they had not yet married.”

“Oh.” She began her circuit around the room again.

“There are other contenders, of course,” said Roberts. “But you are the most recent, direct, and the most, shall we say, palatable?”

Chase chuckled.

Renee sat down on the edge of the hard, wooden chair, listening to Roberts, but distracted. “Tell me about them. Talk about anything. I need time for my brain to slow down.”

“Firstly, the crown can’t go to any Catholics so whole families are out of the running. Secondly, it cannot go to any descendants of bastards.”

“Excuse me?” said Renee, startled.

“Throughout history men have strayed outside of their marital vows.” Renee flushed red, thinking of Ray. “It’s especially true of men of power. These dalliances oftentimes resulted in offspring, often loved and cared for by the sovereign, but occasionally rejected and unacknowledged.”

“How sad. Why can’t any of them be considered? Times have changed, most kids don’t have married parents when they’re born,” said Renee. Although she said it as if she meant it, it bothered her that Cassandra had not had a father when she was born; the marriage had ended before she was born.

“True,” said Roberts, “but that is hardly a welcome development. It wasn’t legitimate then and it’s not legitimate now. Besides, the descendants of all the various bastards throughout history numbers in the hundreds or even thousands. There’s a whole slew of them clamoring for attention; they were very upset at not being invited to the Grand Reunion, in fact.”

“They know who they are then?”

“Oh yes, and now that the whole of the legitimate royal family is gone, they are rallying to be recognized as royals. In fact, they’ve organized themselves into an entity called The League of Royal Bastards, headed by the most direct male descendant of King Richard III—”

“—The biggest bastard of them all!” said Chase and laughed. Renee couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Yes, hmmm,” said Roberts, clearly uncomfortable, although Renee could not tell if it was due to Chase’s choice of words or the insult to the royal family, which he was clearly very devoted to.

“Are there any non”—she whispered the word—“
bastards
in the running?”

“We did track down a few potentials,” admitted Roberts, “but they each had their own issues.” He looked at Chase for help, who jumped in gladly.

“The first is an Australian rabbit farmer, so drunk it took half a day to get him half way sober so we could talk to him…and I’m talking about the first half of the day. After we got him into a hot shower—”

“The things I do for my country,” said Roberts with a shudder and raised his eyes to heaven.

“—After a hot shower, a couple of gallons of coffee, and an obscene amount of pancakes and marmite, his eyes were open enough for us to explain who we were, he burst out laughing—you should have seen the rolls on his belly quiver—and said he’d rather slather himself in oil and run down the main street of Alice Springs with tassels on his tits than get dressed up like some jumped up kangaroo on display, which put an end to that conversation.”

“Rather,” agreed Roberts.

Chase held up his hand and began counting on his fingers.

“Of the rest of the contenders, one is senile without descendants, another is under investigation for running a Ponzi scheme, and another is a madman locked up in prison for multiple counts of murder, one of the Bretton clan.”

“That entire family has a strain of disturbance running through it,” said Roberts. “There was hardly a plot or unseemly activity that did not have Bretton fingerprints on it. It’s said that when Edwy the Fair was caught rutting between a mother and her daughter on his coronation day, it was a Bretton who arranged the tryst.”

“But the Montshires were ok, until the whole fratricide incident?” said Renee.

“Oh yes, the Montshires were very loyal to the crown and could always be counted on. It’s a shame that their dynasty ended as it did,” said Roberts.

“But it didn’t end, which is why you’re here to see me.”

Roberts seemed relieved and for the first time allowed a small smile. “You understand the situation perfectly.”

Renee paced again while the eyes of the two gentlemen swiveled back and forth following her track. Much was on the line. Finally she stopped directly in front of them.

“What if I say no?”

Roberts blanched and his voice was husky with trepidation.

“Then we become like the French,” he said.

Renee was gratified to see that Chase looked as confused as she did. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with the French?”

“Besides the obvious?” said Roberts with distaste. “If we do not find a legitimate heir and a Bill of Succession is not passed within four months, then we become a republic!”

“Is that all?” said Renee. “America is a republic and we’re doing just fine, thank you very much.”

“Sure, that’s fine for you Americans, you own the world. But what have we got! Without the pomp and splendor of the crown, without Buckingham Palace and the changing of the guard and royal wedding spectacles, we are nothing but a nation of drunken yobs with bad teeth and bland food.” Roberts’s voice had raised an octave.

“And you’re out of a job, as well,” said Renee.

Roberts’s face froze in an expression of panic. Chase chuckled.

“Many people would be out of a job,” said Roberts, unfreezing, “but that is not the issue. Our entire history has centered around the struggles of the royals. Without them,
there is no history.”

All the wind seemed to have gone out of Roberts and he looked so pitiful Renee had an urge to comfort him. Instead she said quietly, “I’ll have to think about it.”

“But you just said—” began Roberts, eyes bugging out, but Chase took him by the elbow and began pulling him towards the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Krebs, we appreciate it. Here’s my card with a number you can ring us at to discuss this further. Please don’t take long. A whole nation is waiting.”

A moment later they were gone and Renee was left alone with her swirling thoughts and a royal pile of laundry that needed folding.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN RENEE HAD LEFT HOME, it was on the back of a motorcycle. She recalled her father standing on the porch, hand shielding his eyes against the sun, as she wrapped her arms tighter around the one who held the promise of a more exciting life and who didn’t pass the days in a martyred silence. She wanted fun and music and dancing, while her father seemed only to cling ever tighter to the routine of work on the ranch and distrusted the teenage impulses that led Renee to stay out later and later, seeing in them the same reckless faithlessness that had led to the departure of her mother. He had tried to bury Renee with work—cleaning the horse stalls, brushing down the horses, mending fences, breaking in the young broncos, which she was exceptionally good at, but to no avail. She had vowed never to return to that stuffy old place. She was meant for better things.

Renee looked around her small, two-bedroom apartment and her chin dropped to her chest. Yes, look at her now, living in a rented dump and begging for extra waitressing shifts. Her father had never begged from anyone. He had stood tall and straight and the weight of his enormous mustache never seemed to bend him forward, even when the weight of life had threatened to. Her father should have been the king. He was born for it. Never complaining, never stopping, always working.

News of his death had been quite a shock. Somehow, she never imagined him not being in the doorway of his weathered wood ranch house. He hadn’t even met Cassandra, who had been a toddler at the time. Her mother, Leanne, had already divorced him and moved to a trailer park outside of Reno, but it was Leanne who had arrived first at the ranch after his passing and had already thrown out most of his possessions by the time Renee made it out for the scattering of the ashes. Leanne presented her with a single box of family photos, letters and anything else she didn’t think she could sell or make money on. In Leanne’s view, if it didn’t make money for her to spend in Reno, she didn’t want it, especially if belonged to an ex-husband. By this time she had already found and discarded another husband.

Renee went now to the hall closet where sweaters, costumes from Cassandra’s school plays, an assortment of jumbled shoes and several boxes stacked one atop another were all miraculously crammed together. It was the only storage space in the apartment, but it was a large one. Renee found it hard to throw things away, possibly because she felt like she was lacking a history of her own. Her father had never spoken much even before Leanne had walked out, and her mother was unsentimental and never kept anything. Report cards, blue ribbons for artwork entered in the county fair, birthday cards. All of it was trashed or sold. Renee dug to the very bottom, throwing things over her shoulder and straining to move the boxes. Finally she found the crumpled cardboard box, still sealed in packing tape, that Leanne had given her after George’s death. Renee had never had the heart to open it. She took a deep breath before she removed the lid, feeling like she was finally going to learn something about her father and about her ancestors.

The photo albums were there, just as Leanne had promised. She flipped through them idly, smiling at pictures of herself in Halloween costumes or blowing out birthday candles. She looked so much like Cassandra in some of them, the same strawberry blonde hair that hung straight down the back, the blue eyes that never fully let go to laugh out loud, and there was her mother who never stopped laughing because life was one big party to her. She hadn’t let a child or marriage vows get in the way of her fun. In every picture a cigarette sprouted between her fingers and her eyes lined in blue eye shadow wrinkled into a smile.

Renee sorted through the albums. Beneath them was a pile of letters, some trinkets from various camping destinations—a bit of turquoise from Four Corners and a piece of amber George must have picked up in the petrified woods. He had an affinity for geology and rocks. Renee examined each item carefully, but there was nothing about any royal ancestors. Not even a hint. At the bottom of the cardboard box was a large cigar box. He used to give her cigar boxes when she was a child to hide her precious objects and “important documents” in, which really amounted to lists of what she wanted for Christmas or pennies with old dates on them. The cigar box contained some black and white photos, a few of which looked Civil War era. In one photo a gnarled, blank-eyed man held a pistol of ancient vintage. This must be Kentucky George, she thought. An inscription on the back confirmed it. So far, her physical history matched the story told by the English visitors. She berated herself for not even knowing that a great-great grandfather had fought in the Civil War. Surely, her father had told her, but she had never wanted to listen to his boring family stories. They were on par with his lectures of why it was important to live up to her name and do her ancestors proud. She lifted up the stack of photographs, expecting to find more of them, and gasped. Under the stack of crumbling photographs was an incredibly old pistol with a graciously curved hilt fitted with silver. With a shock she realized it was the same one as in the photo of Kentucky George. She held it up gingerly, careful to point it away from herself, and examined it. She could just make out some curly writing carved into the worn wood of the hilt: G. Montshire.

Just then she heard a key slide into the lock of the front door and she hastily piled everything back into the box, careful to make sure the pistol was well hidden. She had completely lost track of the time. Cassandra burst in looking excited. Renee sprang out of the chair to hug her daughter before bustling into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? We’ve got, well let’s see…sorry honey, it’s tuna again.”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose, but didn’t say anything. Cassandra dug through her back pack while Renee opened the tuna cans and chopped an onion and stalk of celery. Her thoughts kept returning to the visit she’d had that afternoon. Should she even tell her daughter? As she prepared a tuna salad sandwich and ladled some instant noodles into a bowl, she suddenly envisioned a banquet hall with the choicest cuts of roasted meats, every kind of salad, roasted vegetables and endless desserts.

“Mom, did you even hear me?”

Renee tried not to act startled. “Yes, you said Stacey is going to the amusement park.”

“And she asked if I could go with her. Please can I go?” Cassandra was practically bouncing in her chair.

“Does she have an extra ticket?” asked Renee.

“No, but she said the tickets are on sale right now. Only $25. Please, please, please can I go?”

Renee bit her lip. She knew exactly how much she had in the bank account and she would be lucky to make it through the weekend. She hated disappointing her daughter. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t have any extra money right now.”

Cassandra slumped in her chair and pushed back her plate.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“Fine.”

“Really, I mean it.”

“I said fine!”

Cassandra scowled into her soup and looked so much like a teenager Renee couldn’t help but smile. A thought popped into her head and she smiled even wider.

“What’s with you, Mom?”

“You’re a princess, you know.”

“Ok. Great.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re really a princess.”

“Yes mom, I know. I’m your princess, I get it. Can I be excused?” 

Renee relented and Cassandra dumped her dishes in the sink on the way to her room and then shut the door. Renee tiptoed over and pressed her ear to the door. She could hear Cassandra sniffling. She felt like the world’s worst mother. What kind of woman slammed the door on a husband and then didn’t even let her kid go to an amusement park with friends? The last cigarette in the pack was calling her name, but Renee resisted; she deserved to suffer.

The phone rang and she went to answer it. It was Brenda offering a chance to work that night because one of the waitresses had an emergency at home.

“I’m sorry, I can’t come in tonight. Cassandra’s upset and I’m not feeling well myself. You should probably count me out tomorrow, as well.”

She fended off Brenda’s inquiries and offer to bring over some food, but by the end of it Renee felt exhausted. She knew that Mr. Roberts and Mr. Chase were waiting for her answer, but all she could do was pace the floor. Cassandra didn’t emerge again for the rest of the evening and when Renee tapped on her door, the music from the little pink radio in her room got turned up higher. Renee sighed. She supposed she would be dealing more with this as Cassandra got older and without Ray, not that he was much of a father figure, but without his shouted threats, Renee wondered if there was anything she could do to keep Cass in line. Blaring music and sulkiness were just the beginning of teenage wildness.

Renee paced into the night considering her options. Around 3 a.m. she finally broke down and dialed the number on the card Chase had given her. The phone rang several times until finally a sleepy voice, which sounded slightly more Scottish at night, answered.

“What if I say no?” she asked, skidding past such basic preliminaries as saying hello.

I’m sorry, who is this?” the sleepy voice replied.

“What do you mean, who is this? This is the person you want to run a whole country.”

“Technically, you wouldn’t run it. That’s Parliament’s job. You would cut ribbons at malls and stuff.” He yawned.

“That’s it? Really?”

“Well, there’s the international travel, bottomless shopping budget, and army of servants to cater to your every whim.”

Renee felt dizzy.

“But back to your original question.”

“Oh, right,” said Renee snapping back to attention. “What if I say no, I do not accept your offer to be queen?”

She heard Chase sigh on the other end.

“Then we would ask your daughter.”

“My daughter!” Renee craned her neck to check if her sudden screech had awoken Cassandra. Nothing.

“Yes, Ma’am. If the heir abdicates his or her duty, then we go to the next person in line, which is your daughter, Cassandra.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she growled into the phone and slammed it down. She had never considered the possibility that an eleven year old could be put in that position. Her whole purpose in walking away from the offer was to protect Cassandra, to give her a normal life. Was there an eleven year old in the world who would be able to turn down the offer of wealth and fame and palaces and balls?

She stared angrily at the phone and was still curled into a tight, sleepless ball when Cassandra emerged sullen eyed in the morning and went, still scowling, to school.