Naughty In Nice

by Rhys Bowen

  “It’s good for Georgiana to keep busy,” Fig said, liberally slathering strawberry jam onto a slice of toast. “Remember what they used to tell us in the nursery—Satan finds work for idle hands to do?”

  “I’d love a real job, if there were any to be had,” I said.

  “You should see some of the men I serve soup to—they look more distinguished than we do. One today was wearing his war medals. I felt so sorry for him and so angry that I could do nothing to help him.”

  “It’s hard times for everyone, Georgiana,” Fig said. “Look how we’ve had to cut down to the bare bone.” And she popped the last of the jam-laden slice into her mouth.

  “Anyway, Georgie,” Binky said, “Fig’s just had a piece of good news. You remember her sister, Ducky, who married old Foggy Farquar? Well, they’ve taken a place on the Riviera this winter—”

  “For Foggy’s health, you know,” Fig chimed in.

  “—and they’ve invited us to stay,” Binky concluded.

  “Actually, I suspect Mummy twisted their arms to make them invite us,” Fig said candidly. “Ducky isn’t the most hospitable of people usually.”

  It obviously ran in the family.

  “So the point is, Georgie, that we’ll be taking off for the south of France as soon as we can book tickets.” There was a long pause, then he added, “And of course we’d like you to come with us, wouldn’t we, Fig?”

  “Golly, I’d love to,” I said quickly.

  Fig choked on her last toast crumbs. “What Binky was trying to say is that we’d like to have invited you to come with us, but we simply can’t afford another ticket. I don’t know how we’re going to come up with the funds for our own fares, but in my current condition—well, the doctor did say that sea air could be a wonderful tonic for me. So I hope you won’t be too disappointed.”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” I said, trying to sound bright.

  “And if we hear of anyone who is motoring out, we’ll see if they can bring you along to join us,” Binky said. Fig coughed on a crumb again.

  “But the point is, Georgiana, that we want to shut up this house completely,” she said. “Even one person can get through an awfully large amount of coal during a winter. So I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to Scotland unless you can find someone to stay with in London.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I have a place where I’m always welcome.”

  “You do?” They were both looking at me.

  “Certainly. I can go and stay with my grandfather.”

  This produced an impressive fit of coughing from Fig. “Your grandfather?” she demanded when she had recovered.

  “You mean the old Cockney man? The one who lives in Essex?” She spoke this last word as if it was equivalent to Outer Mongolia.

  “Well, my other grandfather, the old duke, has been dead for more than twenty years,” I said. “I don’t propose to camp out at his gravesite. My living grandfather has often told me that I’m always welcome at his house, even if it is humble compared to this one.”

  I saw swift looks pass between Binky and Fig.

  “You can’t live in Essex. The gutter press would have a field day if they found out,” Fig said.

  “And the queen would be furious.” Binky was looking really worried now. “Look here, old bean. It’s just not on. A member of the royal family, even if it is a very junior branch of the family, can’t just camp out in a commoner’s cottage.”

  “Actually, it’s a semidetached,” I said. “Besides, I have no alternative. I don’t want to be all alone in Scotland and you’re closing up this house. What do you expect me to do—sleep underneath the Arches and join that soup queue?”

  Binky winced. He was a kindhearted soul, just hopelessly weak where Fig was concerned. I watched him chewing at his lip.

  “I tell you what,” Binky said. “I’ll see what I can do. We’ll work things out somehow, I promise.”

  So did that mean they were going to find the money for my ticket after all? I didn’t know whether to be excited or not.

  My hopes of traveling to France with them sank a little lower the following morning. I came downstairs to hear Binky on the telephone, apparently to a travel agency.

  “It costs how much?” I heard his voice rise an octave. “For one berth? Yes, I realize that the Blue Train is special, and that it cuts out the inconvenience of changing trains in Paris. And yes, I realize that it’s called the Millionaires’ Train, but we’re not all millionaires, y’know. And no, I would not consider taking another train, impudent pup.” He put back the mouthpiece and came toward me up the stairs. “I had no idea it cost that much. But in her current condition I can’t expect her to change trains and take a taxicab across Paris, can I?” He looked at me with despair on his face. “Dash it all, Georgie. I wish things weren’t so bally complicated. Father and Grandfather never had to count every penny. I feel like such a hopeless failure.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said.

  Binky nodded. “But I can’t help feeling that if I were a more enterprising sort of chap, I could make a go of things. I could grow some kind of cash crop.”

  “Nothing grows in the Scottish Highlands. You know that. And you’ve already sold off the best bits of land. Perhaps I’d better marry a millionaire and help us both.”

  Binky put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good old stick, Georgie, but don’t ever marry out of duty. It’s an awfully long life to spend with someone you don’t particularly like.” He glanced up the stairs. “I was lucky, of course,” he added loudly. “I was introduced to Fig and—well . . .”

  I hadn’t realized that he was a good liar.

  Binky sighed. “I suppose I’d better go and have a talk with the bank manager. Fig’s set her heart on going, so I can’t disappoint her. I really wish we could include you somehow.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Something will turn up.”

  “I’ll do my best for you, Georgie,” he said. “Ah, well, better face the music, I suppose.”

  And he put on his coat and stomped out into the rain. I went off to my duties at Victoria Station. There seemed to be a particularly large and jolly crowd traveling to the Continent that day. I watched them, not daring to hope that I might be following them.

  I came home at four o’clock to find Binky and Fig taking tea in the morning room again, Fig with her feet up on a stool and a rug draped over her knees.

  “It’s all settled, Georgiana,” she said. “We leave tomorrow. Mummy and Daddy were kind enough to wire us the money for our tickets. They are very worried about my health, you know. I’m normally such a robust person.”

  “Leave tomorrow?” I asked, looking from one face to the other. “But what about closing up the house? What about me?”

  “We thought you could do that for us,” Fig said. “Since you’ve now had experience with this kind of thing. We can trust you to make sure the servants pack everything up and leave the place properly cleaned, can’t we? And then you can drop off the keys at Binky’s club.”

  “And I’m supposed to go where, exactly?”

  Binky smiled. “I told you I’d work something out for you, didn’t I? Well, I had a word with Her Majesty’s secretary. A good chap. His younger brother was at school with me—and the upshot is that HM wants you to call on her tomorrow morning.”

  The queen? What on earth could she want with me? Certainly not to pay my fare to France. Binky would have been too proud to have mentioned his current impecunious state. And I was also sure she didn’t want me to come live at the palace. I began to feel like Alice in Wonderland, falling down a rabbit hole and watching everything become curiouser and curiouser.

  Chapter 4

  January 17, 1933

  Binky and Fig leave for Riviera. I’m due to go to

  Buckingham Palace at ten. I wonder what HM has in store

  for me? Wonder what I should wear? Oh, dear.

  I awoke to chaos. I had grown used to Queen
ie forgetting to bring my morning tea and biscuits, either oversleeping or being so engrossed in her own breakfast that she didn’t notice the time. I got up, hearing strange sounds downstairs—raised voices, someone crying and the sound of heavy objects crashing. If we’d been at the castle in Scotland I might have assumed that a warring clan had invaded or at the very least people were getting ready for a hunt or a shoot, but one hardly hunts in London. I fumbled for my dressing gown, then I opened my door and looked out.

  A footman and maid were struggling downstairs bumping a large trunk between them.

  “Careful with that.” Fig’s sharp voice rose over the wailing as the trunk was added to the mountain of luggage piled in the front hall. “Is the taxi here yet, Binky?” Then she turned to Podge. “Nanny, for heaven’s sake make him stop crying. The noise is giving me a headache. Podge, you’re letting the family down by crying like that in front of the servants.”

  I spotted my nephew, Podge (whose real name is Hector Hamish Robert George, Viscount Garry), clinging to Nanny and howling. He noticed me at the same moment, broke away from Nanny and started up the stairs toward me. “Auntie Georgie, I’ve got to go on a train to another country and they won’t let me take my soldiers with me.”

  “You’re going to a beach,” I said. “You won’t need toys. Will you find some shells for me?”

  He looked bewildered. “Aren’t you going to come with us?”

  “I’m afraid not, Podge.” I was going to say that his parents weren’t prepared to pay for me, but that wasn’t quite cricket. “I’m rather busy at the moment,” I finished.

  “I want you to come.” He started to cry again as Binky’s voice came from the front door, announcing, “Car’s here.”

  “Come along, Podge. Say good-bye to Auntie Georgie,” Fig said impatiently.

  I hugged him. He clung to me.

  “You see,” Fig said to Binky, who was holding the door open for the constant stream of servants and luggage, “I told you we should have sent him home to Scotland. It’s going to be unsettling for him. He’s probably going to cry all night on the train and upset everyone.”

  “Of course he’s not. He’s going to be a big boy, aren’t you, Podge?”

  Podge nodded tearfully and took Nanny’s hand as she led him out. I watched with a lump in my throat.

  “And Georgiana, we can count on you to make sure the house is properly closed up, can’t we?” Fig turned to ask as she swept to the front door.

  “Don’t worry,” I said.

  I noticed she didn’t come up to hug me. Binky tried to negotiate the servants and baggage. “’Bye, old thing,” he called to me. “So sorry you can’t come with us. I hope it all works out with the queen this morning.”

  And then they were gone.

  “Did you want your cup of tea in bed, miss, or are you already up?” Queenie appeared, carrying the tea tray.

  “You’re about an hour too late and, as you can see, I’m already up,” I said. “Tell Cook that I’ll have a proper breakfast this morning.”

  At least I’d make the most of my last days here by helping to use up their food. Our cook, Mrs. McPherson, has always had a soft spot for me and she sent up a perfect breakfast: bacon, kidneys, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread and two eggs.

  I finished the plate with relish then went up to select a suitable outfit for my upcoming visit to the palace. Luckily Queenie had not tried to clean my one good tweed suit yet!

  I always approach Buckingham Palace with great trepidation. Who doesn’t? I know they are relatives, but most relatives don’t live in great gray stone palaces, surrounded by iron railings and guards in red coats. And most relatives are not queen-empresses, sovereigns over millions and millions of people across the globe. I am one of those people whose limbs won’t obey them when they get nervous. I do things like trip over carpets and knock vases off tables at the best of times, so you can imagine what it’s like in a palace. I’m only glad I wasn’t born when my great-grandmother was still alive. I would have probably knocked her down the grand staircase and she certainly wouldn’t have been amused.

  Still I tried to look jaunty and confident as I walked down Constitution Hill toward the front gate of the palace. Most people arrive at the palace in a great black motorcar, so the guards at the iron gates looked surprised and suspicious when I showed up on foot.

  “Can I help you, miss?” one of them asked, barring my way, not even standing to attention or saluting. This is what happens when one doesn’t own a decent fur coat.

  “I’m not a miss; I’m Lady Georgiana, His Majesty’s cousin, and Her Majesty is expecting me,” I said.

  The guard turned as red as his jacket. “Begging your pardon, my lady. I didn’t expect someone like you to be arriving on foot.” They must have been the Welsh Guards, as he had a strong lilting accent.

  “Well, I only live around the corner and the walk does me good,” I said. “In fact, Their Majesties are very keen on walking. The king takes his constitutional around the grounds every day, rain or shine, I believe.”

  “He does indeed, my lady.” The guard opened a small pedestrian gate in the bigger one and helped me to step through—which was lucky as I hadn’t noticed the bar across the bottom and almost stumbled. “Williams will escort you, my lady.” He nodded to the guard standing with him. Williams stood to attention and then marched beside me across the courtyard. I found this screamingly funny, me taking little steps in my tight skirt and Williams trying to march very slowly. We reached the entrance, and Williams saluted and marched back to his post. I went up the steps.

  Inside I was greeted, welcomed and ushered not up the great stair, but a side staircase to Her Majesty’s personal sitting room in the private wing. Not nearly as intimidating as one of the official reception rooms full of priceless stuff to knock over.

  “Lady Georgiana, ma’am,” the lackey said as he opened her sitting room door.

  I took a deep breath, trying to look confident while muttering to myself, “Do not trip. Do not bump into anything.”

  At the last second I saw that the lackey had stuck out his foot a little as he bowed. I managed to jump over it, with a little Highland fling type of move that made Her Majesty raise an eyebrow. But then she smiled and held out her hand to me. “Georgiana, my dear. Come and sit down. It’s bitterly cold out there, isn’t it? The king has been pacing up and down like a caged bear because his doctor won’t let him go out in this sort of weather with his delicate chest.”

  “It is very bleak,” I agreed, “especially at Victoria Station. The wind whips right through.”

  “You’ve done most admirably, my dear. Setting a splendid example. That was a lovely picture of you in the Daily Express. I hope it inspired other young women to follow in your footsteps.”

  “I’m afraid my stint may be coming to an end,” I said.

  “Of course. I understand your brother wants to shut up the London house and is concerned about you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t know anybody else in London, and I don’t have the funds to stay at a club.”

  “Frightful waste of money—clubs,” the queen said.

  “However, my secretary and I put our thinking caps on this morning and we have come up with what seems like a perfect solution.”

  “Really, ma’am?” I think my voice trembled a little.

  “The king’s aunt Princess Louise, who is your great-aunt, is very much a recluse these days. She’s in her late eighties, of course, and has become rather frail. I’m sure it’s lonely for her, living alone in that great house. So I thought you could bring some youth and gaiety into her life.”

  I gulped. All right. My worst nightmare was about to come true. The queen had made murmurings about sending me to be lady-in-waiting for an aged aunt before, and now it was actually going to happen. Binky and Fig would be sipping cool drinks and eating foie gras and I’d be walking a Pekinese and holding knitting wool. I opened my mouth but no words would come out.

 
“I gather you weren’t keen on going back to Scotland with your brother at this time of year. I don’t say I blame you. Terribly bleak and cut off in the winter.”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” I said, as her words sunk in. “My brother is not going home to Scotland. He and my sister-in-law are going to the Riviera.”

  “The Riviera? I had no idea.”

  “For my sister-in-law’s health. She’s feeling rather frail at the moment.”

  “I didn’t think that ‘frail’ would ever be a word to describe your sister-in-law,” the queen said, looking up with a half smile on her lips as a tray of coffee was wheeled into the room. “I managed to have six children without making a fuss. One just got on with it.” The maid poured coffee and hot milk into a cup and put it down beside Her Majesty, then did the same for me. The queen then motioned her away and we were left alone. “Did you not want to go to the Riviera with them, then? I thought it was the aim of all young people these days.”

  “I wanted to go,” I said. “It’s just that—” I hesitated. It was bad form to discuss money problems. “Well, my brother has been saddled with horrendous death duties on the estate, so . . .” I left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

  “Such a silly, selfish thing to do,” the queen said, stirring her coffee fiercely. “Your father, I mean. We were always raised to face the music, not take the easy way out. Goodness knows the king and I have been through our share of trials and tribulations.” She took a dainty sip of coffee then looked me directly in the eye. “So you want to go to the south of France, but they haven’t invited you, is that it?”

  “I was told that I was welcome at the villa where they’ll be staying.” I hesitated to say to Her Majesty that I wasn’t sure whether that was true or not. “They didn’t feel that they could pay my travel expenses to go with them.”