A Royal Pain

by Rhys Bowen

  “So when is this likely to start?”

  “Within the next few days,” I said. “Oh, dear. I’m not looking forward to it at all.”

  “Don’t get yourself in a two-and-eight.” Granddad patted my knee. “It will all work out. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 6

  Rannoch House

  Wednesday, June 8, 1932

  Our butler up at Castle Rannoch has become hard of hearing recently. It took a good five minutes before I could make him understand that I did not want to speak to Lady Georgiana, but that I was Lady Georgiana. Eventually the telephone was grabbed by none other than my sister-in-law, Fig.

  “Georgiana?” She sounded startled. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Why should something be wrong?”

  “I trust you wouldn’t be squandering money on a telephone call with the current telephone rates being so astronomically high, unless it were a real emergency,” she said. “You are telephoning from Rannoch House, I take it?”

  “I am, and it is something rather urgent.” I took a deep breath. “I wondered whether you were going to be home for the next few weeks.”

  “Of course we’re going to be home,” she snapped. “Summer holidays are simply beyond our means these days. No longer can one think of jaunting off to the Med for the summer. I shall probably take little Podge to stay with his grandparents in Shropshire, but apart from that, it will strictly be a case of attempting to amuse ourselves at Castle Rannoch, however dreary that prospect may sound.”

  “That’s good news, actually,” I said, “because I am going to suggest a way to liven things up for you. I’m planning to bring a party of Germans to stay with you.”

  “Germans? With us? When?”

  “The end of this week, I believe.”

  “You’re going to bring a party of Germans to us this week?” Fig’s usually impeccable upbringing showed definite cracks. A lady is brought up never to show her emotions. Fig’s voice had become high and shrill. “How many Germans?”

  “I’m not sure how big a retinue the princess will be bringing with her.”

  “Princess?” Now she was definitely rattled.

  “Yes, it’s all very simple really,” I said. “I had tea at the palace yesterday and Her Majesty asked me if I’d be good enough to host a visiting Bavarian princess—”

  “You? Why you?”

  It irked Fig considerably that I was related to the king and she was not, especially since my mother was of humble birth and an actress to boot. The closest Fig ever came to royal chumminess was an evening or two at Balmoral.

  “Her Majesty felt that the palace might be rather stuffy for a young girl and that she would have more fun with someone closer to her own age. I would have been happy to comply in normal circumstances and play host at Rannoch House, but as you know, I no longer have an allowance from my brother and thus can afford no staff, so I don’t see how I can entertain anyone, especially a princess.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell Her Majesty that?”

  “Tell her that I’m living at the family home with no staff because my brother refuses to pay for them? How would that look, Fig? Think of the family name. The disgrace of it.” Before she could answer this I went on brightly, “So that was when I came up with the brain wave. I’ll just bring them all up to you in Scotland. They’ll have a rattling good time. We can organize some house parties for them, and excursions to the sea, and then make up a shooting party when the season starts in August. You know how much Germans love shooting things.”

  “August?” Fig’s voice had now risen at least an octave. “You are expecting them to stay until August?”

  “I have no idea how long they plan to stay. One does not go into trivial details with Her Majesty.”

  “I am expected to feed a party of Germans until August? Georgiana, do you have any idea how much Germans eat?”

  “I don’t see any other alternative,” I said, thoroughly enjoying this conversation so far.

  “Tell the queen that you can’t do it. Simple as that.”

  “One does not say no to the queen, Fig. And if I told her I couldn’t do it, I’d have to explain why and there would be a horrible fuss. As I said, this could all be solved quite simply. I’d be quite happy to entertain the princess at Rannoch House, were I given the means to do so. Her Majesty did mention inviting us to Sandringham for part of the time, and of course there would be plenty of house parties to keep Her Highness entertained, so the expense shouldn’t be too terrible. All Binky would have to do is to reinstate my allowance for a little while and send me down the maid he promised.”

  “Georgiana, if didn’t know you better, I’d say you were trying to blackmail me,” Fig said coldly.

  “Blackmail? Oh, good gracious, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to remind you both that you do owe me a small debt of gratitude for what I did for Binky. Had I not uncovered the truth about who had really killed Gaston de Mauxville, I rather fear that Binky would be languishing in a jail cell. He could even have been hanged by now, leaving you to bring up little Podge and run the estate single handedly. The use of one maid seems like a trifle in return.”

  There was a pause. I could hear Fig breathing. “We did ask your maid, Maggie,” she said at last, “but as you know, she was reluctant to leave her mother, given her mother’s current state of health. And there really isn’t anybody else suitable. Mrs. Hanna, the laundress, has a daughter, but she is proving most unreliable. She slopped soup down Lady Branston’s front the other day.”

  I almost commented that it would be hard to miss Lady Branston’s front.

  “If my allowance were reinstated, I could hire a temporary maid locally in London. My friend Belinda has a very suitable girl. I could use the same agency.”

  “But what about the rest of the staff?” Fig sounded desperate now. “You can’t entertain a German princess with only one maid. Who will cook for you? Who will serve?”

  “Ah, well, I do happen to know where I can borrow a temporary cook and butler—from friends who are going abroad, you know. So it’s really only a maid, and the question of food. One does need to feed guests.”

  There was a long pause. “I must speak to Binky about this,” Fig said. “Times are hard, Georgiana. I don’t need to tell you that. I’m sure you pass bread lines in the city every day.”

  “I do, but I don’t think you’re exactly down to the level of queuing up for bread, are you, Fig?”

  “No, but we jolly well have to live off the estate these days,” she said hotly. “No more sending down to Fortnum’s for the little treats that make life worth living. Binky has even given up his Gentlemen’s Relish and you know how he adores it. No, it’s simple, humble country food for us now.”

  “Too bad it’s not hunting season,” I said. “If it were, you could shoot enough deer to keep the Germans fed. I understand that they love venison.”

  “I’ll talk to Binky,” she said hastily. “I do understand that we shouldn’t let down the family name to Her Majesty or to foreigners.”

  I replaced the mouthpiece with great satisfaction.

  The next morning two letters arrived in the early post. One was from Binky, instructing me that he was having a modest amount transferred to my bank account, which was all he could spare at such short notice and such a difficult time, but which he hoped would prove enough to cover my temporary financial needs. Underneath Fig had added, Make sure you double-check references for any staff you bring into OUR HOME and keep the silver locked up!! The other letter was from the palace. Her Royal Highness Princess Hannelore would be arriving on Saturday’s boat train. That gave me two days to turn my house into the sort of home fit for a princess, install my grandfather and Mrs. Huggins as butler and cook, and hire a maid for myself.

  I sent for my grandfather and Mrs. Huggins then got to work immediately opening up the rest of the house. Since I moved in, I had been using my bedroom, the kitchen and the small morning room. The rest of the house remained shr
ouded in dust sheets. Now I went to work furiously dusting, sweeping floors and making beds. I got through with only minor mishaps. I did manage to knock the leg off a prancing horse statue, but I don’t think it was Ming or anything and I found the glue to stick it back on again. Oh, and I dropped a sheet I was shaking out of the window onto a passing colonel. He wasn’t too happy about it and threatened to report me to my mistress.

  By the time Granddad arrived, I was exhausted. He and Mrs. Huggins toured the house without comment and I realized that they probably had no idea how much I had accomplished and thought that the house looked like this all the time. But then my grandfather stopped, his head on one side like a bird. “Don’t tell me you made this bed up by yourself?”

  “Of course I did. And cleaned the whole rest of the house too.”

  “Well, I never,” Mrs. Huggins said. “And you a lady and all.”

  She looked rather dismayed when she saw the size of our kitchen, and even more dismayed when she saw the empty larder. I told her to make a list and stock up with food.

  “I’ve no idea what a German princess would eat, ducks,” she said. “And I can’t make no foreign muck. No frog’s legs and garlic and things.”

  “That’s French,” Granddad said. “Germans like their dumplings.”

  “You just cook what you are used to, Mrs. Huggins,” I said. “I’m sure it will be perfect.”

  Secretly I was beginning to have serious doubts that it would be perfect. Granddad and Mrs. Huggins were lovely people, but what could they possibly know of the formality of court life? Then I reminded myself that the princess was straight from a convent. She probably had little idea of court life herself. Having settled in my butler and cook, I went to look for a maid. This was not going to be as easy as I had hoped. It seemed that all of the very best servants had fled to the country with their respective masters and mistresses. The agency promised to have some girls ready for me to interview by Monday or Tuesday—by which time they could have checked their references. When I asked if they might have someone who could fill in for the weekend, the refined lady behind the desk looked as if she were about to have a heart attack.

  “Fill in?” she demanded. “For the weekend?” She winced as if each of these words were causing her pain. “I am afraid we do not handle that sort of thing.” By that she implied that I had requested a stripper straight from the Casbah.

  So that left me in a bit of a pickle. A princess, arriving from the Continent, would not expect to have to run her own bath, or hang up her own clothes. She probably wouldn’t even know how to do either of those things. She wouldn’t expect the cook to pop up from the kitchen and do it either. I needed a maid, and I needed one rapidly. I did the only thing I could think of and went posthaste to Belinda’s little mews cottage in Knightsbridge.

  “I need a big favor,” I gasped as her maid showed me into the ultramodern sitting room with its low Scandinavian furniture and art deco mirrors. “I wondered if I could possibly borrow your maid for the weekend.” (Binky would have been horrified to hear me using such awful Americanisms as the word “weekend,” but for once I had no choice.)

  “Borrow my maid?” She looked stunned. “But darling, how could I possibly survive without my maid? I have to go to a party on Saturday night. Who would lay out my things? And she has Sundays off. No, I’m afraid that wouldn’t work at all.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said. “Then I’m doomed. I have a German princess arriving and only the most basic of staff.”

  “Last time I was at Rannoch House you had no staff at all, so things must be looking up,” she said.

  “I really have no staff this time—I’ve dragged my grandfather and his next-door neighbor up from Essex.”

  “Essex?” Her eyes opened wider. “You are expecting them to know how to wait on a princess?”

  “It’s better than nothing. The queen foisted this on me and I’m trying to do my best. Besides, the princess has just been let out of a convent. It can’t be worse than that, can it?”

  Belinda’s face lit up. “How screamingly funny, darling.”

  “It’s not funny at all, Belinda. It will probably be a disaster and I’ll be banished to the country.”

  “But why is HM foisting a princess on you? Are they redecorating Buck House or something?”

  “She, er, thinks the princess would have a better time with someone her own age,” I said, not revealing the true reason, which was to hitch her up with the Prince of Wales. Belinda was part of the smart set and might well bump into the prince. And I didn’t think she could be trusted not to spill the beans.

  “I hope she’s not expecting a good time with the bright young things,” Belinda said, “because you don’t exactly move in those circles, do you, darling?”

  “If her family has taken the trouble to keep her shut away in a convent for most of her education, I rather suspect they’d like her to avoid the smart set,” I said.

  “Very wise. You have no idea what kind of thing is going on nowadays,” Belinda said, crossing her long legs to reveal delicious white silk stockings. “The prince was at a party with another boy last night.”

  “The Prince of Wales?” I asked, horrified.

  “No, no. He likes old hags, we know that. Prince George, I mean. The youngest son. They were passing around a snapshot of him wearing his Guardsman’s helmet and nothing else.”

  She broke into giggles. I wondered if his mother knew anything of this, or whether he was one of the sons who was doing well in her eyes.

  “I’d better go,” I said. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to laugh. It was all becoming somewhat overwhelming.

  “Don’t forget Gussie and Lunghi’s party next week, will you?” Belinda said as she escorted me to the door. “It should be tremendous fun. Gussie’s father’s got pots of money so I gather there will be a band and heaven knows what else.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go if I’m stuck with a princess,” I said.

  “Bring her along, darling. Open her eyes to what fun people we British are.”

  I didn’t think Her Majesty would approve of the sort of parties Belinda thought were fun, and I walked home feeling as if I were about to sit for an exam for which I hadn’t studied. I wondered if it would be too awful to come down with a sudden case of mumps, and thus foist the princess on to the palace instead.

  Then, of course, that good old Rannoch blood won out. A Rannoch never retreats. I’d heard that often enough during my upbringing at Castle Rannoch. Who could forget Robert Bruce Rannoch, who, after his arm had been hacked off, picked up his sword with his other hand and went on fighting? I shouldn’t retreat from a little thing like a visiting princess. With my head held high I marched to my destiny.

  Chapter 7

  Rannoch House

  Saturday, June 11, 1932

  Diary,

  German princess due to arrive today.

  Sense impending doom.

  On the way to Victoria Station to meet the boat train, I nearly lost my nerve and had to give myself a severe talking to. She is a young girl, fresh from school, I told myself firmly. She will be enchanted with the big city, and with everything about London. She will be thrilled to be alone with such a young chaperone. All will be well. She’ll only stay a few days and the queen will be pleased.

  Thus encouraged by this little talk, I made my way across the station, past the hissing steam engines, the shouts and toots of whistles, to the platform on the far right where the boat trains come in. As that great fire-breathing monster pulled into the station, puffing heavily, something occurred to me. I had no idea what she looked like. I was told she was a pretty little thing, but that was about it. Would she look German? How exactly did Germans look? I had met plenty when I was at school in Switzerland but people of fashion usually dressed from Paris and were indistinguishable by race.

  I stationed myself at a point where all those disembarking would have to pass me and waited. I approached several young women only to b
e met with suspicious glances when I asked if she was a princess. The platform cleared. She hadn’t come. She’s changed her mind and stayed home, I thought, and a great wave of relief swept through me. Then through the clearing smoke I saw a party of three women, standing together and waving arms as they negotiated with a porter. There was a stout elderly woman, a young girl and a third woman, plainly dressed, dark, sallow and severe-looking. The young girl was enchantingly pretty—very blond with long hair twisted into a braid around her head, and wearing a navy linen sailor suit. The elderly woman was wearing an unmistakably German cape—gray and edged with green braid, plus one of those little Tyrolean hats with a feather in the side.

  I hurried up to them.

  “Are you, by any chance, Princess Hannelore?” I asked, addressing the young one.

  “Ja. This is Her Highness,” the old woman said, bowing to the pretty girl in the sailor suit. “You are servant of Lady Georgiana of Rannoch?” She spat out the words with a strong German accent while giving me a critical stare. “We wait for you.” (Of course, she said “Vee vait.”) “You are late.”

  “I am Lady Georgiana. I have come personally to meet Her Highness.”

  The older lady recoiled and gave a bobbing curtsy. “Ach, Verzeihung. Forgive me. Most honored that you come to meet us in person. I am Baroness Rottenmeister, companion to Her Highness.”

  Oh, Lord. It had never occurred to me that there would be a companion! Of course there would. How dense of me. What king would send his daughter, newly released from the convent, across from the Continent without a chaperone?

  “Baroness.” I bowed in return. “How kind of you to bring the princess to visit us. Will you be staying long?”

  “I stay wiz princess. She stay. I stay. She go. I go,” she said.

  Oh, golly. And I hadn’t made up a second good bedroom. How and when was I going to do that without being noticed?

  “May I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Maria Theresa Hannelore Wilhelmina Mathilda?” Baroness Rottenmeister gestured with a black-gloved hand. “Highness. I present Lady Georgiana of Glen Garry and Rannoch.”