“You know, Stewart,” Max replied with a lopsided smile of his own, using the man’s given name for the first time, “it’s only the presence of royalty that prevents me from responding to that remark in the manner I’d most prefer…”
“Mister Thorne, after service with the Women’s Auxiliary, I can assure you there is little you could say that I’ve not heard before,” Elizabeth pointed out with a dry smile of her own, “although I compliment you on your gallantry, all the same.”
“Ma’am…” he nodded simply, trying to ignore the concern that he might actually be blushing and finding it difficult to reconcile the concept of using such a term when addressing a teenage girl.
“The Prime Minister will have the details sent through the proper channels,” The King advised with a smile of his own as he reached across and stubbed out the remainder of his Dunhill in a freestanding ashtray by his chair. “I should think it was about time we joined the party… they’ll be wondering where we all are…” Everyone in the room stood with him as the King rose from his chair, fishing in one trouser pocket for his cigarette case even as smoke still curled lazily from the remains of his last cigarette. “Lilibet, would you be so kind as to escort Mister Thorne to the dining room… the rest of us shall be along momentarily.”
“Of course, father,” she agreed immediately, stepping forward and extending her arm for Thorne to take. “Mister Thorne…?”
“Please, Ma’am… after you…” he demurred, internally debating whether it was a breach of protocol to take a princess’ arm if it were offered and deciding to err on the side of caution.
“I believe you have a young woman currently in your care,” Elizabeth asked in conversation as they walked together down a long, ornately decorated hallway.
“Yes, Ma’am… Briony Morris… she’s fourteen. Her parents died rather tragically last month and I gave a promise to her father that I’d keep her safe.”
“Will she be here tonight, as I requested…?”
“Yes, Ma’am… it took a little convincing, as she’s still grieving for her parents, but Captain Donelson and I thought it best she get out and about, hopefully to take her mind off things for a little while.”
“A fine idea,” the Princess agreed as they made their way along the hall, two uniformed guards falling in behind at a discreet distance. “It cannot be easy for her, having suffered such a loss.”
“No, it’s not easy, Ma’am, and I’ll be honest and say I’ve not much experience at all with kids either – particularly teenagers. Never had any children myself, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been one: I’m lucky that I’ve had Rupert Gold with me to help out. Just making sure her basic needs are taken care of is difficult enough, let alone sorting out the bigger stuff like education and suchlike.”
“The young lady hasn’t decided on a school yet?” Elizabeth asked, surprised.
“She was growing up in a small country town, Your Highness, and being of an Indigenous – an aboriginal background – she wasn’t permitted to attend school there. She was being tutored by priests at the local church, but that’s out of the question now for a number of reasons, not the least of which her being here in Melbourne.”
“Well, Mister Thorne, I suspect that might be easily rectified,” she replied without a moment’s thought. “Margaret and I have a fine tutor right here at Government House – I’m certain there’d be no problem for him to take classes for her also.”
“Ma’am, it’s an extremely generous offer,” Thorne began, backpedalling quickly, “but I couldn’t possibly impose on your hospitality to such an extent…”
“Why on Earth not…?” Elizabeth shot back with a faint smile, pausing for a moment by a set of large double doors that led through to the dining room. “It’s only Margaret and I at the moment, and I’m sure we’d both be delighted to have another young woman of similar age about. I should think it would be awfully fun!”
“Your Highness, I’m not sure that…”
“I won’t hear another word on it,” she declared lightly, closing her eyes as she spoke as if the action was also closing down the conversation. “You shall introduce us, and I shall break the news to her myself! I’ll have one of our drivers collect her first thing Monday morning so she can be introduced to Herbert.”
There was a short, silent pause as she stared at Thorne expectantly with eyebrow raised, her expression one more suited to a woman of far more wisdom and intelligence than an average teen of her generation, as the muted sounds of dining and conversation filtered through from beyond the nearby doors.
“I can clearly see that the idea still leaves you ill at ease, Mister Thorne; would it help if I told you that in return, you would be in a perfect position to assist me with a personal matter of some urgency?”
“Ma’am, anything that is in my power, I will happily take care of for you.”
“May we have some privacy please, gentlemen?” The Princess asked quickly, all lightness disappearing from her voice as she turned and addressed the nearby guards. Although clearly reluctant, neither was feeling game enough to ignore the direct request of a young woman first-in-line for the throne and they quickly moved away, stepping through a side door some distance back along the corridor.
“I have a letter to be delivered;” she continued the moment they were alone, “…a private letter that I should very much like to have kept away from any censors or prying eyes. The regular mail services being what they are at the moment, it’s a touch-and-go affair in any case whether it would be even delivered at all via normal means.”
“Ma’am, it appears I shall be shortly disembarking for ‘parts unknown’,” Thorne countered, not averse to the idea of acting as courier but not seeing how his particular involvement would be of any help. “I’m not sure I’ll be in any position to make any deliveries…”
“But that is the exactly the point, Mister Thorne… the letter you will be taking needs to be delivered to an officer aboard one of the ships of that very same task force you will be leaving with – the HMS Wallace…”
It took just a moment’s thought before a broad smile of sly realisation spread across Thorne’s face at the mention of that vessel, at which point a number of missing puzzle pieces suddenly dropped into place.
“Ma’am, I do believe that you’ve just set me up…” he observed with admiration that was only vaguely grudging. “I would however be more than happy to deliver any message you see fit to the First Lieutenant of HMS Wallace, a young man – I suspect – of perhaps…” he paused for a moment as he sifted through his own copious mental libraries of fact, figures and trivia “…twenty… twenty-one years of age…? Nephew of Lord Louis Mountbatten…?”
“It is now you who have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Elizabeth replied, trying to hide her own smile as her face reddened noticeably. “It is indeed sometimes easy to forget that you and your team have come from the future, and that you therefore also have some knowledge of things that at present still remain private.”
“Your Highness,” Thorne began kindly, making very sure there was not a hint of derision or condescension in his tone, “it would be extremely unethical of me to provide you with details of your own life in the years following the war, however I know enough to know that at the moment, some of your father’s advisors and even your own mother don’t actually approve of you keeping in contact with Lieutenant Phillip Mountbatten; however knowing what I know, it would be my absolute pleasure to pass on to him any letter or message you would care to have me convey.”
He paused for a moment, noting that there might have even been the hint of moisture in the Princess’ eyes as she was momentarily overcome by emotion. The Princess had met the young man in question several years before, and they’d officially met several more times since. The man who’d eventually become the Duke of Edinburgh had initially not been considered an appropriate match for the young woman destined one day to be queen, but Elizabeth had remained resolute with regard to her feelin
gs in spite of the initial opinions of some Royal Advisors and even her own mother.
“We don’t always agree with our parents when we’re young, Ma’am,” he added, his words soft but solemn. “Sometimes, that leads us astray and we come running home with our tails between our legs, the prodigal sons and daughters seeking solace and forgiveness…” he paused for a moment, as surprised as anyone else might be regarding the personal history he was about to hint at. “And then, as my own experiences with my father can attest, there are also times when even a child knows better.”
Nice… the voice in his head offered with not a hint of sarcasm. Well said…
The rest of his remarks went unchallenged or mentioned; it seemed even his own imaginary voices somehow understood there were some boundaries that should never be crossed.
“Phillip’s a good man, Ma’am, and you stick to your guns,” he continued as Elizabeth considered what he’d said and gave a single nod of agreement. “Give me that letter and I’ll place it in his hands myself.”
“You’re a man of unusual honour and honesty, Mister Thorne…” The Princess began, her voice almost wavering as she quickly composed herself. “I think we could do with a good deal more men like you during these dark times… Max… may I call you Max…?” She added at the end as a matter of courtesy, as if it was ever likely he might refuse such an honour from the future Queen of England and the Commonwealth.
“Your Highness,” he responded, caught off guard and answering without thinking, “you can call me anything you like as long as it isn’t ‘late for dinner’…”
Aaaannnd… we’re back with awkward again… Those dry words echoed in the back of his mind as he realised what he’d just said with vague internal horror.
“‘Late... for... dinner’…?” Elizabeth repeated slowly, turning the previously unheard, colloquial phrase over in her own mind as she spent a second or two deciding its meaning.
Oh, Jesus... she’s trying to work it out… the words held their own horrified realisation. You useless twat; you’re gonna have to explain it now…! How bloody painful…!
“Ah, I see…” she declared after a second or two, not exactly chuckling as such but displaying at least the quirk of a smile. “A play on words… how amusing…”
Oh no that wasn’t…
Shut up, for Christ’s sake…! Thorne fired back silently, remember at least not to verbalise for a change. Don’t make this any worse than it already is…
‘Make it worse’…? How the fuck would I do that. You can dig yourself out of that one, buddy…
Thanks a fuckin’ bunch, Mister ‘We’ll-help-you-if-you-let-us’… big fuckin’ help, you are…!
“Ma’am…?” He almost barked in fright, as he realised the Princess has asked him something while he’d been arguing within his own mind.
“I said, ‘thank you’, Max,” she repeated with a quizzical expression, well aware that something else was going on inside his mind but not at all sure what it was. “Thank you for your help. We already owe you and your team so much, and now I find myself personally indebted to you. I do not take such a favour lightly.”
“It’s the least I could do, Your Highness… it would be an honour.”
“Then, shall we delay no longer and join the party? His Highness frowns upon us drinking Champagne – Margaret and I – but I think I might just sneak one or two in before he’s back.”
“You’re attending in uniform, Ma’am?” He enquired with a raised eyebrow. “I was under impression it was to be evening attire.”
“I had intended to change, however I believe father will be in full dress uniform for the occasion, and it occurs to me that it might not be a bad thing for our guests to see that everyone is doing their part.” She made a show of straightening her skirt and dusting imaginary lint from the subaltern’s shoulder boards of her tunic, then turned toward the doors and slipped her arm through his before he could protest. “Would you do me the honour of escorting me to the ball,” she continued, a faint twinkle in her eye as she added: “…Mister ‘Late-for-Dinner’…?”
Now that is class…!
“Ma’am,” Thorne began gallantly, stifling a chuckle and realising that at that moment there was no chance whatsoever of getting his own way regarding him taking her arm “…that would also be an honour.”
Accepting the offered arm, he reached forward with his other hand and opened the double doors, pulling them back to reveal the ornate splendour of the dining room beyond.
The main dining room was everything Thorne expected of a venue intended for entertaining royalty and heads of state. Belgian-style windows of etched glass ran along the outside wall, while a brightly-coloured ceiling above displayed deeply recessed panels complimented by ornate, decorative scrollwork on the cornices, cross beams and arch mouldings. The Victorian-era décor included a mahogany sideboard and cedar set flanked on both sides with a mantelpiece of Belgian marble, however the centrepiece of the room was undoubtedly the long dining table of Spanish mahogany, long enough to seat more than fifty guests.
At least that many stood in the room at that moment, clustered in small groups around the table itself and in the open space between it and the far wall. The entire space was abuzz with conversations that were individually muted but combined to create an overarching, unintelligible murmur that faded into the background sounds of plates and cutlery being set by a bevy of white-uniformed servants.
“Visiting Dignitaries, ladies and gentlemen… Her Royal Highness, Princess Elizabeth…!” The loud call came from a uniformed attendant standing by the doorway the moment it opened, as if he’d been privy to some strange clairvoyance regarding who it was behind those doors. For his part, Thorne didn’t rule out that possibility for a moment.
Every single person in the room stopped what they were doing at that moment and turned to face that open doorway. Thorne, subjected to such extreme attention by association, felt as if skewered by a thousand pairs of eyes… or just over fifty, at least. It was all he could do to resist blushing as he and Elizabeth moved slowly into the room, the Princess immediately whisked away by courtiers within seconds for official greetings. Thorne was left standing along and momentarily stumped as to what to do next, and he was left with the lingering feeling that some of those present who’d turned at their entrance had been regarding him with almost accusing gazes, as if an explanation were in order as to why he – a relative nobody by his own admission – had entered on the arm of Royalty.
“You do know how to make an entrance,” Rupert Gold observed softly with some amusement as he came to stand at Thorne’s shoulder, taking in the same reactions his boos had just witnessed. “You might as well have burst in here on a white charger, with a sword in your hand…”
“I should think a 426 Hemi would do nicely…” Thorne muttered softly, lost in his own world for a moment and completely misinterpreting Rupert’s use of the word ‘Charger’. “Sword might be bad for the upholstery, though… Rupert…!” He exclaimed finally, as realisation finally struck and brought him back to the present.
“Full marks, that man… superb powers of deduction…!”
“All right, all right…” he admonished brusquely, not in the mood for their usual repartee. “I won’t be able to get out of this bloody dinner, so I need you to get a message to everyone from Hindsight…!”
“Everyone…?” Gold repeated as a surprised question. “That’s not going to happen at once.”
“I don’t bloody care how long it takes – I’ve just learned something that changes everything about us being here, and we’re going to need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
“Getting this tuxedo cleaned was a waste, I see…” Gold growled softly, voicing his displeasure at having to leave the function early.
“You’ll get over it,” Thorne shot back with as little sympathy as he thought he could get away with. “I need this message sent ASAP… three simple words: ‘Faust alive here’…then a recommendation to
be ready to regroup here in Australia at earliest possible opportunity.” He grinned slyly as he caught Gold’s soft sigh, suggesting the man considered the task somewhat minor. “Think you can manage that?”
“Now you’re back, I can see we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules…” Rupert growled softly, trying valiantly not to be in the mood for humour.
“‘Rule Number One’, perhaps…?” Thorne suggested softly, not able to help himself.
You arsehole…! A faint voice of disapproval echoed softly in his mind.
“…Never mind…” he added with a short shake of the head, noting Gold’s quizzical expression and deciding that explaining that Monty Python reference would do far more harm than good. “Just get those messages off – there’s a good lad – and be quick about it, or I’ll tell Alec you fancy him!”
“Don’t you dare!” Gold shot back, trying to stifle a chuckle. “The bloody man barely talks to me as it is! Anyway,” he relented, cocking his head to one side as he gave the matter some consideration, “he’s not my type...”
“Big, beefy buggers for you, then…?” Thorne shot back with a grin of his own and making a show of assuming a bodybuilder’s pose as his eyes scanned the room slowly.
“Well, that would leave you out,” Rupert observed, shaking his head in exasperation. “Seriously, I do wonder what Eileen sees in you!”
“You and me both, mate, but I’m not likely to try waking her up to my shortcomings. Speaking of which, have you… holy crap…!” He burst out suddenly, his train of thought broken completely as Briony Morris emerged from the crowd and made directly for him. It was not so much her presence as her appearance that caused him to pause in mid-sentence, momentarily lost for words. At just fourteen, Briony was already displaying the fuller figure of the slim, athletic young woman she was destined to become.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 26