“And then,” she said, climbing on top of him, “Commandant Hess has everything set up for our escape from this godforsaken island.”
Captain Vogt finally received his orders. “Type, ‘Danke, Commandant Hess,’ ” Vogt said to his first mate, who tapped out Morse code to reply. “Then, ‘I’ll move her into position.’ ”
In the deep, dark waters of the North Sea, U-246’s engines started up and the submarine began to move ever closer to the eastern British shore.
Chapter Twenty-five
All of the furniture had been taken out of the Waterloo Chamber and a stage had been erected, with platforms and backdrops, looking just as it had in Queen Victoria’s time, when she’d regularly had theatrical productions in the castle. Footlights and follow spots had been procured from London. The delicate gold chiavari chairs were now arranged in rows, with a long center aisle. It had been transformed into a theater.
In the nursery, the children were getting ready. Margaret was thrilled at the opportunity to wear stage makeup, not to mention her crinoline dress, white Marie Antoinette–style wig, and small black patch for a beauty mark. “Not too much lipstick!” Crawfie warned, as Margaret applied pink to her lips.
“But Crawfie,” Margaret protested, her eyes shining with excitement, “I need it, otherwise I’ll wash out under the lights. That’s what Maggie said. Didn’t you, Maggie?”
Maggie had, remembering her former flatmate Sarah’s elaborate makeup for her ballet performances. She looked over at Lilibet, who was sitting a little apart from everyone, her lips moving, going over her lines. The rest of the children in the cast were putting the finishing touches on their costumes, erupting in fits of giggles before shushing themselves.
“Girls,” Alah said, clapping her hands, “we have five more minutes to get ready. Then we’ll walk quietly to the Waterloo Chamber, where you will quietly get into your positions for the beginning of Act One. Quietly, let me add.”
Audrey knocked at the door and Alah let her in. “For the Princess Elizabeth, ma’am,” she said, holding out a bouquet of golden roses.
“For me?” Lilibet said, running over to claim them and reading the card. She clasped it tightly to her. Even dressed as Prince Charming, with sword and shield, she exuded a womanly glow.
“Are they from Daddy?” Margaret asked, her rouged face breaking into a pout.
“None of your business,” Lilibet replied, tucking the small card into her tunic.
“Probably from Philip, then,” Margaret announced to the room as Lilibet ignored her.
I have a bad feeling about this, Maggie thought, as they all walked from the nursery to the Waterloo Chamber. The Red, White, and Blue Christmas, with all of the guests, opened the castle up to more dangers. Maggie knew there was extra security, but still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was in the air, an off-tune vibration that was making her anxious. She peeked from behind the curtain, looking out into the audience, searching for … something. She shook her head. Keep your eyes open but don’t borrow trouble, she reminded herself, as the children got into their positions for Act I.
From backstage, Maggie watched as Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, Earls and Countesses filed in, the murmurs of conversation filling the room. Mr. Churchill was there, in the front row, of course, and then everyone stood as the King and Queen entered. When everyone was seated, the lights dimmed and the performance began.
Maggie needn’t have worried about the children’s acting abilities. Margaret shone as Briar Rose, first in her village girl dress, and then in a splendid satin Marie Antoinette–style gown and powdered wig for the finger-pricking scene. The other children were delightful in their roles. Lilibet was both heroic and dignified as the Prince in her velvet britches and lace jabot.
“It’s so much more fun with an audience!” Margaret exclaimed as they came offstage for her curtain call. “I wish I could really be an actress someday!”
“You all did a wonderful job, children,” Lilibet said to the assembled cast, still using the low tones of the prince. “Thank—”
There was a sudden bang.
Then a very loud pop.
Then a moment or two of horrific silence.
Backstage, everyone froze, listening. Then, from out front, the screaming began. Then the sound of people running, men shouting, “The King! The King!”
Maggie turned to Crawfie and Alah. “Watch the children!” She peeked around the flat of scenery. There were people milling about, shouting. The King was doubled over in pain, clutching at his shoulder. He and the Queen and Mr. Churchill were surrounded by Coldstream Guards, who began hustling them out. More Coldstream Guards were running through the ballroom, guns in hand.
“Who did it?” Maggie asked one of the guests, the woman she’d seen at the hunting breakfast.
“One of the footmen,” she answered breathlessly. “I didn’t see him shoot, but there was that horrible sound, and then the King bent over. Then we all saw him run.…”
Maggie realized the shooter was still at large in the huge castle. The Princesses. Maggie whirled and ran backstage.
“We have to get the children to the nursery!” she said to Crawfie and Alah. “Hurry!” Without another word, they surrounded all their charges and made their way out, back to the Lancaster Tower.
The King was taken to his study, where the royal physician was summoned to look after his wounds. “Put the castle into lockdown,” the King said, blue eyes blazing. “Find Lord Clive—he knows the protocol. No one goes in or out until we catch whoever did this.” Shock and anger seemed to have overpowered his stutter.
The Queen looked to the doctor. “He’s going to be fine, Your Majesty,” he assured her. “I know there’s a lot of blood, but the bullet just nicked the shoulder. He’s going to be fine.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. Then she put a hand to her heart. “The girls!” she said, running to the door.
“Stop!” ordered the King. Then, in a softer tone, he said, “They’re fine, dear. Alah and Crawfie will take care of them.”
“I must go to them!” his wife wailed.
“No,” the King said. “There’s a shooter at large. We can’t risk it.”
The Queen went to the King’s desk and picked up the telephone. “The nursery,” she said into the receiver. “Hurry.” There was a long pause. Then, “Alah? The girls?” The Queen’s face lost some of its tension. “Oh, thank goodness. And the other children?” Another pause. “And you and Crawfie?” She nodded to the King. “And Miss Hope?” After reassuring Alah that the King would be fine, the Queen spoke to both her daughters and told them that she loved them. Then she hung up the receiver.
“They’re all right,” the King said in soothing tones as the Queen began to cry. “You’ll see—everything is going to be all right.”
David had skipped the performance and was working in the Equerry’s office when Gregory arrived, out of breath. “Someone shot the King!” he cried, eyes wild.
“Merciful Zeus!” The blood drained from David’s face. “When? Where?”
“Just now in the Waterloo Chamber. The castle’s on lockdown. Nobody in or out.” Gregory’s eyes darted back and forth, as if following invisible ghosts.
“The P.M.—he’s …?”
“Fine,” Gregory answered, still out of breath. “The shooter hit the King, not sure how serious it is.” He pushed through the blackout curtains and let himself out through French doors, to a flagstone-paved terrace.
“Gregory?” David called. He put the contents of what he was working on in the briefcase and handcuffed it to his left wrist, then followed him, briefcase in hand. It was freezing outside. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, David shivered in his dinner jacket and thin-soled opera pumps. It seemed he was alone. The only sound was the creak of the bare tree branches blown by the wind.
“Gregory!” David called.
He heard a low moan and followed the sound to a stone staircase that led to a garden.
Gregory was sitting on the top step, head in hands. “She’s here,” he whispered.
“Who?” David said, glancing around before sitting down next to him on the cold stone step, setting the briefcase down beside him. “Who’s here?”
“Lily,” he replied, eyes wide. “She’s here, waiting for me.”
“Gregory, Lily’s dead,” David said, laying a hand on his arm. “Maggie told me what happened.”
He shook his head wildly. “No! ‘She walks in beauty, like the night.’ She haunts me. She laughs at me.” He looked around the darkness, indicating the Great Park. “She’s still here, along with the rest of the ghosts.”
David smelled the alcohol on Gregory’s breath and rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Come on, Gregory,” he said firmly. “Let’s get you back inside. Have some coffee. We’ll call and find out how the King’s doing.”
Gregory grasped his hand and staggered to his feet. “Oh, Lily, Lily …” he moaned.
As David moved to help him, he heard a footstep—and just as he registered that they weren’t alone, he heard an explosive noise and felt a blinding sting in the back of his head.
As he blinked and fell to his knees, undone by the pain, he felt darkness begin to close in around him. Just before he lost consciousness, he heard Gregory say, to his unknown assailant, “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Back in the nursery, the corgis were restless, whining their anxiety. Alah and Crawfie bustled about, helping all the children feel at home by removing their makeup with cold cream and having them take turns in the bathroom getting back into their regular clothes. Lilibet and Margaret helped the other children. “Remember, children,” Lilibet said, “we’re British.”
“Stiff upper lip!” Margaret added.
Maggie thought about Hugh, then shook her head. He’s a trained professional—he’s fine. This is why they don’t want agents to get involved with each other.
When the Coldstream Guard knocked, Maggie, Alah, and Crawfie looked at each other. “Open in the name of the King!” he shouted.
Maggie went to open the door. It was with palpable relief that she saw it was a guard. He called to the Princesses. “His Majesty wants you to know that he’s all fine,” he said. “Nick to the shoulder is all.”
Lilibet and Margaret hugged each other, and Margaret tried very hard not to cry. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Lilibet said, stroking Margaret’s hair.
“And are you—well?” the guard said. “Your Highnesses?”
“We’re fine,” Lilibet answered.
“Good, Miss. That’s what I’ll report back to the King and Queen, then. Her Majesty just wanted someone to actually check.…” He began to back out.
“No!” Margaret cried, her eyes overflowing. “We’re going with you!”
Lilibet stood up. “Yes, we’re going with you.”
Maggie walked over to them and knelt down. “I know you want to be with your parents, but you’re safe here and they’re safe there. The entire castle is on lockdown, and they’re going through, room by room, until the man who did this is found. Everyone must stay where she is until we do.”
Lilibet saw the wisdom of this argument, but Margaret didn’t. “Noooooo!” she shrieked. “I want Mummy! I want Daddy!” Lilibet wrapped her arm around her sister and held her tightly.
The guard left, the corridor echoing with Margaret’s cries, even after he shut the door behind him.
After the shot was fired, the Prime Minister was surrounded by his private detective and a squadron of Coldstream Guards, who shielded his body from any potential shots and got him to safety, ensconced in his suite. Frain was with him.
“Give me your gun!” the P.M. was saying to his private detective.
“No, sir,” the man replied.
“I order you! Now!”
“Winston—” Frain tried to interrupt.
“Goddamn it, man!” Churchill exploded. “Someone tried to assassinate the King of England—within the sacred walls of Windsor Castle, no less! I was considered a crack shot in the last war. I’m going to hunt the blaggard down myself—and let him have it!”
Frain poured a glass of Scotch and handed it to the P.M. “Please sit down, sir,” he said. “The castle is on lockdown and the guards will find the shooter. In the meantime, we need to keep you safe as well. You’re worth a lot more to Britain alive than dead.”
Churchill accepted the heavy crystal tumbler. “Very well, then,” he growled, waving a hand. “But if the bugger bounds in here, you’d better take him out on your first shot.”
In the nursery, all the children, including the Princesses, were still on edge. Alah had found a tin of biscuits she’d saved for an emergency and distributed them among the children, who accepted them and ate them greedily.
There was a nervous rap. Maggie jumped up and went to the door. “Who is it?” she asked.
“C’est moi, Mademoiselle. It’s Audrey.”
Maggie opened the door a crack. There was the young French woman, carrying a tray of sandwiches and pots of tea. “Come in, Audrey,” she said. “Look, children,” she said to the room. “Audrey’s brought you something to eat!”
The young people nearly fell over themselves to get to the sandwiches, while Alah set to work pouring the tea. Maggie noticed that the two Princesses held back, waiting to make sure there were enough sandwiches for everyone, before helping themselves.
“Thank you so much, Audrey,” Maggie said. “The children were getting hungry, although they didn’t complain.”
“Poor little things,” she said. “I couldn’t help but think of them here, especially the little Princesses.”
“They’re doing fine,” Maggie said. “I’m sure this drama will all be over soon.”
“I’ll be on my way then, Mademoiselle,” Audrey said.
“No,” Maggie said. “You couldn’t possibly go back. It’s bad enough you risked yourself by coming here. Stay until it’s over.”
“Of course, Mademoiselle,” Audrey said. “Of course I’ll stay with the Princesses.”
“We hadn’t planned on a lockdown, for Christ’s sake!” Boothby said to Gregory, looking down at David’s body lying on the cold stone terrace.
“No,” Gregory said. “But if we don’t act tonight, we’ll miss our chance. I’ve already contacted Hess. If we don’t do it tonight, we’re stuck here until God knows when. And,” he said, poking a toe into David’s body and jostling him, “he’s our ticket out of Britain.”
“Sir, you can’t enter this area,” the Coldstream Guard said. He was standing in front of one of the entranceways to the kitchen. Then he took a closer look at the man. It was George Poulter, out of his usual footman’s uniform, as he had been for the pantomime. The guard narrowed his eyes. “Wait—aren’t you—?”
Poulter pulled out his gun from the waistband of his trousers and shot the guard through the heart. As the man’s eyes glazed over, he dropped to the floor.
“Sorry, mate,” Poulter said as he shoved the gun back into his trousers, then took the narrow stairs down to the wine cellar and began rolling up the carpet. Hidden underneath the carpet was the trap door in the floor, leading into the castle’s dungeons.
It was getting late. In the nursery, Maggie was next to Margaret on the sofa, while Lilibet had settled near one of the windows, peeking out behind the blackout curtains. Audrey sat down on a needlepoint footstool, close to the Princesses. One of the corgis growled low in his throat and bared his small, sharp teeth. “Dookie!” Lilibet snapped. “Stop that!”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Audrey said. “I must confess, I don’t like dogs very much.”
“Oh, Audrey, thank you so much for bringing the sandwiches and tea,” Lilibet said earnestly. “It was extremely brave of you.”
“It was nothing, Miss,” Audrey said. She looked around. Everyone, including Alah and Crawfie, was either engaged in low conversation or sleeping where they could.
She lowered her vo
ice. “There was a phone call for you, Miss. From—Lieutenant Mountbatten.”
“Philip?” Elizabeth said, hand going to her heart.
“Yes, Miss. I told him about the shooting, then that you were being kept in the nursery. He sounded beside himself with worry.”
“Oh, no,” Lilibet said. “Poor Philip. And we’re fine. I must let him know.”
Audrey leaned in. “He asked if you would call him back,” she said. “He practically begged me. He’ll be waiting by the phone in, let’s see,” she looked up at the clock on the mantel. “In ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes!” Lilibet said. “Why, if I don’t call, he’ll think something is terribly wrong!”
Audrey whispered in Lilibet’s ear, “Pretend to get something from Margaret’s room. I’ll follow you a few minutes behind, and then we can go down to the kitchen so you can call Philip.”
Lilibet’s face clouded as she looked over at Alah, dozing peacefully in the tufted chair in front of the fire.
“He’s waiting for your call, Miss.”
Emboldened by her feelings, Lilibet made up her mind.
Slowly, slowly, David began to regain consciousness.
“You gave us all quite a scare,” he heard Gregory say over the loud noise of an engine.
David tried to open his eyes. The pain was excruciating.
“What the—?” he managed, voice cracking. He tried to sit up, causing explosions in his head. He tried to put a hand to his wound, but they were tied together in front of him. His briefcase was still handcuffed to him, and was leaning against his side.
“Where are we?” he asked, squinting at Gregory, who was sitting beside him, silver flask in hand.
“We’re on our way to the coast. There’s a U-boat waiting for us not far offshore.”
“Who’s driving?”
“My old friend, Christopher Boothby.”
As David closed his eyes again, his mind raced. Why? Why would Gregory betray England? What could his ties to Nazi Germany possibly be? He was an RAF pilot, a war hero—one of Churchill’s “few.” He’d nearly died in Norway.
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