by Rhys Bowen
“Your hat?”
She gave me a sheepish grin. “I must have forgotten I still had it on. I was worrying about unpacking your clothes like you said and I took off me coat, but forgot about me ’at. Silly me, eh? And now it’s got knocked down the loo.”
I peered through the depths of murky water and spotted a bright hint of red poking out from the pipe. “It’s still there. Have you tried getting it out?”
“I ain’t putting my hand in there!” she exclaimed in horror. “It’s full of you know what.”
“Queenie, any minute now this water will soak through the floor and start dripping through the ceiling below. And if my sister-in-law sees it and finds out you’ve been using her lavatory, then I’m afraid you’ll be sent packing—sharpish, as you would say.”
“Well, what I am going to do?”
“Run downstairs. Ask for old towels for the floor and see if you can find something to hook out the hat.”
“Then everyone will know it was me,” she wailed.
“Queenie, I am not about to take the blame for flooding a lavatory for you,” I said. “Now either you roll up your sleeve and pull that hat out yourself or you find something to do it with. Go on. Run. Before it’s too late.”
The best she could manage was a spirited waddle but she soon returned with towels and a poker. “I just said there had been a bit of an accident in her ladyship’s bathroom,” she said. “I didn’t go into details.”
A few minutes later the hat was retrieved—now a soggy mess of red felt.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get it back in shape, do you, miss?” Queenie said, holding it out mournfully.
“Queenie, you can’t wear a hat that has been down the loo,” I said in exasperation. “Throw it in the dustbin. Immediately. And finish drying the floor too. I’ve a good mind to send you back to your parents today.”
“Accidents can happen to anyone, miss,” she said. “Even you.”
I sighed. Of course this was true. They happened to me. In moments of duress I had been known to be a trifle clumsy, shall we say. Only they happened rather more frequently to Queenie. Maybe we were destined for each other.
My nephew greeted me with touching enthusiasm, hugging me fiercely. Even my niece seemed pleased to see me, but that might just have been because I was preferable to Nanny, who was crisp, starchy and not the sort of person one warmed to. When I went into my bedroom, Queenie had unpacked my things without any serious mishaps and was very subdued, even calling me “my lady,” which showed she was trying hard.
I settled into my old room and Binky wrote to the palace on my behalf. Everything seemed to be working out rather satisfactorily. What’s more, Fig actually took The Lady so I curled up in an armchair and browsed through the latest copies of the magazine. There were plenty of advertisements for servants but precious little else. But now there was no rush to find a job. The wedding wasn’t for another month. My brother might even decide to stay on in London for Christmas and by then, who knew what might have turned up?
I was amazed to receive a reply to Binky’s letter the day after he sent it. It was addressed to me and, what’s more, was written in the queen’s own hand.
My dear Georgiana,
I was delighted to hear that you have now returned to London and will be here for my son’s wedding. I understand you have been abroad until recently. My granddaughters certainly missed seeing you at Balmoral this year.
Perhaps you would be good enough to come to the palace tomorrow, if it’s convenient. I must tour a factory in the morning and have lunch in their canteen, but I should be home in time for tea at four.
Your affectionate cousin,
Mary R.
The R, of course, meant Regina.
Fig came in as I was reading the letter.
“Something came from the palace, I hear,” she said. “That was certainly rapid. They are able to fit you into the guest list then?”
“I don’t know. The letter is from the queen. She wants me to come to tea tomorrow.”
“Good heavens. From the queen herself? What could she possibly want to see you for?” She looked up as Binky joined us. “The queen has written to Georgiana,” Fig said in clipped tones. “She’s invited her to tea. We never get invited to tea at the palace, do we?”
“The queen is dashed fond of Georgie,” Binky said. “One noticed that when Georgie didn’t show up at Balmoral. She probably wants to hear all about her travels abroad.”
Oh golly. I hoped not. I didn’t want to have to tell someone like Queen Mary about the shenanigans that went on in Hollywood. She would not be amused, I was sure.
“You should do more to make our presence in London known, Binky,” Fig said. “Then we might receive more invitations. We should get out more. Be more social. Go to nightclubs and dine where we are seen.”
“All that takes money, old bean,” Binky said. “Something we have precious little of. Unless there is some of your legacy left after the central heating?”
“Oh, I don’t think there will be,” Fig said hastily.
Chapter 6
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31
Tea with the queen today. Oh golly. Please don’t let me spill anything or smash a priceless vase.
The next day I started to prepare for tea with the queen the minute luncheon was over. I agonized over what to wear. One should wear a tea dress to tea and I didn’t possess one. I had a few stylish items of clothing, courtesy of my mother, even though I had lost the best ones in a fire. Still, I was able to look presentable in a cashmere cardigan and gray jersey skirt she had bequeathed to me. I added a cream silk blouse and my good pearls. Pearls always go down well with royals. I was tempted to wear my mother’s cast-off fur coat but it was raining hard and I didn’t want to look like a drowned animal when I arrived at the palace.
It didn’t matter how many times I had been to Buckingham Palace, I still found the experience frightening. Those tall gilded iron gates and impossibly tall men guarding them were horribly intimidating. I knew there were side entrances into the palace from Buckingham Palace Road, but today I found them locked so I was forced to approach the gates and then cross the forecourt, sensing all those eyes watching me and feeling incredibly dowdy and unroyal in my mack. That forecourt was designed to be crossed in a carriage or a Daimler, preferably wearing a tiara—the person, I mean, not the conveyance.
I managed to reach the door without tripping over my umbrella or having the wind blow it inside out. So far so good. A footman helped me out of my mack and took my umbrella before I was led up the stairs to the piano nobile (or noble floor), which was the part of the palace where the royal family lived. I breathed a sigh of relief when we did not turn in the direction of the Chinese Chippendale Room this time. One of the queen’s favorite rooms, it was full of priceless Oriental antiques and I was always sure I’d knock over a Ming by mistake. Instead I was led to the right side of the house and the queen’s small private sitting room, overlooking the side gardens.
The footman knocked, then opened the door. “Lady Georgiana, Your Majesty.”
I stepped inside, carefully avoiding the footman’s foot, which I’d tripped over once before. Either my clumsiness was improving or I was learning from my mistakes. The queen was sitting in an armchair by the fire. She held out a hand to me.
“Georgiana, my dear. What a beastly day out there. Come and get warm.”
I took the hand and curtsied but didn’t attempt to kiss her cheek, as my hair and face were rather wet and there was a tea tray on a low table that I didn’t want to risk knocking over. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said and took the seat she indicated in the armchair across from her. “How good to see you looking so well.”
“I am in remarkably good health, thankfully,” she said, “unlike the poor king, whose health is not the best. He has been failing since that bout of pneumonia, Georgia
na. I worry about him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”
“He missed you at Balmoral this year,” she said, giving me an accusatory frown. “We all did.”
I was clearly not going to live down my absence. “I was unfortunately in America with my mother in August.”
“America. How interesting. Such a busy sort of place, I found. Everyone rushing around.”
I nodded.
“Well, I’m very glad to find you are here now. Most fortuitous, as it happens. I’ve been searching my brain for the right person and of course you’d be perfect.”
My heart beat a little faster. When the queen invited me to the palace for a chat, it wasn’t ever a purely social occasion. She had little assignments for me, never easy, some barely legal, ranging from spying on her wayward son and his American lady friend to stealing back a missing antique.
“But first let’s have some tea, shall we?” she said and poured a cup for me. I took it, noticing that it was not a grand royal tea table today, but just a simple tea with a plate of shortbread and some slices of Dundee cake similar to the one Mrs. Huggins had baked. I stifled a grin at the thought that Mrs. Huggins’s cake might be better.
I accepted a piece of shortbread when offered and took a bite, but I was so tense about what the queen might be about to say that it felt like chalk in my mouth and I couldn’t swallow it. Then luckily for me the door opened and the Prince of Wales came in.
“Ah, there you are, Mother,” he said as he breezed into the room. “How was lunch in the factory canteen? Did you have cottage pie or rissoles as I predicted?”
“It was quite a passable roast beef, although the Yorkshire pudding left something to be desired,” she said. “I’m having tea with Georgiana.”
He looked across and noticed me in the other armchair. “What-ho, Georgie. Long time since we’ve seen you.”
“Hello, sir,” I said. I should point out that protocol demanded I address him as “sir” even though he was my cousin.
“She’s been in America,” the queen said.
“Actually I traveled on the Berengaria with a friend of yours, sir,” I said. Of course I was referring to Mrs. Simpson. We had been tablemates at the captain’s table.
The prince cleared his throat and his mother said quickly, “I am hoping we can count on Georgiana to help us, David.” She leaned closer to me. “Tell me, have you been to Kensington Palace?”
“I’ve walked past it when I’ve crossed the park, that’s all, ma’am,” I said.
“You may not know that it’s divided into several apartments,” the queen went on. “Queen Victoria’s two remaining daughters live there—your dear grandmother’s sisters. As well as two other royal ladies, your father’s cousins.”
Oh Lord. My heart sank. She had suggested once before that I might be a lady-in-waiting to an elderly female relative. I pictured holding the knitting wool and reading to her on long dark evenings. Still, at least it was in London.
“Mother, you can’t send Georgie to the Aunt Heap,” David said. “She’d die of boredom.” He glanced across at me and gave me one of his charming smiles. The thought flashed through my mind how very nice he was, and I wondered why he would ever be attracted to a sharp and brittle woman like Mrs. Simpson.
“The Aunt Heap?” I met his eyes and saw the twinkle in them.
“You are always so flippant, David. It is about time you took life seriously and knuckled down to your responsibilities,” the queen said. “Your brother Bertie has done his duty and produced two lovely little girls. Now your brother George is doing his duty and getting married to a charming princess. I told you there were still plenty to choose from.”
“Don’t let’s start that again, Mother,” David said. “I’m delighted my brother is doing his duty and I agree Marina is quite charming. Quite a looker, actually.”
“Well? I’m sure we can come up with ‘quite a looker’ for you, if you’d only give us a chance. You have a delightful young second cousin here, for a start.”
I blushed. David looked across at me and laughed. “That really would be cradle snatching and this family needs no more inbreeding, Mother.” He paused. “Besides, she’s taller than me. That would never do for a future king, would it?” He started to move away. “I must be off and leave you to your scheming. I’m going down to the Fort for a few days. Not sure when I’ll be back, so don’t count on me for dinner on Sunday.”
“David, you are so infuriating sometimes. The dinner is to welcome Marina when she arrives. You should be there.”
“I have things I have to take care of and might not be able to make it up to town in time. I’m sorry, but I can’t leave people in the lurch. Besides, Marina might be so dazzled by me that she forgets about my brother.” David chuckled. “I’m sure I won’t be missed.” He blew me a kiss and made a hasty exit. The queen looked at me and shook her head. “That boy is worrying his father to death,” she said. “And what sort of king will he make?”
“I’m sure he’ll do the job well when the time comes, ma’am,” I said. “He’s very kindhearted and he does care about the ordinary people.”
“But he’s becoming ever more obsessed with that woman,” the queen said. “She has a hold over him. One hears she went to America to inquire about getting a divorce, you know. Ridiculous, really, because she and David can never marry. The country would never countenance a twice-married American as queen.”
When I said nothing she went on, “I have told him if he makes a proper marriage he can keep that woman quietly as his mistress and nobody would mind too much.”
I smiled. “I don’t think she’s the kind of person who can be kept quietly. She likes the limelight too much.”
“That’s the problem.” The queen sighed. “But let’s turn to more pleasant matters. I asked you about Kensington Palace because that’s where we plan to house Princess Marina until her wedding. She’ll be arriving at the end of the week and will have a little time to be introduced to London and our ways. And that’s where you come in, Georgiana, dear. Marina’s family were exiled from Greece when her uncle was deposed as King of the Hellenes. She has grown up in exile, living with various relatives, and even rather simply in an apartment in Paris, so one understands. The king and I were afraid that she might find London society overwhelming. We thought Marina might appreciate having someone her own age to help her settle in and to show her around London.”
She looked at me questioningly. I nodded and waited for her to go on. “You would move into Kensington Palace as her companion. Familiarize her with English ways. Take her shopping and to the theater perhaps. Show her the best of what London has to offer.”
I hesitated. She had asked me to host a visiting European princess once before, not seeming to understand that I had no money to host anyone and was living on baked beans myself. Now she wanted me to show a princess the best that London had to offer. But queens never touch money. In fact it was considered frightfully bad form to discuss money at all. But I knew I had to bring up the subject now if I wasn’t to face the embarrassment of taking a princess to a theater for which I couldn’t pay. I was trying to find a way to mention this tactfully when she said, “The master of house at Kensington, Major Beecham-Chuff, will be in charge of looking after Marina’s needs until her wedding. I’ll let him know you will be taking care of her and showing her around. Just ask him for what you need.”
I presumed this meant monetarily and not just recommendations and reservations. And as for the major’s name, I found out later that it was actually spelled Beauchamp-Chough. Yes, I know English is a strange language.
“I’ll be happy to help Princess Marina settle in,” I said.
“Splendid.” She gave me an approving smile. “I knew I could always count on you. Such a steady girl. You have the family sense of duty, Georgiana. If only my son would marry someone like you.
”
And she sighed. Then she leaned closer to me again, although we were alone in the small sitting room. “And I’m going to ask another favor of you, Georgiana.”
Oh golly, I thought. Now comes the difficult part. I held my breath.
“Like his older brother, my son George has not always been the wisest in his choice of friendships,” she said. “But I understand that there may be rumors flying around that completely exaggerate his behavior. It is important that this marriage starts off on the right foot, so I would appreciate it if you could heartily refute any rumor Marina may have heard and reassure her on what a decent fellow he is. I can count on you, can’t I?”
“Of course, ma’am,” I said. So now I was expected to lie for my royal kin. Still, I reasoned, it was probably better that a sheltered girl like Marina not know the truth about her future husband’s hijinks.
I WENT BACK to Rannoch House with a spring in my step. Not only was I to be invited to the wedding, I was to play an important part in welcoming the bride. I wouldn’t have to endure Fig’s barbs any longer and . . . I stopped, frozen on the pavement halfway up Constitution Hill. Oh crikey. I’d have to take Queenie to a palace. A palace full of princesses and with a master of house called Major Beauchamp-Chough. She’d already shown what havoc she could wreak in a normal house, with no royalty present and no priceless antiques around every corner. It was hard enough for me, who tends to be a little clumsy at times, but Queenie was far worse. She really was a walking disaster. And yet I couldn’t arrive at a palace with no lady’s maid. I’d have to make it quite clear to her that she must never leave my suite. If I had her meals sent up on a tray maybe we’d be all right.
Fig and Binky were sitting by the drawing room fire when I returned. Podge was with them, sitting beside his mother and showing her a drawing he had made, while Binky had Adelaide on his knee and was bouncing her while Nanny hovered protectively near the doorway.
“There you are, Georgiana.” Fig looked up. “So how was tea at the palace?” She almost spat out the last word.