Princess Elizabeth's Spy(104)

Gregory cried out in anguish and released his grip on David, who fell to the deck, gasping for air. Gregory stumbled backward and fell as well, curling into a fetal position.

“That’s for calling him a poof!” Lilibet yelled into the wind. Maggie was filled with both amazement and sisterly pride.

Before anyone had a chance to recover, there was another enormous blast—the approaching German ship exploded in smoke and lacy white froth. One final detonation, and the ship burst into a ball of orange and red flames, reflected in the gray water. Boothby and the two crewmen watched helplessly.

Gregory managed to turn himself over and whistled through his bleeding teeth and lip. “Goddamned British navy.”

“You want to know a British military secret?” David shouted, propping himself up on his elbows. “We’re equipped with really big guns, you … jerk!” he said, realizing the Princess was present.

Maggie went to Lilibet and cradled her in her arms, keeping her eyes west. “The British are coming.”

“About time, Paul Revere,” said David, before turning back to Gregory. “You’ll have quite the story to tell before they hang you for treason.”

But Gregory was already unlacing his heavy boots and stripping off his mackintosh. “But it seems like such a lovely morning for a swim,” he said, a man with nothing to lose, nothing to live for.

“No!” Maggie screamed. “Don’t do it!” She didn’t know how she felt about Gregory—disgust, hate, pity? But she did know she didn’t want him to die. “You’ll never make it!” Even if he could swim to France, the water was too cold. It would kill him before he could reach the shore.

“But I might,” he said, winking at her with his good eye. “And it’s better than the alternative,” he called back to them before he dove into the sea.

Maggie watched Gregory’s head bobbing amidst the waves. Then he vanished beneath the surface, rising again, choking on seawater. His eyes locked with Maggie’s as he slowly, slowly slipped beneath the surface of the water. She watched him sink into the darkness until she couldn’t see his face any longer.

Oh, Gregory, what a waste, was all she could think, feeling her eyes well up with hot tears. What a tragic, tragic waste of a life.

She, David, and Lilibet, exhausted, huddled together for warmth, until the rubber dinghy reached them.





Chapter Twenty-nine


That day, after being debriefed and arriving back at Windsor Castle, Maggie and David were taken to the Royal Family’s private apartments. They’d been given hot baths, glasses of cognac, fresh, dry clothes, and a chance to sleep. Now up and dressed and looked over by the Royal Physician, they entered the Royal Family’s private sitting room. David’s head was bandaged, as was the wrist that had had the handcuff on it. Maggie looked tired and pale, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

It was a large chamber, but cozy, with buttercup-yellow silk walls, a soft red Persian carpet, and a plethora of needlepoint pillows. The King and Queen were there, sitting on an overstuffed sofa, surrounded by their corgis. Winston Churchill and Peter Frain sat in chairs opposite. Hugh was present as well, sitting next to Frain, a pair of crutches at his side. He and Maggie locked eyes. She smiled and his face relaxed. He tried to stand.

“Please don’t,” Maggie said. She tried to remember her Royal etiquette, making a shaky curtsy. David did the same, with a bow.

“Please, sit down, both of you. You poor dears,” Queen Elizabeth said. Maggie smiled. She sounded just like a mother—which, of course, she was.

“Quite an adventure you two had, heh?” Churchill said, getting up. He gave David a bear-like embrace, slapping the younger man’s back repeatedly, while David winced. Then he kissed Maggie’s hand. “Can’t seem to keep you out of trouble, Miss Hope.”

The King had risen as well. “Jolly good show, both of you. If anything had happened to Lilibet … Well, I just can’t bear to think of it.”

“Well, it didn’t,” said Frain. “And they didn’t get Mr. Greene and Miss Hope with the knowledge they each possess, either. The U-boat’s been captured and the surviving men all taken into custody. I have just one question. What happened to Gregory Strathcliffe?”

“He decided to swim for France, Your Majesty,” Maggie said.

“And?”

“He—he drowned.”

“Good.” Frain nodded. “More paperwork, of course, but that’s that, then.”

The Queen indicated an ornate silver tray with a porcelain teapot, with enamels and gilding, as well as matching translucent bone cups and saucers on the low table in front of one of the sofas. “Please sit down, everyone. Who would like a cup of tea?”