“But, but—” Nevins spluttered. “Thompson’s a nothing, a nobody!”
“He’s an infinitely better agent than you.” Maggie put down her magazine and smiled. “As far as I’m concerned—you’re fired.”
When maths lessons with Lilibet were over, there was a knock at the nursery door. It was Margaret, eyes wide and hand in front of her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. “It’s in the oven,” she whispered to Lilibet.
Maggie was packing up her books and notebooks. “What’s in the oven, Margaret?”
Lilibet’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Come with us,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Smiling with amusement, Maggie let the girls lead her through the castle’s maze of corridors, finally reaching the kitchen with its high ceilings and skylights.
“There you are,” said Cook, looking up from a mountain of chopped parsnips.
“Is it done?” asked Margaret.
“Almost.” Cook wiped her hands on her apron. “Sit down and I’ll get it for you for your elevenses.”
“A mystery!” said Maggie as they sat down at a long wooden table. “And sounds like one you can eat too!”
The girls looked at each other and giggled.
From an enormous oven, Cook pulled out a pie. She set it in front of the trio. Maggie looked. The top of the pie was dark orange. She inhaled the fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg. It smelled familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Margaret couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Pumpkin pie!” she exclaimed.
“Pumpkin pie?” echoed Maggie, confused.
“Well, we learned about America and the Pilgrims and the Indians,” Lilibet told her. “We thought you might miss celebrating Thanksgiving.”
Oh, the dears. Maggie felt a lump in her throat, part homesickness, part happiness. “Thank you, both,” she said. “I’m touched beyond words.” As a tutor, she just had to add, “You do know that Thanksgiving was more than two weeks ago, though, yes?”
“We had to save our sugar rations,” Lilibet confided.
“Can we eat it now?” Margaret asked.
“Of course,” said Maggie, as she sliced the pie and handed out plates.
“And we cooked the pumpkin and mixed the filling ourselves!” Margaret chimed. “It was baking during our lesson!”
“It smells wonderful,” Maggie told them.
“Very American?” Margaret asked.
“Extremely American,” Maggie replied.
Truth be told, the pie was not as sweet as it should have been and was missing, in Maggie’s opinion, the all-important allspice. But she blinked away stinging tears as they ate, thinking of her Thanksgivings at Wellesley with Aunt Edith and her friend and lover, Olive, who always managed to produce feasts from their tiny kitchen.
When they were finished, and dishes washed and put away, Margaret had another glint in her eye. “We want to take you exploring,” she said, sotto voce, out of earshot of Cook.
“Follow us,” Lilibet admonished.
Maggie did as she was told. “Yes, ma’am.”
The girls seemed to know every nook and cranny of the castle. Maggie was surprised when they took her down the stairs near the servants’ entrance and through narrow damp tunnels and down into the dungeon. Lilibet pulled out a flashlight they’d hidden for these purposes and turned it on, the beam a magic wand in the darkness.
“Where are we going?” Maggie whispered as they walked the low-ceilinged corridors in the dark. “And does Alah know you two do this? I can’t help but think she wouldn’t like it.”
Margaret sighed dramatically. “Alah doesn’t like us to do anything except sit and knit,” she said. “If I have to sit and knit every day, I shall surely go mad.”
“Stop exaggerating, Margaret,” Lilibet snapped. “We’re at war. People are making enormous sacrifices. Surely if I can knit, you can knit.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” Margaret said with mock deference and a low curtsy.
Maggie was counting the twists and turns as they went. “You’re sure you know where you’re going?”
“And, here we are!” announced Lilibet.
They had reached a small room, part of the old dungeons. Maggie shivered, thinking of those who’d been imprisoned there over the centuries.
“Over here!” Margaret said, running over to a pile of large hatboxes. “Open it, Maggie!”
Maggie walked over with trepidation. What did the boxes contain? Skulls? Bones? Ashes?
Determined not to show fear, she opened the largest. Inside were newspapers. Taking a deep breath, Maggie reached inside. Behind her, the girls giggled. “She stuck in her thumb …” Margaret began.