Princess Elizabeth's Spy(62)

After the long trek down the cold corridors, they reached Maggie’s rooms. In her green sitting room, a fire crackled cheerfully behind the iron grate. Maggie set down their books and notes as Audrey entered and put down a tea tray with a pot, two cups and saucers, spoons, and a plate of digestive biscuits and linen napkins, and then left.

As the tea steeped, Lilibet was uncharacteristically twitchy. She wandered around Maggie’s room, picking things up and putting them down. When she found the wireless, she asked, “Do you listen to It’s That Man Again? Margaret and Alah and I love it.”

“I do enjoy it,” Maggie confessed.

Lilibet continued to look at her shelves. “You don’t have much here.”

“No,” Maggie agreed. “Most of my things are still in London.”

“We used to live in London, you know.” Lilibet pulled out a book of photographs bound in ivory moiré silk. “What’s this?” she asked.

Maggie took the book and then motioned for the young girl to sit down next to her. “Well,” she said, turning the pages. “This is a family album. Here are my paternal grandparents, my father and Aunt Edith when they were children. Oh! And my father and mother’s wedding picture. They were married at Saint Margaret’s, near Westminster Abbey.”

Lilibet’s eyes took in the picture of Clara Hope, draped in lace. “Goodness, your mother was pretty,” she said.

“Yes,” Maggie agreed, giving the photos one last, wistful look before closing the book. “And now it’s time to get to work.”

But Lilibet had sprung up yet again and was looking at Maggie’s books. “Ugh,” she exclaimed, examining the titles. “Boring!” She pulled out the Turing and paged through. “You can actually read this?”

“Yes,” Maggie said. “And so could you, if you continue with your study of maths. And now—”

“Oh, Grimm’s Fairy Tales!” she exclaimed. “I just love them!” She pulled the book out, brought it to the tea table, and sat down. “Look, here’s ‘Hansel and Gretel,’ ‘The Frog King,’ and ‘Cat and Mouse’!”

Maggie went to pour the tea, but Lilibet said, “May I?” Maggie nodded, and the Princess poured the fragrant tea into the two cups. “Margaret calls me puritanical about tea, but I like things to be perfect.”

Maggie had noticed this tendency in the Princess. Often she would arrange and rearrange her pens and pencils on her desk and become agitated if her books weren’t in the proper order or her papers weren’t lined up just so.

“Well, we’re not going to be perfect today,” Maggie said lightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any sugar.”

“That’s fine, I’m used to it black now,” Lilibet replied, coming back to the sofa with the volume and sitting down. “May I borrow it? I know there’s a library here and all, but the books are so very old and serious, and Sir Owen is such a Burns about letting them out of the stacks.…” Turning the pages, Lilibet started. “Oh, there’s an inscription!” she said, reaching for her tea. “Look! To my darling Clara, With all my love, Eddie. 20 October 1915. How romantic. Was Clara your—”

And with that Lilibet sneezed, an enormous, violent sneeze. Quite by accident, she splashed hot tea all over the page.

“Are you all right?” Maggie asked, taking napkins from the tray and blotting first the princess and then the book.

“I’m fine,” Lilibet said, her blue eyes threatening to overflow with sudden tears. “But, Maggie—I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry. I’ve ruined your book.”

“It’s fine, really,” Maggie assured her. “No harm done.”

Lilibet blotted the inscription. “I think it will be all right.…”

“Of course it will,” Maggie responded, putting the book on the windowsill to dry. “And now, let’s open our textbook to page one fifty-six and—”

There was a knock. It was George Poulter, the winking footman, his hair powdered white with the same mixture of starch, flour, and soap that had been used at the Castle for centuries. He wore the official footman’s uniform: blue velvet coat, knee breeches, stockings, and well-shined buckled shoes. He carried a letter on an ornate silver tray.

“Your Highness,” he said to the Princess, who favored him with a smile. And then, “Miss Hope.” He bowed as he proffered the envelope.

“Thank you,” Maggie said. She took the letter and the footman left. She found her hands were shaking.