Princess Elizabeth's Spy(64)

“Doing fine, Miss. Does what she’s told, never complains.” Cook looked concerned. “She’s been all right with you, Miss?”

“Oh, yes,” Maggie said. “Of course. Consummate professional, lovely person. I was just curious, is all.”

So, John is dead. Did he die on impact, when his Spitfire went down? Or was he found by the Nazis, then tortured for information, then killed? she thought, before bursting into tears yet again, the heavy pain in her heart nearly unbearable.

How can life possibly go on? And yet it did. People in the castle’s kitchen chopped root vegetables and peeled apples and pulled feathers off chickens and geese. The clock ticked and the hands moved. The earth on its axis turned on and on. And this is what life is, Maggie thought. How odd, really. He’s dead, we’re still alive, and the earth keeps spinning on its axis. How very, very droll.





Chapter Nineteen


In an effort to keep her mind off John, Maggie decided to redouble her efforts to solve the mystery of Lady Lily’s death. After her tea in the kitchen with the Princess, she slipped on her sturdy shoes and tramped over the castle’s grounds in the milky afternoon light until she reached the place where Lily had been killed.

The wire had cut through the bark of the tree. It had been tied high up—high enough that it was meant for an adult, on a full-sized horse. Not for a young girl on a smaller pony. Surely, though, Inspector Wilson had noticed that.

In the bare branches of the scarred tree, Maggie heard the raspy, scolding cry of a peregrine falcon. Her eyes went from the falcon back to the castle. Sure enough, there was Sam Berners, backlit against the sun. “What did you see that morning?” Maggie said to the hawk.

“Scree! Scree! Scree!” it responded before it flew off, its large wings creating a small windstorm. Maggie saw him fly up, up, up into the sky, make a long, gliding circle, then come to rest on the arm of the ever-present, ever-watching Sam Berners. Maggie remembered his agitation the day he was questioned, the way he nearly had to be restrained.

“And, better yet—what did Mr. Berners see?”


It took Maggie a while to walk back to the castle, and then to find her way all the way up to the Royal Mews. Sam Berners was leaning his bulk against the parapets, looking out over the land, cold wind ruffling his unkempt hair.

“Mr. Berners!” Maggie called.

“What ye want, lassie? This isn’t a place for ladies.”

“I think they’re beautiful, you know,” she said, looking at the hooded falcons on their perches.

Berners gave her a sullen glare.

Maggie was undeterred. “The morning of the day Lady Lily was decapitated—”

“I seen nothin’,” he growled. “Already told the detective.”

Maggie considered. “I’m not asking if you saw the actual murder. I’m asking if you saw the person who put up the wire. See?” She pointed to the riding course. “You have a perfect view. And I know you’re always up here, watching your birds.”

“I seen nothin’. Told you.” He trained his eyes back to the horizon.

“What did you see, Mr. Berners?” she asked gently.

“I canna, I canna say,” he said finally.

“So, you did see something.” Maggie’s heart beat faster. “Who? Who was it?”

Berners was silent, an agonized look on his face.

“A woman is dead.” She took a breath. “It might easily have been Princess Elizabeth.…”

Berners looked at her, shocked. It had been the first time he’d looked her in the eyes, and Maggie noticed they were green and flecked with gold.

“Yes, she was out riding with Lily that morning. If she’d been in front …”

“The wee Princess?” Berners looked close to tears. “I didn’ know. That’s different. He shouldna have put the Princess’s life at risk. No, no,” he muttered, trying to sort out this new revelation.

“So you did see something?”

“The person … The person who did it knows somethin’ ’bout me,” Berners said. “Somethin’ bad. Real bad.” He looked down at his boots. “I don’ wanna lose my place here.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as a murder.”

“Hunting, murder—we’re all righ’ savage when you think abou’ it.”

“Your birds hunt for food. It’s natural. It’s the food chain, Darwin’s survival of the fittest. But whoever killed Lily was committing murder. There’s the difference. In many ways, your falcons are more civilized than people.”

Berners considered, looking out over the vast lands of the castle. “Aye, lassie,” he said finally. “You’re right.” He took a breath. “He’s been poachin’ off the King’s land, he has. And since I saw what he did, he’s been givin’ me food. And I take it. I’ve jus’ been so hungry, Miss. So hungry …”