Princess Elizabeth's Spy(65)

“That’s all?” Maggie smiled, a wide smile. When Berners saw, he gave a nervous laugh.

“Yes, Miss, that’s all. Canna stan’ that carrot mess no more.” He shrugged. “An’ that Lady Lily was no lady, that’s for sure. She a mean one. Oh, not to the other Lords and Ladies, but horrible to the servants. Didn’t think the world was any worse with her gone.” He scratched his head. “Didn’t think about the Princess being in danger, though.”

“Mr. Berners,” Maggie pressed, “who set up the wire?”

He looked up, eyes wild. “If I tell you what I know, I’ll get in trouble. Can’t afford to lose my job, Miss.”

“Of course not,” Maggie said in soothing tones. “But you didn’t do anything.” She had an idea. “And he did. What if he decides to kill again? Maybe the Princesses won’t be so lucky.”

“I don’t want to get into any trouble, Miss,” Berners said, voice breaking.

“You didn’t do anything—you’re just a witness.”

“I took ’is meat.”

“But he was the one who did the poaching.” Maggie paused. “I’ve met Detective Wilson a few times. And he seems like a reasonable man. If you tell me who did it, I can tell him how helpful you were. And he might go easy on you. Mr. Berners, please tell me—who killed Lady Lily?”

There was the loud sound of wings flapping and a rush of air. Berners stretched out his arm, and a falcon landed on his long leather glove, wings beating fast and hard until the bird folded them neatly. “What d’you think, Merlin,” Berners said. “You think I should tell the young miss?”

Merlin cocked his head and angled one beady black eye at Maggie. “Scree! Scree!” he cried.

“All right,” Berners said, giving a heavy sigh. “The man who put up the wire that killed Lady Lily was Mr. Tooke, Miss.”

Mr. Tooke! The Head Gardener. He was the perpetrator?

“Thank you, Mr. Berners,” Maggie said, trying to contain her shock. “And may I call Detective Wilson and tell him you’ll speak with him?”

Another long pause, while Berners stroked the feathers at the back of Merlin’s neck.

“I’ll talk to ’im, Miss,” he agreed finally. “Yea, I’ll talk to ’im.”


Maggie went to the tidy red-brick police building. The older man with sandy hair recognized her and smiled. “Well, hello there!”

“I’m here to see Detective Wilson,” Maggie said. “It’s urgent.”

“He’s in a meeting, Miss.”

“It’s something he’ll want to hear right away.”

“Then come to his office, Miss.”

Detective Wilson excused himself from his meeting, went to his office and listened to what Maggie had learned. Together, they drove back to the castle, where they went first to find Sam Berners on the roof, who told the detective the same story he’d told Maggie.

Then they went to Mr. Tooke’s flat, where he confessed everything. He looked almost relieved when the detective said he was under arrest for the murder of Lily Howell, put handcuffs on him and led him to the car to take him to the station. As they drove away, Maggie felt sad. Sad for Mr. Tooke’s wife, sad for Mr. Tooke, sad for Lily. She remembered something she had typed once, for the P.M.: “Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter.”

Hats off, Mr. Churchill, Maggie thought grimly. You certainly have that one right.


Back in her room, Maggie shivered. She used the loo, washed up, then changed into her flannel nightgown, adding socks and a cardigan. The fireplace was lit and she turned on the portable radiator in the bedroom, waiting for it to warm. In the meantime, she cleared the small table where she and Lilibet had been working.

She picked up the book, the Grimm. Maggie sighed. It wasn’t Lilibet’s fault; it had been an accident. Still, it was one of the few things she owned that had belonged to her mother.…

Maggie looked at the inscription. It was still there, the black ink now blurred and watery. However, that wasn’t what captured Maggie’s attention, as she flipped through the pages of the book. There were tiny, tiny holes in the pages. Holes too small to be seen with the naked eye but highlighted by the tea stains.

Some sort of bugs? Moths? Maggie thought. Then she headed for bed, to battle yet another night of tears and insomnia and eventual bad dreams.


The next day, Maggie received a package with her breakfast, a pair of leather skates in her size, sharpened and ready. She could interpret only that Hugh was going to meet her somewhere where they could ice-skate.