Princess Elizabeth's Spy(91)

“We’ve covered every possible escape route,” Frain said. “Now we just have to wait.”

“How’s your shoulder, sir?” Churchill asked the King.

“I can’t even th-th-think about the shoulder,” the King replied, his eyes still unfocused.

The P.M. lit yet another cigar. “How’s Her Majesty?”

“She’s with Margaret now,” he said, almost inaudibly.

“Good, good,” Churchill boomed. “Best place for her.”

“Would you like to lie down and rest, sir?” Frain asked.

“I want to be here,” the King replied. “In case there’s any news.”

“Gutsy move of theirs,” Churchill said, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “An assassination attempt and a kidnapping right under our very noses! They’ve got stones, I’ll give them that,” he said, punctuating his words with jabs of his cigar. “Stones! But they won’t leave this island. I swear to you.”

The King blanched.

“We’ve covered every possibility,” Frain said. “Now we just have to wait for something to break.”


“There’s a map in the glove compartment,” Hugh said as he drove. The blue-black sky was encrusted with stars. A waning moon hung in the sky.

Maggie opened the box. In it were the map, a flashlight, and a gun. She held the lit flashlight in her teeth, pulled out the map, and squinted at it. “Yes, we’re on track,” she said through the flashlight.

They drove together in silence for a time. Finally, Maggie spoke: “What happened between us—”

“Yes?”

“Well, it can’t ever happen again. There’s a reason why agents can’t be involved with each other. We’re working together.”

“Of course,” Hugh agreed. “I’d never do anything to compromise your safety.”

“That’s just the point. It’s not my safety you need to worry about—it’s the Princess’s safety.”

“I know, Maggie. I know this may be hard to understand, but I’ve been doing this longer than you have.”

Maggie felt a flash of anger—then realized he was right. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She took a brief moment to think of how it might work for them. Then dismissed the thought. “Thank you for the painting. It’s beautiful.”

“Glad you like it.” Hugh cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan, once we get there? Sounded like you had one.”

Maggie’s smile was crooked. “As we say in America, Hugh—we’re going to wing it.”


Frain’s call to Scotland Yard had caused local police precincts to scramble to put up roadblocks, but the van with the Princess was already racing along the AI, on its way to Mossley. Poulter and Audrey were in the front seats, while Lilibet, tied up, was lying in the very back. The van, one used by the castle staff for transporting large game animals from the grounds where they’d been shot to the slaughterhouse, had the metallic smell of old blood. Poulter drove past cities, villages, and hamlets: Hatfield, Welwyn, and Stevenage; Letchworth, Foster, and Baderton.

The winds had picked up. Between the motion of the van as it sped over the darkened roads and the gusting of the wind, the insides shuddered and shook. The passengers were silent as Poulter turned off the main road onto a narrower one, less likely to be blocked by the police. It was rough going, and he had to reduce speed, but he was convinced it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Shit,” he said, seeing lights and a roadblock ahead. He could see at least four men in police uniforms, gesturing for him to slow down and stop.

Audrey’s eyes were wide as she reached into the glove compartment. There she found two guns. She passed the first to Poulter, then picked up the second, wrapped her hands around the pistol, hiding it in the folds of her skirt. “Merde,” she whispered.

Then she turned back to Lilibet. “Lie down and keep silent!”

Poulter slowed the van, braking to a stop in front of the barricade. He rolled down his window. “Good evening, officers,” he said, smiling.

“Please step out of the van, sir,” the fresh-faced officer said.

“Look, it’s late,” Poulter said, “and my wife and I are tired. Would you mind just letting us pass?”

“Where are you and your ‘wife’ going, sir?” the bobby asked.

Poulter could see the other officers conferring in the background, probably matching their faces to an issued description.

“Grimsby—visiting family there,” Poulter answered, even as one of the officers came up to Audrey’s door and the two others around to the back of the van.