Her Royal Spyness (11 page)

“They don’t need to know it’s actually me, do they?” I gave a couple of whisks with the feather duster as I warmed up to the idea. “I can call myself Coronet Domestics and nobody need ever know that I, and I alone, am Coronet Domestics. It’s better than starving, anyway.”

“What about the lady-in-waiting thing? How does one turn down the request of a queen?”

“Very cautiously,” I said. “But luckily nothing in the palace happens overnight. By the time HM has it arranged,

I shall tell her that I am fully occupied and financially stable.”

“Well, good luck then, I suppose,” Belinda said. “You wouldn’t find me cleaning lavatories.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, coming down to earth with a bump. “I hadn’t counted on lavatories. I was thinking more a quick whisk with my handy duster. That much I can handle.”

She laughed. “I fear you may have a rude awakening. Some people are absolute pigs, you know.” She leaned back against the velvet upholstery and crossed her legs in a move that must have been practiced and designed to drive young men wild. It had no such effect on me except to elicit a wave of envy over her silk stockings.

“So how did you enjoy your outing with the attractive Mr. O’Mara?” she asked.

“He is quite dashing, isn’t he?”

“What a pity he’s penniless. Not exactly the escort you need at this stage of your life.”

“Maybe we go together well,” I said.

“You’ve tried, have you?” Belinda asked.

“Tried what?”

“Going together.”

“We’ve only just met, Belinda. Although he did kiss my hand on the doorstep and suggest that I invite him inside.”

“Did he? How terribly un-British.”

“I have to confess I did enjoy the hand-kissing part and I almost relented and let him into the house.”

She nodded. “He’s Irish, of course. They are a wild race, but more fun, one has to admit, than the English. Heaven knows Englishmen have no idea at all about the gentle art of seduction. The best most of them can manage is to slap you on the behind and ask if you fancy a spot of the old rumpy-pumpy.”

I nodded. “That does sum up my experience so far.”

“There you are then. So he may well be the one.”

“To settle down with? We’d starve.”

“Not to settle down with.” She shook her head at my stupidity. “To rid you of the burden around your neck. Your virginity, I mean.”

“Belinda! Really!”

She laughed at my red face. “Someone has to before you turn into a sour old maid. My father always says that once women turn twenty-four, they are beyond redemption, so you’ve only got a year or so.” She looked at me, expecting an answer, but I was still lost for words. Discussing my virginity did not come easily to me. “You are seeing him again?” she asked.

“He’s taking me to a party at the Café de Paris next week.”

“Oh, my dear. Very swank.”

“Gate-crashing again, I’m afraid. He says it’s given by Americans and they’ll fall over backward to have a member of the royal family present, even if it’s a minor one.”

“He’s absolutely right. When is it?” She produced a small diary from her bag.

“Belinda, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Maybe we’re kindred spirits. You should keep us apart. I think I might rather fancy him myself, although I’d never step on the toes of an old school chum. And being penniless does limit the desirability. I do have horribly expensive tastes.” She jumped up and grabbed the feather duster from me. “I almost forgot what I came for. I bumped into another old school chum at the wedding yesterday. Sophia, that round little Hungarian countess. Didn’t you see her?”

“No, I didn’t. There were so many people and I was attempting to lie low.”

“Well, anyway, she invited me to a little party on a houseboat in Chelsea this afternoon and I asked if I could bring you. I tried to find you, but you’d vanished.”

“Darcy and I melted away before the party dispersed.”

“So will you come to the party on the houseboat?”

“It does sound rather fun. Oh, wait a minute. No, I’m afraid I can’t come after all. I’ve just remembered that I promised to have Sunday lunch with my grandfather. In fact”—I glanced at my watch—“I have to run and get changed instantly.”

“Your nonroyal grandfather, I take it?”

“The other one is long dead, so that would have to be a séance and no lunch.”

“And your living one? Don’t I remember that your family discouraged any communication with him? Why was that?”

“He’s a Cockney, Belinda, but he’s an old dear, quite the nicest person I know. I just wish I could do more for him. He’s not exactly in funds at the moment and he needs a good holiday by the sea.” I brightened up again. “So maybe my housecleaning experiment will be so successful that I can send him on his holiday and all will be well.”

Belinda eyed me suspiciously. “I am not normally one to look on the dark side of things, but I think you are courting disaster, my sweet. If news of your new career choice ever made it back to the palace, I fear you’d be married off to the frightful Siegfried and locked away in a castle in Romania before you could say Ivor Novello.”

“This is a free country, Belinda. I am twenty-one years old and nobody’s ward and I’m not next in line to the throne and frankly I don’t give a hoot what they think!”

“Well said, old thing.” She applauded. “Come on then, let me help you compose your advertisement before you depart.”

“All right.” I went over to the writing desk and took out pen and paper. “Do you think the
Times
is preferable to the
Tattler
in attracting the right clientele?”

“Do both. Some women never read a newspaper but always look at the
Tattler
to see if they are in it.”

“I’ll bite the bullet and pay for both then. I hope a commission comes along quickly or I’ll be standing in a bread line myself in a week or so.”

“It’s a pity you can’t come to the party with me this afternoon. Sophia is a robust girl in that typically middle-European way, so I’m sure food will feature prominently. And she mixes with all kinds of delightful bohemians—writers and painters, that kind of thing.”

“I wish I could, but I’m sure food will figure prominently at my grandfather’s too. He’s promised me a roast and two veg. So what shall we say in this advertisement?”

“You have to make it quite clear that you are not interested in scrubbing their loos, just light dusting and opening their houses up for them. How about: ‘Coming to London but want to leave your staff at the country seat?’”

I scribbled away. “Oh, that’s good. Then we could say Coronet Domestics Agency will air out your house and make it ready for your arrival.”

“And you have to give an endorsement from someone of status.”

“How can I do that? I can hardly ask Fig to recommend me and she’s the only one for whom I’ve ever cleaned a house so far.”

“You endorse yourself, you chump. As used by Lady Victoria Georgiana, sister of the Duke of Glen Garry and Rannoch.”

I started laughing. “Belinda, you are positively brilliant.”

“I know,” she said modestly.

Lunch was a huge success—lovely leg of lamb, crispy roast potatoes and cabbage from Granddad’s back garden, followed by baked apple and custard. I felt the occasional pang of guilt as I wondered whether he could really afford to eat in this way, but he was taking such obvious pleasure from watching me eat, that I let myself enjoy every bite.

“After lunch,” I said, “you really must teach me how to light a fire. I’m not joking. My brother will be arriving tomorrow and I’ve been instructed to have a fire lit in his bedroom.”

“Well, blow me down. Of all the cheek,” he said. “What do they think you are—a skivvy? I’m going to give that brother of yours a piece of my mind.”

“Oh, it’s not Binky,” I said. “He’s actually quite a dear. Very vague, of course, never notices anything. And not very bright. But essentially a kind person. And it is my fault partly, I suppose. My sister-in-law took it for granted that I’d be hiring staff as soon as I got to London. I should have made it quite clear that I couldn’t afford to do so. Stupid pride.”

My grandfather shook his head. “I told you, my love. If you want to light a fire, you’ll have to go down the coal cellar.”

“If I must, I must,” I said. “I’m sure plenty of servants have been down into the coal cellar and survived. What then?”

He talked me through it, from the newspaper to the right way to lay the sticks and then the coal on top, and all about opening dampers. It sounded daunting.

“I wish I could come up and do it for you,” he said. “But I don’t think your brother would take kindly to my being in the house.”

“I wish you could come up and live with me for a while,” I said. “Not to look after me, but to keep me company.”

He looked at me with wise dark eyes. “Ah, but that would never work, would it? We live in different worlds, ducks. You’d want me to sleep above stairs in your house and I wouldn’t feel right doing that, but then I wouldn’t feel right sleeping below stairs, like a servant either. No, it’s better this way. I welcome your visits, but then you go back to your world and I stay in mine.”

I looked back longingly as I walked up Glanville Drive past the gnomes.

Chapter 9

Rannoch House
Sunday, April 24, 1932

When I arrived back at Rannoch House I changed into my servant garb, tied up my hair, and ventured downstairs until I located the dreaded coal hole. As Granddad had predicted, it was awful—a dark opening in the outside well, only a couple of feet high. I couldn’t find a shovel and I wasn’t going to reach my arm into that dark unknown. Who knows what was lurking in there? I went back into the kitchen and discovered a large ladle and a towel hanging on a rack. Then I used the ladle to scrape out bits of coal, one at a time, then picked them up with the towel to put into the coal scuttle. By this method it took a good half hour to fill the scuttle but at least I didn’t touch any spiders and my hands remained clean. Finally I staggered upstairs with it, with new admiration and respect for my maid, Maggie, who obviously had to do this chore every single morning.

I experimented with lighting a fire in my own room and by the end of the evening I had a very smoky room, but a crackling blaze going. I was quite proud of myself. Binky’s bedroom was ready for him, with clean sheets and windows opened. I laid a fire in his grate and went to bed satisfied.

On Monday morning I went into the
Times
office and placed an advertisement for the front page. I provided a post office box to reply to, as I didn’t think Binky would take kindly to requests for a char lady coming to Rannoch House. Then I went to the
Tattler
and repeated the process.

I had just returned home when there was a knock at the front door. I went to answer it and found a strange man on the doorstep. He was a sinister-looking figure, dressed from head to toe in black—long black overcoat and broad-brimmed black hat tilted forward so that it was hard to see his eyes. What I could see of his face I didn’t like. He might have been good-looking once, but he had one of those faces that has started to sag. And it had the pasty pallor of one who is not often in the fresh air. Nobody at Castle Rannoch ever had such a complexion. At least the biting wind produced the rosiest of cheeks.

“I am ’ere to see zee duke,” he said in what sounded like a French accent. “You will inform him immediately that Gaston de Mauxville has arrived.”

“I’m sorry but the duke hasn’t arrived himself yet,” I said. “I don’t expect him until this afternoon.”

“Most inconvenient,” he said, slapping one black leather glove against the palm of his other hand.

“He’s expecting you, is he?”

“Of course. I shall come in and wait.” He attempted to push past me.

“I’m afraid you won’t,” I said, taking an instant dislike to the man’s arrogant manner. “I don’t know you. I suggest you come back later.”

“Why, you impudent girl. I’ll have you dismissed.” He raised a glove and I thought for a moment he was going to strike me. “Do you know to whom you are speaking?”

“More to the point, do you know to whom you are speaking?” I said, giving him my most frosty stare. “I am the duke’s sister, Lady Georgiana.”

At this his bluster subsided, but he continued to splutter.

“But you open the door like a ’ousemaid. Most irregular, most embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but the staff are still in Scotland, I am in the house alone, and I’m sure you would agree that my brother would not want me to entertain a strange man, unchaperoned.”

“Very well,” he said. “You will inform your brother that I expect to see him the moment he arrives. I am staying at Claridge’s.”

“I’ll inform him, but I don’t know of his plans,” I said. “Do you have a card?”

“Somewhere,” he said, patting various pockets, “but in this instance a card will not be necessary, I believe.”

He turned as if to leave, then looked back suddenly. “This is the only property you own apart from Castle Rannoch?”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t own it. My brother does.”

“Naturally. And Castle Rannoch—what is it like?”