Princess Elizabeth's Spy

Lord Clive was not won over. “I’m keeping an eye on you, Miss Hope.”

“Of course, Your Lordship.”

And I’ll be keeping an eye on you too.

At the crime scene, the corpse was already wrapped and two men were transferring it to a battered Black Maria. A stocky older man in a camelhair overcoat and gray felt hat with a notebook seemed to be finishing up as Maggie made her way over to him.

“Hello,” he said in neutral tones, his breath cloudy in the cold air. His eyes were bright and penetrating, his jowls heavy, his mustache streaked with gray. “My name’s Detective Wilson.” Detective Chief Superintendent Wilson of the Windsor police department had served his country in World War I, and then rose through the ranks of the police force to his current position. A widower, with a son serving in the Royal Navy, Wilson originally tried to become involved with the war effort but had ultimately decided that staying on in Windsor wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. For the war had certainly not brought any respite from transgressions. If anything, the stresses of war had intensified the number and viciousness of local crimes.

“Maggie Hope, sir. Pleased to meet you—although under horrible circumstances.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes going to the body, which had been safely stowed in the vehicle. The car spluttered as it warmed up, then the engine turned over.

“Did you know”—he consulted his notes—“Lily Howell? You look about her age.”

“I met her yesterday, sir. I understand she was one of the Queen’s Ladies-in-Waiting.”

“Yesterday?” the detective queried.

“I arrived yesterday from London,” Maggie told him. “Last night I had dinner at the Carpenter’s Arms with Gregory Strathcliffe. While we were there, Lily and two other Ladies-in-Waiting—Louisa and Marion—joined us. We all walked back to the castle together.”

“Really?” Detective Wilson said, scribbling on his notepad. “About what time was that?”

“It was around midnight. I remember because I was worried about oversleeping without an alarm clock.”

“And what do you do at the Castle, Miss Hope?”

“I’m tutoring the Princess Elizabeth in mathematics.”

“I see. And when was the last time you saw Lily Howell?”

“We’re all—that is, we were all—staying in Victoria Tower.” Maggie looked back at the hulking structure, where age-blackened chimneys emitted thin threads of smoke into the cold air. “She and the other girls have rooms on the lower floors. I’m up on the top, so I said good night to the three of them just after midnight, then continued upstairs.” She rubbed her gloved hands together, to warm them. Overhead, a peregrine falcon with a black head and a black-and-white tufted breast glided by, then dipped down and settled on a nearby tree, folding his large wings. His laughing cries were borne away by the cold wind.

“Did anything … happen … that you recall?”

“No, sir. It was a pleasant evening.” No need to mention the morning sickness. At least, not until I’ve run it past Frain.

Detective Wilson tipped his hat. “Thank you, Miss Hope,” he said as he walked back to the road and to his waiting car. He opened the door and got into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be in touch.” He started the engine.

“Yes, sir,” Maggie said. She held up one hand as he drove off toward the castle.

Anything related to the crime had been removed. Still, as Maggie walked to a group of bare trees by the side of the path, she could see where the wire had been attached to the tree and rubbed through the bark. Oh, Lily … 

Well, the facts are these, she thought, taming her racing mind with logic. Lily Howell is dead. She was decapitated by a wire tied to two trees, stretched over a bridle path. But was she the intended victim? Maggie remembered Crawfie’s schedule of the Princesses’ activities. Both girls were supposed to be riding today.

The falcon looked down at Maggie with keen black eyes. He made a high-pitched “key-key-key- key!” cry, which floated up into the cold air and hung there. Then he flew off.

Frain said the Germans were planning on kidnapping Princess Elizabeth, not assassinating her. But he could be wrong. Had someone intended to kill the princess? Had Lily Howell just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Chapter Nine

As Maggie approached the castle, her ears were assaulted by the barking of a pack of corgis. Back at No. 10, she’d liked having Mr. and Mrs. Churchill’s pets around, even if some of the other staff members complained. But compared to the corgis, Rufus and Nelson and the rest of the Churchill menagerie were downright civilized.

These dogs, with their big pointed ears; large, sleek bodies; and tiny legs, swarmed around her, yapping, jumping, and pulling at the hem of her coat. With all the teeth and fur and noise, Maggie didn’t even see Princess Elizabeth walking behind them.

“Dookie!” the princess called, her sweet childish voice ringing out. “Dookie! And the rest of you! Leave poor Maggie alone!”

Poor Maggie had a sudden urge to turn and run, but instead knelt down, putting out a hand for the dogs to sniff. “There, now,” she said in gentle tones. “It’s all right. See? I’m perfectly friendly.”

Without warning, one of the corgis bit her hand, teeth sinking into the tender flesh.

“Ow!” Maggie cried. “Ow, ow, ow!” she said, shaking her hand, wishing she could say so much more.

“Dookie!” the princess admonished. “Bad dog! Very bad dog!”

She ran over to Maggie, with the grave air of one who was used to looking after canine injuries. “Let me see.”

Maggie gingerly took off her glove and stuck out her hand. The dog’s fangs had torn through the leather and lining but hadn’t broken the skin. Still, her hand bore the imprint of red, angry tooth marks.

“Oh, it’s not so bad, really,” the Princess said, inspecting it.

Maggie gritted her teeth. Easy for you to say.

“You should have seen Lord Livingston!” the Princess said. “Dookie bit him and there was just blood everywhere. They can’t help it,” she continued earnestly. “None of them can. It’s how they’re bred. They’re hunters, after all. It’s just their nature to bite.”

“Really,” Maggie managed. “And his name is Dookie?”

“His full and formal name is really Rozavel Golden Eagle. But yes, he’s called Dookie, because he was supposed to go to my father, who was the Duke of York at the time. That’s what the breeders called him when he was born, and the name just stuck.”

“I see,” Maggie said through tight lips.

“You aren’t going to tell Crawfie, are you? Or Alah? Or Mummy and Daddy?”

Maggie saw an opening to win the girl’s trust. “No, I won’t. I promise. You’re right—Dookie’s only doing what’s in his nature.”

“Oh, thank you.” The Princess brightened. “I can fetch you an ice bag, if you’d like.”

“That’s all right. But I wouldn’t mind an escort back to Victoria Tower. The castle’s rather confusing.” She smiled. “I might have to start dropping bread crumbs. Although then I’d probably be fined by the ARP Warden.”

“You would,” the Princess said. “But I must insist that first I take you to the kitchen, so Cook can give you some ice for your hand.”

Maggie smiled at the young girl’s motherly tones, especially after the morning she’d already been through. Score one for the British stiff upper lip, she thought. “Of course, Your Highness. Thank you.” Then, “By the way, should you be wandering around by yourself, especially after what happened to Lady Lily?”

Lilibet had the grace to blush. “I am in the habit of sneaking out a lot,” she confided. “It gets so dull inside, with all the knitting.”

“I know, but you probably should be with someone.” Maggie made a mental note to talk to Alah about it.