Princess Elizabeth's Spy

“We won’t!” they chorused.

The next morning, Maggie wrapped the key imprint in clay in brown paper and made the prearranged drop-off into the trash barrel near Boswell’s Books, which another agent nonchalantly picked up. The next day, in town, another undercover agent pretended to stumble and surreptitiously slipped a set of keys into her open handbag as she had lunch at a small cafe.

After midnight, flashlight tucked under her arm, Maggie unlocked the heavy oak door to the King’s Equerry’s office, opened it, went inside, and then closed it behind her with a heavy click. Her heart was pounding. She went to the desk and switched on the stained-glass lamp, the light fighting against the pressing shadows. She turned off the flashlight and put it under the desk and laid down her bag, removing the small camera Hugh had given her.

She went to the files and pulled. Locked, of course. Taking out another, smaller key, she put it in the lock and turned. It popped open with a satisfying click.

Her heart began to pound even faster. She could feel hear armpits begin to dampen.

She went through the files to H. There it was, neatly labeled with Howell, Lady Lily typed in black ink.

Maggie took the file to the desk and opened it in the tiny bright circle of lamplight. The edges of the room were veiled in heavy and almost palpable darkness. For a moment, Maggie had a feeling of vertigo, as if the circle of light were the only stable place, and in the dim light the walls had receded, leaving her on a high and perilous platform suspended in the dark. Then she swallowed, took the camera and began shooting, turning pages, then shooting again.

My goodness, Maggie thought, goose bumps prickling on her arms. I’m actually doing this!

As she photographed, she skimmed the file’s contents. Lady Lily Howell had been born in Germany in 1915, moved to London at age five, and was educated at St. Hilda’s at Oxford University, studying history. She made her debut before in the King and Queen, with Gregory as her escort. Other than that, and a few letters of recommendation, the file was bereft of anything incriminating. Bugger, Maggie thought. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

Then Maggie found another file within the main one. This one was different. It had records of Lily’s meetings with Sir Walter Mosley, the leader of Britain’s Fascist Party, and her trips to Nazi Germany. There were photos of her with Unity and Diana Mitford, at a British Fascist party rally, giving a Nazi salute; one of her at the 1937 Nuremburg Rally, at Hitler’s side; one of her with Julius Streicher, publisher of Der Sturmer newspaper.

Oh, Lily, Lily, Maggie thought. Who were you? How did you get caught up in all this?

The items in the folder were letters. There was a handwritten note from Home Secretary John Andersen, calling for her “youthful indiscretion” not to be held against her and her MI-5 file destroyed. There were also notes from him, Neville Chamberlain, and Lord Halifax to the King, asking his Majesty to give Lily a place at court—and keep her past a secret.

No wonder MI-5 wanted me to get these files. Still, what about Louisa? So she went back to the cabinet and pulled Louisa’s file as well. She brought it back to the desk. Louisa had attended the Institut Alpin Videmanette, a Swiss finishing school, and made her debut. Her file resembled Lily’s in its aristocratic banality. However, there was no additional folder, nothing to implicate her in any way.

Maggie heard a noise in the hall. Damn. What was that? Maggie checked her small watch. It was 3:15 a.m.—surely no one was up.

She flipped another page and snapped a photo.

The noise was footsteps.

Flipped another page. Snap.

They were coming closer.

Snap.

If someone found her, what would she say? Maggie considered as she kept working, her hands trembling.

Keep working, she thought. Just a few more pages.

And then, Done!

Quickly, she put the files back in place, locked the drawer, put the keys and camera back in her bag, turned off the desk light, and then dove underneath the desk, curling herself up into a small ball in the kneespace.

She heard the lock pop and the door creak open. Someone’s here!

Maggie willed her pulse to slow and her breathing to be silent.

There were footsteps approaching. A light came on, and Maggie blinked her eyes against the sudden brightness. From her vantage point under the desk, she could see Gregory’s polished wingtip shoes. He approached the desk and stopped.

She thought her heart would burst from the strain. Surely he could hear her breathing?

In sounds that seemed amplified, Maggie heard him unstop one of the bottles on his desk and pour himself a drink, the liquid splashing into the glass. She realized that if she wanted to, she could reach out and untie his shoelace.

Not that she would, of course.

The moment felt like hours, but finally the door swung shut and Maggie heard the lock slide into place.

Maggie stayed underneath the desk, unmoving. I’ll stay here as long as I need to. In the inky black darkness, her heartbeat resumed a normal tempo.

A feeling of triumph suffused her, warm and glowing. I did it, she thought.

I did it!

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, at a tiny newsstand not too far from Boswell’s Books, Maggie saw Nevins, paging through Men Only magazine. She approached.

Maggie looked through the titles and busied herself flipping through a copy of National Geographic. The newsstand’s proprietor was overseeing a delivery in the back.

“The mission was a success,” she said quietly.

“Terrific. Hand over the film, darling,” Nevins said.

“No,” Maggie said, not looking up from the pages.

Nevins spun around to face her. “No? Do I need to remind you this is my operation? Now give me the damn film.”

She looked up. Slowly. “Look, Nevins,” she said, appraising him, “This isn’t going to work.”

“Darling, I’m your superior officer. I give the orders. You follow them.”

“I’m the one with the film, Nevins. I’m the one with access to the castle. I’m the one who almost got caught taking these photos. And I’m the one questioned because I was spotted talking to you—you, who felt the need to just stop by and say hello to your ‘darling’ out in the open and without a pretext. Yes—we were seen, and I was questioned about it.”

Maggie squared her shoulders and looked him in the eyes, deadly serious. “I’ve realized something recently, Nevins. I’m the one with the power. You need me. Frain needs me. My days of blindly following orders are over. Especially orders from someone like you, who’s all ego and no integrity.”

Nevins’s jaw dropped. “Bitch!”

Maggie’s nostrils flared with contempt. “Tell Mr. Frain that if Agent Thompson isn’t on the other end of the pickup, he’s not getting this film.”

“But, but—” Nevins spluttered. “Thompson’s a nothing, a nobody!”

“He’s an infinitely better agent than you.” Maggie put down her magazine and smiled. “As far as I’m concerned—you’re fired.”

When maths lessons with Lilibet were over, there was a knock at the nursery door. It was Margaret, eyes