Princess Elizabeth's Spy

her fingers to her lips, smiled, and shook her head. She undid the red ribbon and took off the paper.

In a small silver frame, there was a watercolor portrait of her. While the colors were delicate, her features were defined and strong, vibrant and alive.

Oh, Hugh, she thought. It’s beautiful. Really beautiful. And you really shouldn’t have. She felt pardoned for all of the sins of the past, although whether she felt she deserved Hugh’s forgiveness was another matter.

She put the painting on the mantel, smiling.

There was a knock at the door. It was Polly. “Oh, here you are!” she said. Her fair, round face was flushed with excitement and drink. “You just disappeared. We were wondering where you’d gone.” Polly gave a sly smile. “And with whom.” She plopped down on Maggie’s sofa. “David—it’s David, isn’t it?—is quite the dish.”

Oh, if only Polly knew. “Not my type,” Maggie said. “So, what are you doing up here?” she asked. “Although of course I’m delighted to see you.”

“One of the old Admirals keeps trying to pinch my cheek. Can you imagine? And then he suggested we ‘take a walk.’ Please—he’s old enough to be my father. I’d rather be with someone like David. Or even Gregory, for that matter.” Polly looked up at the painting on the mantel.

“My goodness,” she said, getting up and going over to the fireplace and picking up the picture in the frame. “Is that you? Very nice.”

Maggie nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It was a Christmas gift.”

“It’s beautiful,” Polly said. Then, “I’ve got my chocolate ration from the last few weeks hidden away in my room—want to share? I’m in the mood for a bit of a binge.”

Maggie smiled. “No. Thanks, though. I should probably get back to David, anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Polly said. “More chocolate for greedy me.”

Back in Gregory’s office, David had been set up to work at the desk, and Gregory had mixed and poured him the promised martini. When Maggie arrived, Gregory raised his glass. “I haven’t had the chance to say it before, but you do look beautiful tonight. And, again, sorry about before.”

“Oh, the Magster always cleans up well,” David interjected from the desk chair.

“You did, actually,” she said, “but thank you.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “Haven’t you had enough to drink tonight?”

“Hardly,” Gregory said. “I’m British—it’s what we do.”

David smiled. “Cheers to that, old man,” he said, clinking his glass with Gregory’s.

Maggie noticed something in the air, an electric connection between the two men. Perhaps Gregory’s interested in boys as well as girls? He certainly does seem drawn to David. “Then why don’t I leave you two Oxford blues to your martinis?” she said.

“Well, we’ll miss you terribly, of course. But I’m happy to show David where everything is,” Gregory said.

I bet you are. “Of course,” Maggie said. “Good night, you two.”

Maggie decided to swing by the nursery, to see how the girls were getting on with their rehearsals. She was pleased to see the corgis look up from their pillows and thump their tails in greeting.

“Oh, Maggie!” Margaret cried, “we keep forgetting our lines! And then Lilibet forgot her sword—the sword!— can you imagine?” She giggled. “How can you cut through the briars if you don’t have a sword?”

“A bad dress rehearsal means a good performance—at least that’s what I’ve heard,” Maggie said. “And how are you holding up, Crawfie?”

“It’s all very exciting, but I admit I’ll be relieved when it’s over,” she said, as the girls went on with their rehearsal. “To perform in front of the King and Queen—not to mention the Prime Minister.…”

“It will be fantastic, Crawfie,” Maggie said. “Don’t forget that the King and Queen, and Mr. Churchill, for that matter, are parents. The children can do no wrong in their eyes.”

“I do hope you’re right, Maggie.”

“Have you—” Maggie began, “Have you noticed anything unusual these past days?”

“Only that I’ve found a few new gray hairs.”

“Well, I’ll be backstage with you all during the performance,” Maggie said. “Just to make sure the scenery changes go smoothly.”

“At least something will go smoothly, then.”

In their spacious office at Abwehr, Torsten Ritter threw a paper airplane at Franz Krause. It hit him on the left temple.

“Allmachtiger! What’s your problem?” Ritter said.

“No problem—good news, actually—radio message from Wodanaz. He’s got something for us—important documents—and wants extraction. We can combine his pickup with Operation Edelweiss,” Krause replied.

Ritter knit his brows. “We’re going to need to coordinate, then. Logistical nightmare really.”

Krause gave him a wide, white-toothed smile. “We can do it. After all, we’re Germans—we’re nothing if not efficient.”

“I’ll radio Captain Vogt and tell him to ready U-two-forty-six for guests,” Ritter said.

Krause smiled even wider. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That if we can pull this off we’ll get promoted?”

“Exactly.”

Ritter turned serious. “Just pray that Operation Eidelweiss goes as well, or else.…”

“Becker will be pissed.”

“Not just Becker. I’m worried about Hess.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Day two of the Red, White and Blue Christmas.

After Maggie had woken up, gotten dressed, and begun the long trek to the nursery, she heard the sound of a radio coming from the breakfast room and stood by the door to listen to the BBC report on the wireless, detailing the previous night’s Luftwaffe raid on London. There were also details of the Prime Minister’s radio address, which he’d made from his makeshift office at Windsor, to the people of Italy, blaming Benito Mussolini for leading his nation to war against the British, in the face of Italy’s historic friendship with them: “One man has arrayed the trustees and inheritors of ancient Rome upon the side of the ferocious pagan barbarians.”

Maggie looked in to see guests from the previous evening’s banquet now helping themselves to breakfast from silver chafing dishes set up on large sideboards. Most were dressed in hunting attire: red coats, pale breeches, and glossy black boots. Louisa was there as well, in the requisite uniform accented with a yellow vest and a strand of gray pearls. She called to Maggie, “Coming along?”

“Back to work for me, I’m afraid,” Maggie replied.

Louisa frowned as she contemplated the idea of “work.” She looked up as Marion arrived and beckoned her over.

Like on obedient puppy, Marion obeyed. “Have you ever chased the wily red creatures, Maggie?” Marion asked, plump cheeks aglow in anticipation of the hunt.

“No,” Maggie said. For she hadn’t—and had no wish ever to do so.

“Oh, it’s great fun,” she enthused. “So exhilarating.”

“Probably not for the wily red creatures.”

Louisa was nonplussed. “Well, these days we’re hunting more for meat than for sport. Deer season, don’t you know. Survival of the fittest.”

Gregory, helping himself to a Bloody Mary, caught sight of Maggie, and meandered over to meet the ladies. “Good morning!”

“We British are a bloodthirsty lot beneath our formality,” Louisa added.