Princess Elizabeth's Spy

“I know,” he said, as she kissed his neck. “Just a bit nervous is all.”

“We’ve been over it so many times,” she said, pushing him back on the bed. “You do your part and I’ll do mine.”

“And then?” He groaned as she massaged him, and then unbuttoned his fly.

“And then,” she said, climbing on top of him, “Commandant Hess has everything set up for our escape from this Godforsaken island.”

Captain Vogt finally received his orders. “Type, ‘Danke, Commandant Hess,’ “ Vogt said to his first mate, who tapped out Morse code to reply. “Then, ‘I’ll move her into position.’ “

In the deep, dark waters of the North Sea, U-246’s engines started up and the submarine began to move ever closer to the eastern British shore.

Chapter Twenty-five

All of the furniture had been taken out of the Waterloo Chamber and a stage had been erected, with platforms and backdrops, looking just as it had in Queen Victoria’s time, when she regularly had theatrical productions in the castle. Footlights and follow spots had been procured from London. The delicate gold chiavari chairs were now arranged in rows, with a long center aisle. It had been transformed into a theater.

In the nursery, the children were getting ready. Margaret was thrilled at the opportunity to wear stage makeup, not to mention her crinoline dress, white Marie Antoinette–style wig, and small black patch for a beauty mark. “Not too much lipstick!” Crawfie warned, as Margaret applied pink to her lips.

“But Crawfie,” Margaret protested, her eyes shining with excitement, “I need it, otherwise I’ll wash out under the lights. That’s what Maggie said. Didn’t you, Maggie?”

Maggie had, remembering her former flatmate Sarah’s elaborate makeup for her ballet performances. She looked over at Lilibet, who was sitting a little apart from everyone, her lips moving, going over her lines. The rest of the children in the cast were putting the finishing touches on their costumes, erupting in fits of giggles before shushing themselves.

“Girls,” Alah said, clapping her hands, “we have five more minutes to get ready. Then we’ll walk quietly to the Waterloo Chamber, where you will quietly get into your positions for the beginning of Act One. Quietly, let me add.”

Audrey knocked at the door and Alah let her in. “For the Princess Elizabeth, ma’am,” she said, holding out a bouquet of golden roses.

“For me?” Lilibet said, running over to claim them and reading the card. She clasped it tightly to her. Even dressed as Prince Charming, with sword and shield, she exuded a womanly glow.

“Are they from Daddy?” Margaret asked, her rouged face breaking into a pout.

“None of your business,” Lilibet replied, tucking the small card into her tunic.

“Probably from Philip, then,” Margaret announced to the room as Lilibet ignored her.

I have a bad feeling about this, Maggie thought, as they all walked from the nursery to the Waterloo Chamber. The Red, White, and Blue Christmas, with all of the guests, opened the castle up to more dangers. Maggie knew there was extra security, but still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was in the air, an off-tune vibration that was making her anxious. She peeked from behind the curtain, looking out into the audience, searching for … something. She shook her head. Keep your eyes open but don’t borrow trouble, she reminded herself, as the children got into their positions for Act I.

From backstage, Maggie watched as Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, Earls and Countesses filed in, the murmurs of conversation filling the room. Mr. Churchill was there, in the front row, of course, and then everyone stood as the King and Queen entered. When everyone was seated, the lights dimmed and the performance began.

Maggie needn’t have worried about the children’s acting abilities. Margaret shone as Briar Rose, first in her village girl dress, and then in a splendid satin Marie Antoinette–style gown and powdered wig for the finger-pricking scene. The other children were delightful in their roles. Lilibet was both heroic and dignified as the Prince in her velvet britches and lace jabot.

“It’s so much more fun with an audience!” Margaret exclaimed as they came offstage for her curtain call. “I wish I could really be an actress someday!”

“You all did a wonderful job, children,” Lilibet said to the assembled cast, still using the low tones of the prince. “Thank—”

There was a sudden bang.

Then a very loud pop.

Then a moment or two of horrific silence.

Backstage, everyone froze, listening. Then, from out front, the screaming began. Then the sound of people running, men shouting, “The King! The King!”

Maggie turned to Crawfie and Alah. “Watch the children while I see what’s happening!” She peeked around the flat of scenery. There were people milling about, shouting. The King was doubled over in pain, clutching at his shoulder. He and the Queen and Mr. Churchill were surrounded by Coldstream Guards, who began hustling them out. More Coldstream Guards were running through the ballroom, guns in hand.

“Who did it?” Maggie asked one of the guests, the woman she’d seen at the hunting breakfast.

“One of the footmen,” she answered breathlessly. “I didn’t see him shoot, but there was that horrible sound, and then the King bent over. Then we all saw him run.…”

Maggie realized the shooter was still at large in the huge castle. The Princesses. Maggie whirled and ran backstage.

“We have to get the children to the nursery!” she said to Crawfie and Alah. “Hurry!” Without another word, they surrounded all their charges and made their way out, back to the Lancaster Tower.

The King was taken to his study, where the royal physician was summoned to look after his wounds. “Put the castle into lockdown,” the King said, blue eyes blazing. “Find Lord Clive—he knows the protocol. No one goes in or out until we catch whoever did this.” Shock and anger seemed to have overpowered his stutter.

The Queen looked to the doctor. “He’s going to be fine, Your Majesty,” he assured her. “I know there’s a lot of blood, but the bullet just nicked the shoulder. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. Then she put a hand to her heart. “The girls!” she said, running to the door.

“Stop!” ordered the King. Then, in a softer tone, he said, “They’re fine, dear. Alah and Crawfie will take care of them.”

“I must go to them!” his wife wailed.

“No,” the King said. “There’s a shooter at large. We can’t risk it.”

The Queen went to the king’s desk and picked up the telephone. “The nursery,” she said into the receiver. “Hurry.” There was a long pause. Then, “Alah? The girls?” The Queen’s face lost some of its tensions. “Oh, thank goodness. And the other children?” Another pause. “And you and Crawfie?” She nodded to the king. “And Miss Hope?” After reassuring Alah that the King would be fine, the Queen spoke to both her daughters and told them that she loved them. Then she hung up the receiver.

“They’re all right,” the King said in soothing tones as the Queen began to cry. “You’ll see—everything is going to be all right.”

David had skipped the performance and was working in the Equerry’s office when Gregory arrived, out of breath. “Someone shot the King!” he cried, eyes wild.

“Merciful Zeus!” The blood drained from David’s face. “When? Where?”

“Just now in the Waterloo Chamber. The castle’s on lockdown. Nobody in or out.” Gregory’s eyes darted back and forth, as if following invisible ghosts.

“The P.M.—he’s …?”

“Fine,” Gregory answered, still out of breath. “The shooter hit the King, not sure how serious it is.” He pushed through the blackout curtains and let himself out through French doors, to a flagstone-paved terrace.

“Gregory?” David called. He put the contents of what he was working on in the briefcase and handcuffed it to