Princess Elizabeth's Spy

balance before sitting down, hard.

“Finally!” Gregory shouted into the wind. Boothby grinned.

Two German officers emerged from the hatch. “Ihr habt’s geschafft!” one called.

“Noch ein Bisschen! Werfe uns doch das Seil runter, es ist verdammt kalt!” Gregory shouted.

Maggie could understand what they were saying but found the German words and accent chilling.

They threw a rope out. Boothby maneuvered the small boat around until he could grasp it, then used it to pull them closer to the sub.

Maggie took a last look at the horizon, now beginning to turn a pearly gray, hoping against last hope for a rescue. With blinding disappointment, she turned her gaze from the horizon to her captors. She, Lilibet, and David were helped from the craft into the U-boat.

Inside, it was dim and humid and tight, with low ceilings and the stench of too many men in close quarters. The submarine’s engines made a dull roar, along with the hissing pipes. Every surface was covered with buttons and dials and pipes and handles and gauges.

They were taken by the Nazi crewmen through narrow passageways lit by fluorescent overhead lights to the ship’s brig, a small, low-ceilinged room, with two thin bunks built into the wall. The men left them and locked the door from the outside. The bolt slid into the lock with a resounding clang. Maggie’s nerves were stretched to breaking. She never thought they’d get to this point. Where’s your goddamn cavalry, Peter? Taking tea?

Lilibet went to one of the bunks and sat down, hard. She had dark circles under her eyes and she was biting her lower lip, in an obvious attempt not to cry. Maggie sat down beside her. “Are you all right?” she asked, putting a hand on the princess’s thin shoulder.

The girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve and drew herself up. “Quite all right, thank you,” she said.

“Good girl!” Maggie exclaimed, impressed by the girl’s bravery. She couldn’t afford a hysterical child now; they all had to keep their heads. “Now, look here—we’re alive. We’re together. And we will get out of this.”

“Not exactly the Saint Crispin speech, but it’ll do,” David managed. “You have a brilliant plan to get us out of this, I assume?”

“Ha!” she retorted, the strain of the day finally getting to her. Her mind swam, contemplating escape scenarios, none of which would work. She took deep breaths, trying not to panic, willing thoughts of Aunt Edith, of Hugh, of Sarah, of Chuck, of Nigel, of everyone she loved, out of her head—focusing on what needed to be done.

“Where are we, by the way?” David asked. “Do you know?”

“We’re off the coast of Mossley, near Grimsby,” Maggie said, grateful to focus on facts. “Gregory plans to take us both to Germany with him. Use us for information.”

“And, let’s be honest here—between us, we have quite a bit of information.”

Maggie nodded. “They—well, Audrey and Poulter, actually—had a plot to assassinate the King and kidnap Lilibet. They want to put Edward and Mrs. Simpson on the throne when the Nazis invade. The King survived with a flesh wound, but …”

“It’s my fault,” Lilibet said. “I knew better than to leave the nursery. But then Audrey said there was a phone call.” She cast her eyes down. “From Philip.” Her face turned red with shame at the memory.

“It’s not your fault,” Maggie said, thinking, No, it’s mine, I was the one who knew Audrey. I’m the one who was so blinded by Louisa that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. “I don’t want to hear you say that.”

“Without being overdramatic here, Magster, I’ll kill myself before I’d let them hand me over to the Nazis,” David said.

I know, Maggie thought, remembering his cyanide pill. And I would too. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She tried to keep her tone light. “They couldn’t get your briefcase without you.”

“Gregory’s an arsehole. Er, sorry,” he said to Lilibet.

“No,” the Princess said. “I agree. He is an arsehole.”

Maggie bit her lip to keep from laughing hysterically at the prim Princess swearing. Hysterical laughter was just as useless as tears. “We need to do anything it takes to stop this sub from reaching France.”

The submarine suddenly seemed to dip and then turn. The three of them put their hands up to their ears as the pressure changed.

“Who else knows we’re here?” David asked.

“Hugh’s back at the cottage, shot, but alive, I think. Not sure how long it will take him to get back, or even if he can.” Maggie’s heart lurched as she thought of Hugh in pain. “Frain knows we went to Mossley. And Mr. Churchill. They’ve alerted the Navy and Air Force.” And a fat lot of good they’ve been to us. “But out here, we can’t depend on them to save us. How much do you know about U-Boats?”

“A fair amount. I know that there are any number of security measures in place that will keep us from reaching the cockpit,” he said, trying the door, which refused to budge, “even if we could get out of here.” He gestured with his briefcase-handcuffed hand. “I wish I could get rid of this.”

“We’re probably about twenty minutes from France, if that,” Maggie said, considering. It was hot in the room, hot and steamy. She was covered in sweat and a few beads started to trickle from her hairline down her face. She struggled to think of something—anything—that could save them. Think, Maggie, think. You have to get this tin can up to the surface. Nothing’s going to do that unless there’s some sort of emergency. … 

She looked heavenward, the only sound the steady, rhythmic pulse of the engines.

“We don’t have time to pray, Magster.”

“No,” Maggie said. “Look up. At the ceiling.”

David and Lilibet both did. Next to the fluorescent light was a sprinkler, attached to a long, thin pipe. “Feueralarm—” Maggie read in German.

“—fire alarm,” David finished, knowing what she had in mind. With his free hand, he fished through his trouser pockets, as Lilibet watched with wide eyes.

They were trapped now, they really were. If this didn’t work, it would be time to plan what they would do when they reached France. Maggie saw terror in David and Lilibet’s faces. She hoped that they didn’t see the fear in hers.

“I know, it’s a filthy habit.” David tried to smile, coming up with a box of matches, from the Langham Hotel in London.

“A wonderful habit!” Maggie cried. “ ‘How about a little fire, Scarecrow?’ “ She winked at Lilibet, forcing gaiety for the girl’s sake.

David took the thin gray sheets from the beds and placed them in the corner. “Well, ladies,” he said as he tried to light the wooden match. It was too hard with the briefcase.

“I’ll do it,” Maggie said, and she took the match and the box from him, lit the match, and threw it into the bedding, “I really hope this sets off a boat-wide sprinkler system and forces this sub to surface. Otherwise …”

The match smoldered, but then the flame caught. The fire burned brightly and the small cell was filed with smoke and heat.

If the sprinklers didn’t extinguish the fames, they’d be burned to a crisp within minutes—that is, if they didn’t suffocate from smoke inhalation. “Come on, come on,” Maggie muttered. I don’t want to die like this. Not on a sub, in a fire. I want to die at age a hundred and one, in my own bed, surrounded by grown children and fat grandbabies.…  The lights went out and dim red emergency lighting came on. An alarm sounded a series of low wails.

It was a long, long moment, but eventually the ceiling sprinkler began to trickle, then splutter, then finally spray water. The fire belched smoke, then sizzled out.

Maggie, Lilibet, and David waited, in silence broken only by the keen of the alarm. Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes, they felt the U-boat move. They held hands and swallowed hard as the sub seemed to rise up, up,