“With all due respect, I am pretty sure the sight of you scared the shit out of him,” I said, perching across from her in front of the bedroom fireplace on the large, tufted ottoman that we used as a coffee table. “Why didn’t you call ahead? I would at least have taken a shower.”
Eleanor shrugged. “It was a whim. I am a deeply whimsical person.” She cleared her throat. “I assume you’re recovered from…the unpleasantness,” she said, but her tone was gentle.
“Almost back to normal,” I said. “Thank you for visiting me at the palace. I was really touched.”
“Nonsense.” Eleanor waved her hand at me, as if to flick aside the gratitude. “You were on my way.”
Eleanor had come down while I was in recovery, sat by my bed for about ten seconds, and then stood up and said, “How tedious. I don’t know how you managed it with me.” I had assumed this was a Valium dream until Nick told me that she had seemed worried.
“It may not have been a big deal to you, but you were the first face I saw that didn’t give me bad news, so I appreciated it,” I told her now.
Eleanor allowed a small smile to cross her lips before glancing around with renewed interest. “If I remember correctly, this was all mustard yellow and orange,” she said.
I shook my head. “Florals. Lots of them. None of them matched.”
“She must have redecorated since I was last in here,” Eleanor said. “I suppose it was, oh, 1972.”
“That long?”
Eleanor folded her hands in her lap. Her right one still didn’t want to close all the way. “I see you kept that ridiculous monogram in the main entry.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to change it,” I said. “It felt like we’d be erasing her from existence. I don’t know what it was like here in 1972, but in 2015, it was crammed fuller than a museum. It probably could have been a museum.”
“Georgina always collected things,” Eleanor said. “Mementos. People.”
“But in the end, this was all she had, and we had to get rid of so much of it,” I said. “It felt like there should be a piece of her still here.”
Eleanor’s gaze went out the window. I wondered if she was imagining what might have been if the sisters had stayed close. If Georgina hadn’t made a play for her sister’s husband. If they’d let their differences die when Henry did.
“Do you still have those journals?” she asked suddenly.
“Of course. Do you want to see them?”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. I walked over to my dresser and opened up the drawer where they all lived. I glanced briefly at the doors to Sex Den. The letter and the mystery key had lived up there safely since I’d hidden them, but I couldn’t very well reveal it to her by bounding through the armoire to fetch them. I itched to ask her about the key, but this house had to have two hundred locks; the odds of anyone knowing what went where were as minute and slim as the key itself. Better to keep it to myself for now. All of it.
“The letter isn’t in here. I put that in the safe,” I said, figuring it was an acceptable white lie. “But I have all these.” I took out the weathered leather journals and brought them back to the Queen, resting them on the gold-painted table to her right. Eleanor picked one up, flipping through it idly, her hands stopping to trace Georgina’s penmanship—exuberant and round. She riffled the pages with her thumb, stopping at random and beginning to read out loud:
Ellie turned twelve today. It was sad really. Grandmummy was an absolute beast. We hardly see her except when she’s angry about something, and today it was Ellie. All through dinner Grandmummy kept saying things like, “Well, it’s clear the throne has to pass to this one,” and, “Since we’ve no other options for succession…” and poor Auntie Inge got so upset that she pretended she had a headache so she could leave. I don’t blame her. It’s not her fault she couldn’t have babies! And it only got worse. After dinner, Grandmummy cleared everyone out except Ellie, but of course I peeked through the door and saw Grandmummy telling Ellie she didn’t hold her fork well, didn’t sit properly, didn’t listen prettily enough, didn’t chew gracefully. (!!) Ellie stared at the floor. “Don’t be weak, on top of it all,” Grandmummy said. “We must toughen you up.” And then she made Ellie put a book on her head and walk back and forth across the room for thirty whole minutes, and Ellie didn’t say a word, she just quietly did it over and over. Mummy wouldn’t do a thing to stop it. I was so cross. El was sobbing in bed later, her neck was so sore. I climbed in and started to rub it for her and she said, “I’m going to fail at this,” and I told her that she won’t because she’s the strongest person I know. I’ve never seen anyone stand there and endure Grandmummy so well. I’d have thrown a tea service at the old bat! Ellie might be the toughest one of all of us. She can do anything. In fact, I
Eleanor stopped and closed the book with a thump. Her left pointer finger tapped the top of her right hand. She said nothing.
“This must be hard for you,” I offered.
“Frederick’s interview is today,” she said, instead. “With the BBC.”
“I know,” I said. “He sequestered himself to get ready for it.”
“You should be there. Both of you,” Eleanor said.
“Is it open to us?”
“My grandmother would have said a true sign of character is when you can weather something completely alone.” She shook her head, standing up and trying to stretch her right side without appearing
