“Hush, Margaret,” Elizabeth scolded.
But Lady Westfield was focused on the card. “The Lovers represent perfection—harmony. There is mutual attraction, yes, but it’s their trust in one another that gives them the strength and confidence to overcome the obstacles in life. The bond between them is incredibly strong—not necessarily marriage, but still a powerful connection.”
“Weren’t you stepping out with Hugh Thompson when you were with us?” Margaret interjected, giving Durgin a sideways look. “We rather liked Mr. Thompson, didn’t we, Lilibet?”
Maggie smiled at the use of Elizabeth’s childhood nickname. “That was a long time ago,” she said, remembering how Hugh had once taken a bullet to the leg to save the Princess from a kidnapper.
Lady Westfield put the card down. “The Lovers card also represents choices on a grand scale. A dilemma may be presented to you in the near future that demands an action or a decision—and you’ll need to make the right choice.”
Lady Westfield gazed at Maggie. “Something is going to happen, something big, that will change the course of your experience—something that may seem negative at first, but will later prove to be a blessing in disguise.
“If you find yourself at a crossroads where you must choose between taking the moral high ground or low, then you need to consider all consequences before acting. The Lovers card tells you your own values will be challenged, and you must make a definite decision.”
“All right, then!” Maggie said with a breeziness she didn’t quite feel. Nothing more than a parlor game…
Lady Westfield looked concerned. “Are you all right, Miss Hope? Would you like me to stop?”
“No, no—go on. Please.”
The second card Lady Westfield turned over was the Priestess. The illustration was of a seated woman in midnight-blue robes, her feet resting on a golden crescent, a smaller crescent adorning her brow, and a silver cross at her throat. She was sitting in front of a tree, holding a book in her hands.
The card was upside down.
“Interesting,” Lady Westfield mused. “The reverse Priestess. The High Priestess sits at the gate of great Mystery, as indicated by the Tree of Life. She sits between the darkness and the light, represented by the pillars of Solomon’s temple, which suggests she will mediate a passage between life and death. In her lap, she holds the half-revealed and half-concealed Torah, representative of the exoteric and the esoteric teachings and higher knowledge. The moon under her left foot shows her dominion over pure intuition.”
“Why is she upside down?” Maggie asked, trying not to let her voice betray her growing apprehension. “What does that mean?”
“The High Priestess reversed can signify you don’t hear your inner voice. Your intuition’s calling out to you, but for some reason you won’t listen. You may be a highly intuitive person, but also someone who’s lost the connection at some point.” Her eyes met Maggie’s. “You need to get that connection back.”
“I told you,” Durgin said, leaning back behind Princess Margaret to whisper in her ear, “you have to pay attention to the gut.”
“Oh, please,” Maggie protested, but she didn’t pull away from him. She tried to brush off the feeling that, somehow, Lady Westfield might be right.
Lady Westfield turned over the third card. It was the Devil.
The illustration showed the Devil with the face and torso of a man, but the horns of a goat and the legs of a bull. The Blackout Beast, Maggie thought. The feelings of comfort she’d felt in the protection of Buckingham Palace vanished. She had a sudden vision of Brynn dancing with the Beast.
As Princess Margaret gasped, a tree branch banged at the glass of the window and they all froze. Lilibet gave a small laugh, then put a hand over her mouth.
Lady Westfield was undisturbed. “If you notice, the Devil has the wings of a vampire bat, an animal that sucks the lifeblood out of its prey. Above him is an inverted pentagram, signifying the darker side of magic and occultism.
“At the foot of the Devil stand a man and a woman, both naked and chained to the podium on which the Devil sits. They appear to be held here, against their will, but closer observation reveals that the chains around their necks are loose and could be easily removed. The dark and doorless cave implies the Devil dwells in the most inaccessible realm of the unconscious, and only crisis can break through the walls. There’s a great confrontation coming—”
Elizabeth noticed Maggie’s pallor. She poked at her sister’s shoulder. “Margaret, why don’t we do our pantomime scene for the guests? That might be fun.”
“Oh, Lilibet, I don’t want to—I want to know more about this Devil! I don’t even remember all my lines—”
“We’ll do Sleeping Beauty then. You’re sleeping the whole scene and don’t have any lines. Come.” Princess Elizabeth’s voice was commanding.
As the young royals performed their scene, Durgin slid over to sit closer to Maggie. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she whispered back, her knee brushing his. “It’s all superstitious nonsense.”
“Whatever you say.”
When the Princesses were done, there was applause. The older woman with the heavy makeup went to the piano and began to play Purcell.
Two of the officers ambled over and pretended to listen to the music. Then, “You’re not serving in the military?” one asked, taking in Durgin’s police uniform.
“I was too old for the original call to arms—and I find more than enough battles to fight to keep people safe from harm here in London.”
The first officer raised his eyebrows at Durgin’s accent, and the second leaned in. “But you have to admit, the Nazis are pure evil. What goes on in London can hardly compare.”
Maggie could see a muscle in Durgin’s jaw begin to twitch. “Unfortunately, there’s plenty of malevolence thriving in London.”
The first man reached over and, with fake joviality, clapped Durgin on the shoulder. “Why don’t you do something for us, Detective? Can you play the piano? Recite a poem?”
Maggie hated, truly hated, the English aristocracy in that moment. “You don’t have to—” she began.
“Oh no. I’m delighted,” Durgin said in a tone that sounded anything but.
When he walked to the fireplace and turned to face his audience, there was silence. He swallowed. Then, taking a deep breath, he began to sing in a rich baritone:
“Oh, the summertime is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?
“And we’ll all go together
To pluck wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?”
As he sang, the Queen, originally from Angus in Scotland, leaned forward, her eyes shining. When he began to sing the refrain, she joined him, her voice silvery but strong:
“Oh, the summertime is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?”
There was silence, then enthusiastic applause. The Queen walked over to Durgin to thank him for the song. “That was my favorite when I was younger,” she told him. “And a perfect song for a winter night such as tonight. Thank you, Detective Chief Inspector, for the gift of your beautiful voice.”
Durgin gave a shy smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Er, ma’am.”
Once again, a branch thumped at the window and a stiff wind rattled the panes. The Queen moved to the blackout curtains and peeked out. “Why, it’s a blizzard out there!” she exclaimed. “There’s no visibility whatsoever!”
The King cleared his throat. “A b-b-blizzard in a b-blackout!”
The Queen put a dainty hand to her ample, jewel-covered bosom. “The King’s right,” she said. “London in both a storm and the blackout will be a veritable labyrinth. You all must stay. I insist.” She walked to her husband and took his hand. “We insist.”
“Huzzah!” cried Margaret. “Miss Hope will stay!”