Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)

 

“Something came from the palace, I hear,” she said. “That was certainly rapid. They are able to fit you into the guest list then?”

 

“I don’t know. The letter is from the queen. She wants me to come to tea tomorrow.”

 

“Good heavens. From the queen herself? What could she possibly want to see you for?” She looked up as Binky joined us. “The queen has written to Georgiana,” Fig said in clipped tones. “She’s invited her to tea. We never get invited to tea at the palace, do we?”

 

“The queen is dashed fond of Georgie,” Binky said. “One noticed that when Georgie didn’t show up at Balmoral. She probably wants to hear all about her travels abroad.”

 

Oh golly. I hoped not. I didn’t want to have to tell someone like Queen Mary about the shenanigans that went on in Hollywood. She would not be amused, I was sure.

 

“You should do more to make our presence in London known, Binky,” Fig said. “Then we might receive more invitations. We should get out more. Be more social. Go to nightclubs and dine where we are seen.”

 

“All that takes money, old bean,” Binky said. “Something we have precious little of. Unless there is some of your legacy left after the central heating?”

 

“Oh, I don’t think there will be,” Fig said hastily.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

 

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31

 

Tea with the queen today. Oh golly. Please don’t let me spill anything or smash a priceless vase.

 

The next day I started to prepare for tea with the queen the minute luncheon was over. I agonized over what to wear. One should wear a tea dress to tea and I didn’t possess one. I had a few stylish items of clothing, courtesy of my mother, even though I had lost the best ones in a fire. Still, I was able to look presentable in a cashmere cardigan and gray jersey skirt she had bequeathed to me. I added a cream silk blouse and my good pearls. Pearls always go down well with royals. I was tempted to wear my mother’s cast-off fur coat but it was raining hard and I didn’t want to look like a drowned animal when I arrived at the palace.

 

It didn’t matter how many times I had been to Buckingham Palace, I still found the experience frightening. Those tall gilded iron gates and impossibly tall men guarding them were horribly intimidating. I knew there were side entrances into the palace from Buckingham Palace Road, but today I found them locked so I was forced to approach the gates and then cross the forecourt, sensing all those eyes watching me and feeling incredibly dowdy and unroyal in my mack. That forecourt was designed to be crossed in a carriage or a Daimler, preferably wearing a tiara—the person, I mean, not the conveyance.

 

I managed to reach the door without tripping over my umbrella or having the wind blow it inside out. So far so good. A footman helped me out of my mack and took my umbrella before I was led up the stairs to the piano nobile (or noble floor), which was the part of the palace where the royal family lived. I breathed a sigh of relief when we did not turn in the direction of the Chinese Chippendale Room this time. One of the queen’s favorite rooms, it was full of priceless Oriental antiques and I was always sure I’d knock over a Ming by mistake. Instead I was led to the right side of the house and the queen’s small private sitting room, overlooking the side gardens.

 

The footman knocked, then opened the door. “Lady Georgiana, Your Majesty.”

 

I stepped inside, carefully avoiding the footman’s foot, which I’d tripped over once before. Either my clumsiness was improving or I was learning from my mistakes. The queen was sitting in an armchair by the fire. She held out a hand to me.

 

“Georgiana, my dear. What a beastly day out there. Come and get warm.”

 

I took the hand and curtsied but didn’t attempt to kiss her cheek, as my hair and face were rather wet and there was a tea tray on a low table that I didn’t want to risk knocking over. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said and took the seat she indicated in the armchair across from her. “How good to see you looking so well.”

 

“I am in remarkably good health, thankfully,” she said, “unlike the poor king, whose health is not the best. He has been failing since that bout of pneumonia, Georgiana. I worry about him.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

 

“He missed you at Balmoral this year,” she said, giving me an accusatory frown. “We all did.”

 

I was clearly not going to live down my absence. “I was unfortunately in America with my mother in August.”

 

“America. How interesting. Such a busy sort of place, I found. Everyone rushing around.”

 

I nodded.