‘Thank you.’
‘I’d just like to say that, as I am now the eldest of your attendants, if you would like me to take the role of your maid of honour, I would be honoured to do so.’
‘That really is kind of you, Violet, and I am sure I will be in need of your help. I tried on the tiara I will wear at the wedding, and goodness knows how I will stand its weight,’ Flora said, touched by her offer.
Violet sat down on Flora’s bed and surveyed her as she prepared for dinner downstairs.
‘Flora?’
‘Yes, Violet?’
‘Can I be truthful with you?’
‘That depends.’
‘Well, don’t think I’m being rude, but you look perfectly misérable at present. Are you not looking forward to being married?’
‘Of course I am, but like any girl, I am nervous.’
‘Do you love Freddie?’
Something about Violet’s bluntness deserved an honest reply. ‘I . . . don’t know him well enough to love him. But I am sure I will in time.’
‘I think I shall simply refuse to get married. I would far prefer to remain a spinster than have to marry someone I don’t love. Everyone says to me that I’ll change, but I know I won’t. Not like Vita . . .’ Violet’s expression darkened. ‘She is such a turncoat.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She makes her debut this summer and all she can talk of is her new gowns and the young men who are already calling on her at Knole. And after all she said to me . . .’
‘People do change, Violet. Sometimes the world just can’t be as we wish it to.’
‘When I was younger, I believed in fairy tales, did you?’
‘Every child does.’
‘Maybe it’s been different for me: I grew up with a mother who wears a tiara and spends her holidays with the King of England. I have always been treated like a princess. Why should I grow up and believe differently? I just . . .’ – Violet sighed and stretched dramatically – ‘want to be with the one I love. Is that wrong?’
‘No.’ Flora swallowed hard. ‘Or at least, it’s not wrong to want it. Whether it actually happens is a different story.’
‘And not a fairy tale.’ Violet sat up and swung her legs off the bed.
‘Maybe not everyone deserves a happy ending,’ Flora replied, mostly to herself.
‘Well.’ Violet stood up and walked across to the door. ‘I do.’
With that, she left the room, and Flora thought back to the girl she had once been at Esthwaite, who had believed in fairy tales too.
On a rainy day at the beginning of May, Flora was called to Mrs Keppel’s parlour.
‘Please leave us,’ Mrs Keppel snapped at the parlour maid. ‘We do not wish to be disturbed.’
A startled Mabel scurried from the room and Flora wondered what had happened. She had never seen Mrs Keppel be anything other than polite to her staff.
‘Please, sit down.’
Flora did so and Mrs Keppel walked to the fire, took the poker from its stand and attacked the burning embers viciously. ‘It is cold in here, even though it is already May, don’t you think? And the King, so I am told, has caught another chill. Yet, guess where he dines tonight? At the Keyser woman’s home! He goes to play bridge with her when he is newly returned to London. What he sees in her, God only knows. Forgive me, Flora,’ Mrs Keppel said, sitting down. ‘Perhaps it is inappropriate to talk to you of my concerns, but who else can it be?’
Flora had no idea who the ‘Keyser woman’ was, but guessed that perhaps Mrs Keppel was not the only one of the King’s female ‘companions’. ‘Can I pour you a sherry?’ she offered lamely.
‘Perhaps a brandy will be better. Like the King, I am quite chilled. Normally, of course, he leaves straight from France for his Mediterranean cruise. But given the current political crisis, he has had to return home sooner, or those who are eager to will criticise his absence. And where is his wife? She has left him behind and is cruising the Greek isles! Is there no woman who truly cares for the poor man?’
Flora handed her the requested brandy and Mrs Keppel put a shaking hand around it. ‘Thank you, my dear. Forgive me for not being myself.’
‘I hardly think your concern for the King’s well-being is in need of forgiveness.’
‘So many in this town have had an axe to grind against me for my relationship with Bertie, but none of it was out of selfishness. It’s simply because I love the man. Is that a crime?’
‘I don’t believe so, no.’
‘Yes, he has made mistakes,’ Mrs Keppel continued, setting down the glass, ‘but when one is told by one’s mother that one is not fit to walk on the very earth that his father trod, and then his rightful place as king is denied him because she simply did not trust him to take her place, what kind of legacy does that give any child, let alone the Prince of Wales? What was he to do for all these years as he sat idle, waiting to take up his natural role? And all because of her blind love for his “perfect” father. Let me tell you, Flora, no human being is perfect. Bertie has suffered so much from her constant disdain of him.’
Flora was shocked at Mrs Keppel’s diatribe. She had been born under the reign of Queen Victoria, the most powerful sovereign in Christendom, the very essence of motherhood, with her enormous family and her loving husband. What Mrs Keppel was saying was in such contrast to Flora’s own Madonna-like image of the old Queen, she could not take it in.
‘And now, having spent every ounce of himself proving to the world that he could be a good king, he is simply exhausted, and his health is failing fast. Flora’ – Mrs Keppel grabbed her hand, the cold fingers squeezing her own – ‘I fear for his life. I really do.’
‘Surely there are many who watch over him and care for him at the Palace?’
‘You would be surprised. Bertie is surrounded by weak men and women who will only do his bidding, who live to please him or whoever holds the seat of power. To be close to a sovereign is to learn that, despite the numerous people who seem to care, it is truly the loneliest position on earth.’
Flora only caught a glimpse of Mrs Keppel through the nursery window the following evening as she left the house, the feathers on her large velvet hat positively shuddering with each agitated step. Violet joined her at the window, Panther in her arms.
‘Mama has been very odd lately. Is Kingy unwell again?’
Flora kept her tone light. ‘I am sure everything is quite all right.’
Flora did not see Mrs Keppel at all the following day; she was either out, or keeping to her private rooms. She could only hope that the King was not suffering another attack of the bronchitis he had endured in Biarritz.
The next morning, as she was walking downstairs with Sonia to enjoy the glorious May sunshine and sketch the burgeoning delphiniums in the park opposite, she met Mrs Keppel in the entrance hall.