Princess Elizabeth's Spy by Susan Elia Macneal

Author:Susan Elia Macneal [MacNeal, Susan Elia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-553-90757-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-10-16T05:00:00+00:00

By the time Maggie returned to the castle, snow was falling in earnest and a light dusting had collected on the ground. As she walked up the gravel path, her feet making crunching noises in the still, cold air and the bells from St. George’s Chapel clanging, she saw that a truck had pulled up in front of the castle’s entrance. In the back was an enormous evergreen from the Great Park, at least twenty-two feet tall and nearly as wide at the tree’s foot—the Royal Christmas tree. How appropriate, Maggie thought, since the first Christmas tree in England was the one Prince Albert brought to Windsor Castle from Germany.

Mr. Tooke was overseeing the men untying the ropes and wrestling with it. He caught Maggie’s eye and lifted his tweed cap. “Hello, Mr. Tooke!” Maggie called. She recognized her winking footman, out of uniform. “Hello,” she said to him. “It’s silly to keep seeing each other and not be introduced. I’m Maggie Hope.”

“George Poulter,” he said, tipping his cap. “How d’you do?”

“Have you been at Windsor long, Mr. Poulter?”

“Came with Lord Gregory. Lord Gregory Strathcliffe? I used to be his manservant back in the day, at his family’s estate. That was before the injuries, of course. He found me a place at Windsor Castle when he came, he did. Good man, Lord Gregory.”

“Yes,” Maggie said, thoughtful. “Yes, he is.”

Inside, the castle was a buzz of activity. Servants arranged boughs of evergreen on fireplace mantels, releasing their sharp, piney smell. There was holly as well, with glossy leaves and bright red berries. Even through the corridors were as long and cold as ever, the decorations lent a homey touch to the place. Maggie was amused to see that, where grand oil paintings used to hang, large posters for Sleeping Beauty, featuring Lilibet and Margaret’s artwork, were displayed.

Maggie made her way to the vast Waterloo Chamber, where the stage was set up. The room was magnificent: a soaring clerestory ceiling, paneled walls decorated with lime-wood carvings by Grinling Gibbons, an enormous Indian carpet.

Lilibet and Margaret were rehearsing the final ballroom scene with the other children, the sons and daughters of the castle’s staff. “Stop it, Margaret,” Maggie heard. It was Lilibet, her high, sweet voice echoing through the vast chamber. “You’re stepping on my toes.”

“Oooooh, wouldn’t want to step on the Royal Toesies, now, would we?” Margaret retorted.

Crawfie clapped her hands. “All right, children,” she said in her Scottish lilt. “Let’s take a break, shall we? Audrey’s setting up tea and biscuits in the nursery—come back in half an hour, please.”

Maggie walked forward to Crawfie, standing near the platforms of the makeshift stage. “How goes it?”

“Oh, Maggie.” Crawfie sighed. “I’d be better off directing corgis, for as much as the children listen … and the performance is in less than two weeks.”

“That’s quite a bit of time—I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Maggie assured the woman.

“The sets look fantastic,” Crawfie said.

“Thank you. The girls and Gregory are responsible.”

“Oh, but the shading—it really

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