Battenberg cake. They had both wanted it as soon as they saw it on the menu.

“I’ve often wondered why they didn’t change the name to Mountbatten cake,” commented Gwen when it arrived. “If the Battenbergs were so sensitive about sounding German during the Great War that they took a new name, then the cake should have followed suit.”

“I had a birthday where they took sixteen Battenberg slices and arranged them into a chessboard, with dark and white chocolate chess pieces to play with,” said Iris.

“That sounds too wonderful to eat,” said Gwen.

“Oh, it was,” agreed Iris. “At first. Then my aunt Prunella challenged me to a game, the winner of which would get to eat the other’s king.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course,” said Iris. “It was my birthday. I figured out later that Prunella let me win quickly to break the spell and let us get to dessert.”

They dug in blissfully, then had tea.

“I’m not going to ask what you talked about, of course,” said Gwen. “But did you like him? Did you think it was worthwhile?”

“I liked him,” said Iris. “He knows when to challenge and when simply to listen. As to whether it’s worthwhile, time will tell. I hope he saves me from the asylum.”

“If he doesn’t, you can have my old room,” said Gwen.

“Nice view?”

“I don’t remember there being any view. Or any windows at all, for that matter. I think they were worried about me escaping. Or jumping.”

“Ah.”

“I was doing some thinking while you were at your appointment.”

“What about?”

“The timing of all this. We’ve been so focused on tracking down Talbot and the Greek royals that we haven’t stopped to consider why this is happening and, more important, why it’s happening now.”

“I’m listening.”

“This thing, this information in whatever form it’s in, has been around since 1926, assuming Talbot did bring it back from Corfu then.”

“Talbot only died last year. He kept it safe and secret.”

“But he died over a year ago, and nothing happened then. It’s not the sort of thing one leaves to an heir. I doubt his daughter got a package with a note saying, ‘Darling, use this for blackmail if you ever feel the need. All my love, Dad.’”

“No, he wouldn’t have done that,” agreed Iris. “I’ll bite. Why now?”

“Because of who our mysterious correspondent sent it to,” said Gwen. “Why, if it involves an old scandal of Princess Alice’s, wouldn’t he send it to her? And for that matter, who would care if she was involved in something back then? Where is she right now?”

“Athens, when she’s not visiting her family. In a small apartment. She was there all through the occupation.”

“That’s another thing,” said Gwen. “She was put into one sanatorium after another for years. Years! Even with all my troubles, I was in for half a year at most. You don’t go in for that length of time unless there’s something seriously wrong. Yet she was released, and has never gone back.”