“We need the Bentley to be safely inside the Palace grounds when the exchange is made,” said Lady Matheson. “It can be traced to us.”

“You’ll be somewhere in the Palace in full view of people who can later confirm you were there, I imagine,” said Gwen.

“Of course. Some ceremonial function. I’m not even sure what it is.”

“Her Majesty is meeting with a delegation from the Land Girls,” said Mrs. Fisher promptly. “The press will be there.”

“How tedious,” said Lady Matheson. “But perfect. Let’s give you the money. Mrs. Fisher?”

Mrs. Fisher opened the courier bag and began piling stacks of twenty-pound notes on Gwen’s desk.

“I think this time, we had better count it and give you a receipt,” said Gwen.

“I have already counted it,” said Mrs. Fisher huffily.

“Nevertheless,” said Gwen, riffling through each stack quickly.

“Think how awkward it would be if we were on the verge of securing the letters and we were short,” said Iris, joining her. “Right, that’s a hundred.”

“And that’s a hundred fifty,” said Gwen. “Two hundred fifty times twenty is five thousand, received by The Right Sort for services rendered.”

She scribbled it down on a piece of paper, signed it, then handed it to Mrs. Fisher, who folded the receipt and put it in the courier bag. She then took out five more twenty-pound notes and handed them to Gwen.

“In case you thought we had forgotten,” said Lady Matheson.

“Not at all,” said Iris, resuming her window seat. “Not with the fearsome musculature of Iris Sparks looming over you.”

“Yes, I feel absolutely threatened right now,” said Lady Matheson.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a plain white envelope. She handed it to Iris, who opened it. Inside were several sheets of light blue onionskin, a lighter shade of blue than the one purportedly sent by “C.”

“Princess Alice’s letters?” asked Iris as she gently opened the first one.

“Yes.”

“‘My dear Great-Grandmother,’” began Iris. Then she looked up at Lady Matheson. “These were to Queen Victoria.”

“Yes. Take good care of them.” She glanced at her watch. “Not long now. Let’s see if our man is punctual. I do detest tardiness in a blackmailer.”

The four of them stared at the telephone on Iris’s desk, sneaking glances at their watches. The telephone ultimately gave in to the pressure and rang. Lady Matheson snatched up the handset.

“Lily here,” she said, holding the earpiece outwards. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I want to talk to the princess,” said a man’s voice, tinny and soft. The other three women leaned forwards and strained to follow it.

“I speak for her,” said Lady Matheson.

“You have the money.”

“I have the money, but you will see none of it unless you tell me what we are getting for it.”

“Love letters,” he said. “From and to Princess Alice, and her husband ain’t the other correspondent. They get awful steamy in places. You’d think a high-bred bird like her wouldn’t know those words.”