“Leave tomorrow?” I asked, looking from one face to the other. “But what about closing up the house? What about me?”

“We thought you could do that for us,” Fig said. “Since you’ve now had experience with this kind of thing. We can trust you to make sure the servants pack everything up and leave the place properly cleaned, can’t we? And then you can drop off the keys at Binky’s club.”

“And I’m supposed to go where, exactly?”

Binky smiled. “I told you I’d work something out for you, didn’t I? Well, I had a word with Her Majesty’s secretary. A good chap. His younger brother was at school with me—and the upshot is that HM wants you to call on her tomorrow morning.”

The queen? What on earth could she want with me? Certainly not to pay my fare to France. Binky would have been too proud to have mentioned his current impecunious state. And I was also sure she didn’t want me to come live at the palace. I began to feel like Alice in Wonderland, falling down a rabbit hole and watching everything become curiouser and curiouser.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

January 17, 1933
Binky and Fig leave for Riviera. I’m due to go to
Buckingham Palace at ten. I wonder what HM has in store
for me? Wonder what I should wear? Oh, dear.

I awoke to chaos. I had grown used to Queenie forgetting to bring my morning tea and biscuits, either oversleeping or being so engrossed in her own breakfast that she didn’t notice the time. I got up, hearing strange sounds downstairs—raised voices, someone crying and the sound of heavy objects crashing. If we’d been at the castle in Scotland I might have assumed that a warring clan had invaded or at the very least people were getting ready for a hunt or a shoot, but one hardly hunts in London. I fumbled for my dressing gown, then I opened my door and looked out.

A footman and maid were struggling downstairs bumping a large trunk between them.

“Careful with that.” Fig’s sharp voice rose over the wailing as the trunk was added to the mountain of luggage piled in the front hall. “Is the taxi here yet, Binky?” Then she turned to Podge. “Nanny, for heaven’s sake make him stop crying. The noise is giving me a headache. Podge, you’re letting the family down by crying like that in front of the servants.”

I spotted my nephew, Podge (whose real name is Hector Hamish Robert George, Viscount Garry), clinging to Nanny and howling. He noticed me at the same moment, broke away from Nanny and started up the stairs toward me. “Auntie Georgie, I’ve got to go on a train to another country and they won’t let me take my soldiers with me.”