“Oh dear!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Then you are truly an orphan. I’m only a half orphan. I think you’re the first whole orphan I’ve ever met. Fascinating!”

At that moment there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Mrs. Dobkins entered again and curtsied to the princess.

Shafts of sunlight were pouring through the windows and striped the floor. It had been close to dawn when Rose had arrived. There had been a quietness found only in those earliest hours. Now birdsong strung the air. She could hear it through the glass.

Mrs. Dobkins nodded at the princess. “Milady, I have just received news that the Princess Mary shall be arriving by luncheon. So, with Your Highness’s permission, I might send Rose in to inspect that chamber and dust it up a bit.”

Princess Elizabeth’s face tightened. Her delicate features turned sharp. Her dark eyes became darker and as hard as agates.

“She can inspect her quarters, but she is in no way whatsoever to serve Princess Mary. Is that understood?” She glared at Mrs. Dobkins, then turned toward Rose. “Understood, Rose? As a matter of fact, I do not want you anywhere near me when Princess Mary is around. She has a tendency to take things that are mine.” The princess paused. “And you are mine!”

The words stung in Rose’s ears as she curtsied and left the room. “You are mine”? What does that mean?

How many times had Rose’s mom insisted that she clean her room before watching television or going out with a friend? “Your room, Rose. It’s a complete disaster. You must clean it up. It will be condemned! I found a half-eaten Snickers bar on your desk from who knows when. You want to attract mice?”

Cleaning up her room was boring, but cleaning this one was not, and there were definitely no Snickers bars, although she found traces of mice. There were fabrics she had never seen. Gilded furniture and ornaments. There was a dressing table with a pearl-studded mirror. But not much clutter at all.

So it took Rose no time at all to clean the chamber that Princess Mary would be using. She plumped pillows, swept the hearth. Then, standing on a footstool with a broom, she brushed down the heavy curtains. She’d once helped her mom do this in a house she was about to put on the market, for her real estate business. No one had thought of brushing these curtains at Hatfield. She had to re-sweep the floor after she had finished with them. Rose knew she was not the tidiest person on Earth, but the hygiene habits of these people—royal people—left something to be desired. Imagine only washing your underwear every few months!

She began wiping the leaded windowpane. “Hello!” a familiar voice hissed.

“Franny!”