I am still sleeping at 145, but I thought you’d like to see it.

I am so glad I came back early. There has been so much to do. I have the schoolroom at BP established now, which was no mean feat!

The new schoolroom is larger than the old one, but what it makes up for in size it loses in comfort. Everything is on a monumental scale here and the heating system can’t have been changed since Queen Victoria’s time. The radiators rattle and groan alarmingly. We have the fires lit, but when the winds moan, the draughty chimneys seem to suck all the warmth up to the clouds. I am very glad to have Scottish blood in my veins, and woollen socks on my feet!

Most of the furniture from 145 Piccadilly has been moved over to the Palace now and the staff are working all day to clean and refresh the royal apartments. It is beginning to look a bit more homely now, if I can call it a home. It is more an edifice, an office of international business.

The corridors are long and seemingly endless. When my lunch is brought to me it is usually cold, the walk from the kitchens to the schoolroom taking almost fifteen minutes.

My bedroom is rather a walk from the nursery. And, you might laugh, when I was opening the curtains to let in some daylight, the pelmet and curtains clattered to the floor and scattered a nest of mice living behind them.

There are so many mice here – and, I am told, rats too. Thankfully I haven’t seen any … yet!

The family arrive in three days. Alah and Bobo have got the nursery and the Princesses’ bedrooms looking very nice. It is so important for them to settle in with familiar possessions around them. Lilibet has her own sitting room now. Alah and Bobo have their own rooms, too, and there are two bathrooms, one for them and one for the Princesses. Very antiquated and with giant bath tubs that they could swim in!

Talking of which, there is a swimming pool here – indoor, so I shall make it my job to get the girls swimming well.

I hope you are both well?

Your

Marion

PS Have you seen George? Please tell him I was asking after him.

In her hurry to the Palace post room, she tripped on a short flight of carpeted, marble steps and landed hard on her right wrist. Disoriented and in pain, Marion remained on the floor for a few moments to recover herself.

A door opened to the left of her and a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you all right? Have you broken anything?’

Crawfie gingerly placed her good hand around her sore wrist. ‘I think I have sprained my wrist.’

‘Let’s help you up.’

A pair of slender ankles shod in brown lace-up shoes came into Crawfie’s eyeline. ‘Come on. I’ve got you. These stairs are an absolute menace.’