The King – and keep this strictly to yourself – is clearly not at all well. He has been in bed for the last three days and seems unlikely to leave it. The King’s surgeon apothecary, Sir Stanley Hewett, and the royal physician Lord Dawson of Penn are with him. They arrived under the cloak of secrecy so as not to excite the nation.

I walked in the grounds this afternoon, the mood of the house being so grim and oppressive. Nothing much to see. Rather ordinary shrubs: berberis, myrtle, fancy hollies and variegated laurels.

I have not seen the King myself. My main purpose, if and when the time comes, will be to oversee communiqués to the press.

How are the children? Take no nonsense from them.

Your Tommy

16^th January 1936

Darling Tommy,

It’s been very hectic here. One of the children’s trunks burst its leather straps when I took them back to school. Then, when I returned home, a frightful clonking and clanking was coming from the boiler. The upshot is no hot water. I think I would rather be at Sandringham. Consider yourself lucky!

Poor you having to share time with the Prince of Wales. And of course he will remember you – you worked with him for years! But will he have forgiven you for telling him you couldn’t stand his drinking and womanizing ways a moment longer, and leaving him? He didn’t pay much attention to that piece of advice, did he?

Speaking of which, has Exhibit A – AKA the ghastly Mrs Simpson – put in an appearance? She is definitely playing to be the next Queen of England. I suspect, my darling, you will be asked to get your thinking cap on as to how to nip that little scenario in the bud. Can you imagine? Divorced from her first husband, still married to the second and getting her well-manicured talons into a future king? To be honest, we could probably forgive most of that but the British public could never forgive her for being American.

Now, darling, do let me know how the King is doing. I like him very much. Poor Queen Mary. If appropriate, send her my regards.

I’m off to get some logs with which to light the fire in our bedroom. Could barely sleep for the cold last night, even though I put my mink on the blankets. Woke up to frost on the inside of the windows.

All my love,

Joan

17^th January 1936

Dearest Joan,

The Prince of Wales left this morning for London. The King is fading and the subject of succession needs to be discussed with the PM, etc.

Before he left, the POW went to the King’s sickroom, where he found his father sitting sleepily by the fire, wrapped in his favourite Tibetan dressing gown. He opened his eyes and briefly recognized his son, but it wasn’t long before His Majesty relapsed back into his twilight world.

The Queen was pleased to have your message and asked after you which, in the circumstances, shows what an extraordinary woman she is.