Marion couldn’t believe this lack of respect.

He continued, amused, ‘You look shocked, Miss Crawford, but everything I say is true. My advice to you, if you wish to stay in your job, is to continue to do it well, but do not sell them your soul. I have enormous respect for the institution of the monarchy, but remember, we are just staff. We are a kind of cannon fodder, used until we are no longer useful. Trust me.’

Marion picked up the napkin on her lap and folded it more times than was necessary. ‘I have only recently been given this argument by another member of the household,’ she said at last. ‘I was appalled then and I am appalled now. I see the royal family as humans, people who have not chosen the life they have been given but must make the most of it under the most extreme pressure. We, who have a life of anonymity, must help to keep them abreast of the real world. We must show them kindness, loyalty, give them a chance to be normal in their abnormal life.’

Tommy looked at her carefully. ‘I have upset you.’

‘Surprised me, certainly. I had no idea that we would be so opposite in our thoughts. Thank you for taking me to Westminster Hall, and for this delightful tea, but now I really must be getting back.’

‘Wait, I’ll walk you to 145.’

She stood up. ‘No need. Goodbye, Sir Alan.’

Tommy watched her walk purposefully out of the tearoom. She had spirit and he sensed an authenticity about her that was unusual in his experience. The family, he concluded, were lucky to have her.

Chapter Eighteen

145 Piccadilly, 23^rd January 1936

Alah and Lilibet arrived home in sombre mood, their black clothes covered in rain and smelling of the dark winter evening. Bobo welcomed them in. She had been worrying over the lateness of the hour.

In the nursery, the curtains were drawn against the cold night. The fire glowed warm and the clock on the mantelpiece above stood at past nine o’clock. Lilibet yawned, shaking raindrops from her new black tam-o’-shanter, chosen specially for the occasion.

Bobo fussed around them. ‘Let me take your coats. You’re soaking wet.’

‘My socks are wet,’ Lilibet said, unbuckling her black shoes, ‘and I would like to warm my feet up, please.’

Bobo took the shoes and caught Alah’s coat, as the older woman dropped into her armchair by the fire.

‘How did it go?’ Bobo asked her, in a lowered voice.

Alah unpinned her hat and let it fall beside her. ‘Ask Lilibet,’ she said wearily.

Bobo collected Lilibet’s coat and velvet tammy, then passed her a towel for her hair and warm slippers for her cold toes. ‘So, my darling, what was it like at Westminster Hall?’

Lilibet sat down in the other armchair and wriggled into her slippers, while Bobo passed a crocheted blanket for her knees. ‘There were heaps and heaps of beautiful flowers,’ she said. ‘So high I couldn’t see where Grandpa was. And do you know, lots of people were there. They can come whenever they want, even at night. The policeman who took Alah and me in said that a million people will have visited Grandpa before he is buried. Isn’t that lovely? I said a prayer for Grandpa and then I saw Papa, Uncle David, Uncle Harry and Uncle George, all in full dress uniform, standing guard around the King. Do you know, they never moved at all, not even an eyelid. And everyone was whispering and quiet as if the King was asleep.’