‘You look tired, Alah,’ Crawfie said with concern.

‘She’s quite poorly,’ Bobo answered, handing over the steaming beaker. ‘I think she should go to bed as soon as the girls do.’

‘Alah, the Duchess has just asked if you would take the Princesses down at quarter past seven, to say goodnight to the King and … Mrs Simpson,’ Crawfie told her. ‘Would you rather not?’

‘To be truthful, I don’t think I can.’ Alah coughed. ‘I wouldn’t want to give this to the rest of the household.’

Bobo looked up. ‘I can feed and bathe the girls if you would take them down, Crawfie?’

Crawfie frowned. She did not want to put herself in the position of seeing the woman of whom she did not approve. ‘Oh but Bobo, don’t you want to see the King? We haven’t seen him here for a long time.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t.’ Bobo nervously twisted her hands in her apron pockets. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’

‘You’ll take them, won’t you, Crawfie dear?’ Alah said limply.

How could Crawfie refuse? As much as she didn’t want to see the King with Mrs Simpson, her very human curiosity was fighting back. To see first-hand how close their relationship was, and to decide for herself what she thought of Mrs Simpson, was too tempting. It would only be for a few minutes, after all.

‘Of course I will. You rest, Alah.’

Chapter Twenty

Royal Lodge, August 1936

While the Princesses were being readied to greet the King and Mrs Simpson, Crawfie used her free time to start a letter to George. The wastepaper basket under her neat writing table already contained two discarded drafts. She was having difficulty in getting the tone right; it must not come across as hectoring, hurt, demanding or emotional. She had fallen in love with him – she could not deny that – and she was almost sure that he had feelings for her. But it would be a terrible mistake for her to confess her own feelings or question his. The letter must be friendly but dignified and light, neither asking too much or too little about what he had been doing – or, and this would be hard, why he hadn’t written.

She stared out of her window above the garden. The sun was slowly setting and the rain showers had given way to a beautiful evening.

There was a knock at her door. ‘Come in.’

The Princesses, clean and shining in their dressing gowns, rushed in, with Bobo behind.

Crawfie smiled at them. ‘Hello! And who are these two little rascals?’

‘It’s us, silly Crawfie,’ giggled Margaret spinning round on the spot. ‘Look at me!’

‘And what did you have for your dinner?’

‘Cottage pie,’ Lilibet answered, while trying to catch her dizzied sister, ‘and if Margaret doesn’t stop spinning, she’ll be sick!’

A grey-faced Alah appeared at the door. ‘I have just received a message from downstairs. The King is running late. Cook is worried about her soufflés and Ainslie is concerned his wine is being left to breathe too long. The Duchess would like you to take the girls down now to say goodnight.’