“Probably why everyone bought that bit about Emma being a recluse,” Gaz reasoned. “They already had one in the family.”

I clambered over a pile of reference books and opened a rolltop desk that was missing a plank. Inside was a jumble of framed photos that was relieved to be free, judging by how quickly it spilled out across the table. One was of Georgina and Eleanor as children, with their grandmother, Queen Victoria II. Eleanor had inherited her gimlet stare; Georgina, her curls and curves. There were other shots of the girls as they grew, and then a time jump to an older Georgina beaming widely on the prow of a motorboat next to a handsome blond man, Georgina blowing a kiss to the camera as she rode a camel, Georgina in what looked like France with a stylish dark-haired man, Georgina smoking coquettishly and nursing a scotch as three younger gents hovered. For the second time that day, I wondered who’d taken these shots—these intimate moments that did not seem to belong to a princess who locked herself in a redbrick tower.

“It occurs to me that Georgina is basically the Freddie of her family,” I said, carefully setting down the final photo on top of the pile.

“More or less,” Bea said. “Freddie at least grew up knowing his position. Georgina didn’t become the spare until her uncle died. She was a lot freer before that than Freddie has ever been.” She tapped her notebook. “And a world-class dilettante, for a spell, so they do have that in common.”

“I wonder if that ever occurred to him,” I said.

“You’d have to ask,” Bea replied.

“I would, but I think he’s avoiding us.”

Bea raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Oooh, a Royal Doulton cabinet!” Gaz said, clapping his hands and rushing to another corner. “Look at all these tiny ladies! Crikey, I think one of these is Georgina.”

“Bea,” I said, ignoring Gaz. “Are we okay?”

Bea came over and perused some of the photos with interest.

“I certainly wouldn’t have hared off into oblivion the way you did, but you know I try not to judge,” she said. I bit back a snort so strong that I had to turn it into a cough. “You and Nick may have been in some sexy life limbo, but we weren’t. The PPOs were going back and forth, making sure you two weren’t in mortal peril. Freddie took it from the press and from Eleanor. And Cilla…”

“Is doing fine,” Cilla called out firmly.

“Cilla got put on Decoy Duty,” Bea said. “She had to audition the fake Nick and Bex, and coach them, and arrange all their appearances. Total crap assignment.”

“Which I turned into a success,” Cilla said.

“I shall miss Fake Nick,” called out Gaz as he peered into a giant porcelain bowl. “Terrific bloke. Loved my marmalade muffins. Remind me to send him a basket of my pita bread once I crack that.”