is SO tiresome. Ellie and I teach ourselves more from reading the newspapers. And today when we asked to go outside to run about a bit because it had FINALLY stopped raining, he said that nice young ladies don’t run, and yesterday he told Ellie that princesses don’t need opinions which I think is MOST disrespectful. MY opinion is that he’s a cow-faced BORE and so I drew him that way while his back was turned to do some maths on the board and Ellie laughed out loud and we both nearly got our ears boxed. And later Ellie felt really guilty because Granny always tells us not to speak rudely about people (even though Granny speaks rudely about people all the time!!!!) but I told her we weren’t speaking about him at all and I think she felt better because she fell right to sleep. I don’t know what Ellie would do without me. She is still snoring terribly though and it’s driving me mad. It’s going to be very embarrassing for her when she gets married.

Nick burst out laughing. “That is amazing,” he said. “It’s odd to hear Gran referred to as Ellie.” He gestured for me to throw him the book, and caught it deftly. He flipped through its pages. “Crikey. She wrote loads. This book is full up.”

“I wonder if there are more of these anywhere,” I said. “Maybe they’ve all already been sent to the official royal archives.”

Nick shook his head. “We’d have heard,” he said. He gnawed on his pen cap. “All my ancestors apparently kept massive diaries. Am I ruining things for future historians by not doing that? It sounds exhausting to document every detail of every minute of every day.”

“We don’t need it,” I said. “Historians will have our text messages.”

Nick pulled a face. “I hope not,” he said, giving me back the journal. “Some of them are highly inappropriate. I should have sent you proper love letters.”

“It’s not too late to start,” I said. “I’ve enjoyed writing to Lacey. We get a little deeper. When we’re texting or talking, it turns into teasing.”

“Maybe you should be our official diarist,” Nick suggested. “When you put it all on paper, please make sure I come across as very muscular.” He tugged at his hair. “And with more of this, please.”

I dropped the journal and stared at Nick. “Put it in writing,” I said. “That’s it. That is it.”

Nick looked pleased. “Am I a genius?”

“Don’t get cocky,” I said. “But you just might be.”

*  *  *

The next morning, when I arrived at Eleanor’s chambers for what she surely intended to be another day of pretending I was inanimate, I came prepared.

Marta greeted me with her usual poke of the cane. “I don’t think I care much for this Clive person,” she said.