We marched through to the drawing room. The radio came to life with much crackling and then a voice said, “His Majesty the King,” and the national anthem was played. We British subjects immediately rose to our feet. The Americans looked at us with amusement but then followed suit. We sat again as the king’s deep, ponderous voice came through the air, speaking slowly and carefully, greetings of goodwill from Sandringham to his subjects around the world. The others listened in rapt silence. I was conscious that he didn’t sound well. I thought of the times I had been with His Majesty at Sandringham, his favorite house, and he’d been sitting with his stamp collection at the table from which he was now broadcasting and a feeling of warmth and pride came over me that we were part of the same family.

“And to think that you actually know him,” Mrs. Wexler said when the speech ended. “I suppose you’ve actually been to those royal castles and palaces?”

“Many times,” I said.

“And what’s he like, your king?”

“A little fearsome to start with. Not very patient and likes everything done properly, but he’s essentially a kind man and he cares so much about England and the empire. I think he’s literally worrying himself to death.”

They tiptoed away from me as if I’d suddenly turned into someone new and dangerous.

Soon the older members of the party fell asleep in armchairs while we younger ones went for a walk.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Bunty said. “That’s good for the hunt tomorrow.” She turned back to me. “I hope you’re a good rider, Georgie. We went to look at Freddie’s stable this morning and his horses are decidedly frisky—and big.”

“I’m a pretty good rider,” I said modestly—my governess having drilled into me that a lady never claims accomplishments.

We walked across the grounds and up through the bare woods, pausing to look back on the house and the village. As I stared down at the orchard a thought crossed my mind so quickly that I didn’t have time to grab on to it. Something about the trees. I turned to stare at the neighbor’s estate behind us. Something about why those particular trees might be important.

Darcy fell into step beside me. “You look rather shaken up,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“That incident with the colonel,” I said in a low voice, not wanting the others to hear. “I thought he might be today’s designated death.”

Darcy gave me a quizzical look. “Designated death?”

“There’s been one a day since I arrived, except for yesterday. And the butcher’s van already went off the road today, killing him. So I thought that might have been a true accident and this was the death that was planned.”