Her Royal Spyness (2 page)

“Season” is actually a rather grand word for a series of dismal dances, culminating in a ball at Castle Rannoch during the grouse season, to which the young men came to shoot and by evening were all too tired to dance. Few of them knew the Highland dances that were expected at Castle Rannoch anyway, and the bagpipes echoing at dawn from the north turret made several young men realize they had pressing engagements in London that couldn’t wait. Needless to say, no suitable proposal was forthcoming and so, at the age of twenty-one, I found myself stuck at Castle Rannoch with no idea what I was going to do for the rest of my life.

Chapter 2

Castle Rannoch
Monday, April 18, 1932

I wonder how many people have had life-changing experiences while on the loo? I should point out that the bathrooms at Castle Rannoch are not the small cubicles one finds in ordinary homes. They are vast, cavernous places with high ceilings, tartan wallpaper, and plumbing that hisses, groans, clanks, and have been known to cause more than one heart attack, as well as such instant fits of insanity that one guest leaped from an open bathroom window into the moat. I should add that the windows are always open. It’s a Castle Rannoch tradition.

Castle Rannoch is not the most delightful spot at the best of times. It lies beneath an impressive black crag, at the head of a black loch, protected from the worst of gales by a stand of dark and gloomy pine forest. Even the poet Wordsworth, invited here during his ramblings, could find nothing to say about it, except for a couplet scribbled on a sheet of paper found in the wastepaper basket.

From dreadful heights to lakeside drear
Abandon hope all ye who enter here

And this was not the best of times. It was April and the rest of the world was full of daffodils, blossoms, and Easter bonnets. At Castle Rannoch it was snowing—not that delightful powdery stuff you get in Switzerland but wet, heavy, slushy snow that sticks to the clothing and freezes one in seconds. I hadn’t been out for days. My brother, Binky, having been conditioned to do so at school, insisted on taking his morning walks around the estate and arrived home looking like the abominable snowman—sending his son Hector, affectionately known as Podge, screaming for Nanny.

It was the sort of weather for curling up with a good book beside a roaring fire. Unfortunately my sister-in-law, Hilda, usually known as Fig, was trying to economize and only allowed one log on the fire at a time. This was surely a false economy, as I had pointed out on several occasions. Trees were being felled by gales on a daily basis. But Fig had a bee in her bonnet about economizing. Times were hard everywhere and we had to set a good example to the lower classes. This example included porridge for breakfast instead of bacon and eggs and even baked beans as the savory after dinner one night.
Life is drear
, I wrote in my diary. I was spending a lot of time writing in my diary these days. I knew I should be doing something. I was itching to do something, but as my sister-in-law reminded me constantly, a member of the royal family, however minor, has a duty not to let the family down. Her look implied that I was liable to become pregnant or dance naked on the lawn if I went out to Woolworths unchaperoned. My duty apparently was to wait until a suitable match was made for me. Not a happy thought.

How long I would have patiently awaited my doom, I can’t really say, if I hadn’t been sitting on the loo one April afternoon, trying to avoid the worst of the driving snow that was blowing in upon me by holding up a copy of
Horse and Hound
. Over the moan of the wind, I became aware of voices. Owing to the eccentric nature of the plumbing at Castle Rannoch, installed many centuries after the castle was built, it was possible to overhear conversations floating up from many floors below. This phenomenon probably contributed to the delusions and fits that overcame even the sanest of our guests. I was born to it and had used it to my advantage all my life, overhearing many a thing that had not been meant for my ears. To an outsider, however, lost in contemplation on the loo, and staring in horror alternately at the dark crags outside the window and the tartan wallpaper within, echoing voices booming hollow from the pipes were enough to push them over the edge.

“The queen wants us to do what?” This was enough to make me perk up and pay attention. I was always keen for gossip about our royal kin, and Fig had given a horrified shriek, quite unlike her.

“It’s only for a weekend, Fig.”

“Binky, I do wish these horrid common Americanisms were not creeping into your conversation. Next thing we know you’ll be teaching Podge to say ‘mirror’ instead of ‘looking glass’ and ‘serviette’ instead of ‘napkin.’”

“God forbid, Fig. It’s just that the word ‘weekend’ does seem to sum it up quite nicely, doesn’t it? I mean, what other word do we have for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?”

“It implies that we are slaves to a week’s labor, which we aren’t. But don’t try to change the subject. I think it’s damned cheek on the part of HM.”

“She’s only trying to help. Something has to be done for Georgie.”

Now I was truly attentive.

“I agree she can’t spend the rest of her life moping around here and doing crossword puzzles.” Fig’s sharp voice echoed alarmingly, making one of the pipes hum. “But then on the other hand, she could prove useful with little Podge. It would mean we wouldn’t have to hire a governess for him before he goes to prep school. I suppose they must have taught her something at that ridiculously expensive establishment in Switzerland.”

“You can’t use my sister as an unpaid governess, Fig.”

“Everybody has to pull their weight these days, Binky, and quite frankly she’s not doing anything else, is she?”

“What do you expect her to do, draw pints behind the local bar?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I want to see your sister happily settled as much as you do. But being told I have to invite a prince here for a house party, in the hopes of foisting him upon Georgiana—really, that is too much, even for HM.”

Now I positively had my ear pressed against the pipes. The only prince that came to mind was my cousin David, the Prince of Wales. He was certainly a good catch, to whom I certainly wouldn’t say no. It’s true he was a good deal older than I, and not quite as tall either, but he was witty and a splendid dancer. And kind too. I’d even be prepared to wear flat-heeled shoes for the rest of my life.

“I would say it was a great deal of expense wasted on a hopeless cause.” Fig’s sharp voice again.

“I wouldn’t call Georgie a hopeless cause. She’s a splendid-looking girl. A little tall for the average chap, maybe, a little gawky still, but healthy, good bones, not stupid. A damned sight brainier than I, if the truth be known. She’ll make a great wife for the right fellow.”

“She’s turned down everyone we’ve found for her so far. What makes you think she’ll be interested in this Siegfried?”

“Because he’s a prince, and heir to the throne.”

“What throne? They murdered their last king.”

“There is talk of reinstatement of the royal family in the near future. Siegfried is next in line.”

“The royal family won’t last long enough for him to succeed. They’ll all be murdered again.”

“Enough of this, Fig. And we don’t need to mention any of this to Georgie either. Her Majesty has requested and one does not turn down a request from HM. A simple little house party, that’s all. For Prince Siegfried and some of his English acquaintances. Enough young men so that Georgie doesn’t get wind of our plans for her right away.”

“That’s an expensive proposition, Binky. You know how much these young men drink. We can’t even offer them a shoot at this time of year. Nor a hunt. What are we going to do with them all day? I don’t suppose this Siegfried will want to climb a mountain.”

“We’ll manage it somehow. After all, I am the head of the family. It is up to me to see my sister settled.”

“She’s your half sister. Let her mother find her somebody. God knows she has enough castoffs of her own, and most of them millionaires.”

“Now you’re being catty, Fig. Please reply to HM telling her we will be delighted to arrange the house party in the near future.”

The speakers drifted out of range. I stood there at the bathroom window, impervious to the snow blowing in on me. Prince Siegfried of Romania, of all people. I had met him while I was a pupil at Les Oiseaux, my finishing school in Switzerland. He had struck me as a cold fish with staring eyes, a limp handshake, and a look that indicated a perpetual bad smell under his nose. When he was introduced to me, he had clicked his heels and murmured, “
Enchanté
.” The way he said it made me feel that I should be the one having the honor bestowed upon me, not the other way around. I didn’t suspect he’d be any more enchanted to see me again.

“The time has come for action!” I shouted into the storm. I was no longer a minor. I was able to go where I wanted without a chaperon, to make my own decisions and to choose my own life. It wasn’t as if I were either the heir or the spare. I was only thirty-fourth in line to the throne. Being a mere woman, I could never inherit the dukedom or Castle Rannoch even if Binky had not produced a son. I was not going to sit around one minute longer waiting for the future to come to me. I was going out into the world to choose my own destiny.

I slammed the loo door and strode down the corridor to my room, where I surprised my maid, hanging up freshly ironed blouses.

“Can you find my trunk in the attic, please, Maggie?” I said. “And pack clothes suitable for city wear. I’m going to London.”

I waited until Binky and Fig were taking tea in the great hall, then I breezed in. Actually it wasn’t hard to breeze anywhere at Castle Rannoch, since there was usually a howling gale racing along the corridors, making the tapestries flap. Binky was standing with his back to the fire, thus blocking the heat from the one log from reaching the rest of the room. Fig’s nose was blue enough to match her blood and I noticed she was cradling the teapot in her hands, rather than let Ferguson, the parlormaid, do the pouring.

“Ah, Georgie, there you are,” Binky said heartily. “Had a good day? Beastly out. I don’t suppose you went for a ride?”

“I wouldn’t be so cruel to my horse,” I said. I lifted the silver lid over one of the dishes. “Toast,” I said in disappointment. “No crumpets, I see.”

“Economy, Georgiana,” Fig said. “We can’t eat crumpets if the rest of the world can’t afford them. It wouldn’t be right. Heaven knows we can barely afford them ourselves any longer. It would be margarine if we hadn’t a dairy herd.”

I noticed she was spreading a generous amount of Fortnum’s black currant jam onto her toast, but wisely said nothing. Instead I waited until she had taken a mouthful before I said, “I’m popping down to London for a while, if that’s all right with you.”

“To London? When?” Fig asked, her sharp little eyes glowering at me.

“Tomorrow, I thought. If we’re not snowed in.”

“Tomorrow?” Binky asked. “This is a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“Yes, why haven’t you mentioned it before?” Fig seconded.

“I only found out myself today,” I said, concentrating on spreading butter on toast. “One of my dearest school chums is getting married and she wants me there to help her with the wedding preparations. And since I’m not doing anything useful up here, I thought I should answer her call of distress. Baxter will be able to drive me to the station in the motorcar, won’t he?”

I had invented this story on the way downstairs. I was rather proud of it.

“This is most inconvenient, Georgie,” Binky said.

“Inconvenient? Why?” I turned innocent eyes upon him.

“Well, you see, it’s like this—” He turned to Fig for inspiration, then went on, “We were planning a little house party. Getting some young people up here for you. We realize that it must be boring to be stuck up here with an old married couple like us and no dances or fun.”

I went over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You are an old dear, Binky, thinking of me like that. But I couldn’t possibly allow you to spend money on me. I’m not a child. I realize how frightfully tight money is these days and I know you had to pay those awful death duties on the estate.”

I could see Binky was in an absolute agony of indecision. He knew that Her Majesty would expect her request to be obeyed, and now I was about to bolt. He couldn’t tell me why he wanted me to stay because it was supposed to be a secret. It was quite the most amusing thing that had happened in ages.

“So now you don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I’ll be mixing with young people in London and helping out a friend and getting on with my life. I may use Rannoch House as my base, may I not?”

I saw a quick glance pass between Fig and Binky.

“Rannoch House?” Fig said. “You want to open up Rannoch House, just for yourself?”

“Not really open it up,” I said. “I’d only be using my bedroom.”

“We can’t spare a servant to go with you,” Fig said. “We’re down to the bare minimum as it is. Binky could scarcely summon up enough beaters for the last shoot. And Maggie would never leave her invalid mother to go to London with you.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I shan’t want to take a servant with me. I shan’t even turn on the central heating.”

“But if you’re going to help this girl with her wedding, won’t you be staying with her?” Fig asked.

“Eventually, yes. But she hasn’t arrived from the continent yet.”

“A continental, is she, this girl? Not English?” Fig looked horrified.

“We’re not English,” I said. “At least Binky and I aren’t. We’re part Scottish with a good admixture of German.”

“Let me amend that to British then. You were brought up to be British. That’s where the big difference lies. This girl is foreign, is she?”

I was dying to invent a mysterious Russian countess, but it was too cold for the brain to react quickly. “She’s been living abroad,” I said. “For the sake of her health. She’s rather delicate.”

“Then I wonder some poor chap wants to marry her,” Binky said heartily. “Sounds as if she won’t be much good at producing an heir.”