Miranda
‘Just make sure no one sees you.’
‘Of course not!’ Caroline whispered.
‘Don’t tell me, it’s so against the rules that there isn’t even a rule against it.’
‘I know that Lascelles is my private secretary,’ the queen was saying, ‘and my mother says I should follow his advice, but sometimes his ideas don’t seem quite right.’
‘Surely now you’re the monarch,’ Miss MacDonald said, her Scottish burr soft and careful. ‘You should decide for yourself.’
‘First they talked me into moving my family to Buckingham Palace, just as Philip had finished redecorating Clarence House. It was perfect for the children, and now we’re stuck in this massive place with no end of advisors and servants. My bedroom is a five-minute walk from the nursery.’
‘Churchill and Lascelles insisted, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, and now they’re putting pressure on me to change the children’s last name from Philip’s to mine, to keep the House of Windsor. They’re adamant that the children need to have the monarch’s last name. Philip’s beside himself. I keep asking if we can have Windsor-Mountbatten, but they insist.’
‘Why are they so opposed to it?’
‘Something about Philip’s uncle, Lord Mountbatten, boasting that the House of Mountbatten is now in charge.
Lascelles and Churchill don’t trust him.
’ She sighed. ‘And now they’re saying that I have to make a declaration, not only that our name is Windsor, but that all our children’s children will be Windsors, too. No wonder Philip’s livid.’
Miranda’s heart fell. Was this all the new queen could do, ask politely and then allow herself to be stifled by a team of stuffy old men?
Miranda didn’t want to write her articles about a woman cowed by her advisors.
She wanted to write about a vibrant new queen paving the way for women to hold their own.
It was supposed to be the dawning of the new age for women, but this – this!
– only proved more than ever that the men were still in charge.
The queen went on, ‘I’m torn between my husband and my advisors, but I have to work out what is best for the nation, best for the monarchy.’
And Miranda felt a wave of understanding. What a hard task this was, the queen juggling her personal life as a wife and mother with her regal life as a powerful monarch. How difficult to blend these two contrasting positions.
There was a rustling of heavy fabric, and then the dresser said, ‘Oh, look, they’ve made those adjustments around the waist.’
The queen must be in the gown.
Miranda checked to see that the coast was clear before creeping to the door. It was ajar, and through the crack, she could see Caroline, standing aside, waiting for orders, with one of the queen’s dogs sitting at her feet.
‘The bodice could be a little looser, don’t you think?’ the queen murmured as she looked at her reflection.
There was an obvious warmth between her and the dressers, a closeness that Miranda hadn’t expected. It felt like Miranda was intruding into the queen’s private life, and the notion spurred her on – this was where the best stories lay.
In order to see the queen, Miranda had to step in front of the crack, making her visible should anyone look in that direction. If she were caught, it was all on the line.
Yet she had to get a look.
Quickly, she peered through the gap, smothering the gasp that came out of her lips.
The gown was stunning. Decked in gold and pearls, it was at once a decadent, regal garment, an imposing piece of jewellery, and a priceless artefact.
But it wasn’t just that. It was Elizabeth herself.
Although she was just twenty-six, there was something almost luminous about her, a stillness that overrode her size and stature.
Her face was attentive, her eyes focused.
It was as if this role brought with it the most immense personal resources, and she intended to dedicate not only her life, but her whole self to her duty.
It felt incongruous that so young a woman – not long married and with two small children – could be in charge of not just a country but also an empire. Yet she looked as if she had been created for that very purpose.
Miranda found herself wondering if she had been wrong about Elizabeth. There was far more to her than she’d thought.
She tried to take in the details of the gown, wishing she’d had time to grab her camera. Perhaps she’d be able to jot down a sketch once she was back at her desk. She’d have to work on Caroline to let her see it another time, keep her camera closer to hand.
A rhythmic tap came from a door on the other side of the dressing room, and Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. ‘Come in!’
The door opened and in walked Philip.
Miranda had never seen the queen’s husband close up and was surprised at how tall he was.
Muscular yet slim in his smart dinner jacket, there was an angularity to him, a defined shape to his handsome face, his blond hair receding slightly from his temples.
She’d heard someone say that he looked like a movie actor beside the old advisors, and that was spot on.
A smile caught the side of his mouth, and he leaned down to kiss Elizabeth, making her smile with delight before she playfully pushed him away.
‘We’ve got to be careful with the gown, darling! They’re just about to come in to fit it.’ She looked down at it, and then turned to him, her hand lingering on his chest.
And something about the look in her eyes stopped Miranda’s breath.
Deep in the recesses of her mind, a thread of a memory surged to the forefront.
The sensation behind that gaze was love, a love so deep and dear that it made Miranda tingle with longing as her mind drifted back to Connecticut, the summer before Jack left for the war.
They’d been so deeply connected that it was unspoken that they would be together forever.
With a gentle laugh, Philip pulled Elizabeth back into an embrace. ‘Then we’ll have to steal a kiss before they arrive.’
Miranda watched them, not as royalty but as two ordinary human beings entwined in a kiss, lingering, passionate, as if in conversation about a more intimate act. That feeling of headiness came back to Miranda as she remembered how that felt, the closeness, how she and Jack belonged together.
After they pulled apart, Elizabeth showed off the gown, lifting the skirt a fraction and swooshing it from side to side.
Philip strolled around her, eyeing her form. ‘Magnificent as ever, darling.’
‘And you’re looking very smart. Where are you off to?’
‘My equerry has organized a lunch of sorts.’
Her face fell. ‘Out gallivanting again?’
He made a long sigh. ‘Now that your advisors have stopped my naval career, I have to fill my time somehow. First they took away my navy ship, then my desk job, and now they’re insisting that we change the name of our children from Mountbatten to Windsor.
There isn’t a single man in this country who can’t give his name to his own children except me. I feel like an amoeba.’
‘I thought you knew what it was going to be like before we were married.’
He pulled away. ‘But I wasn’t expecting this barrage of nos. You always let them win, don’t you? If you’re not careful, darling, you’ll end up being nothing but their puppet. They’ll make the decisions, and you’ll be wheeled out to smile and wave.’
‘That’s not true.’ She looked at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I have to do my duty, to put the monarchy first.’
‘I know that,’ he said gently. ‘But why can’t you be the one to say no to them every once in a while? You are the queen, after all.’ He took her hands in his. ‘You need to have confidence, make your own decisions. Don’t let them bully you into thinking they know best.’
‘I do say no to some things. In any case, they’re only trying to protect the monarchy. My uncle’s abdication caused a constitutional crisis. We can’t risk any more mishaps.’ She straightened herself. ‘I need to be that safe and stable pair of hands.’
Philip frowned. ‘Edward has a lot to answer for. What’s that awful nickname he has for you? Shirley Temple? You have to stand up to these people, show them who wears the crown.’
There was a knock at the door, and the queen, exasperated, looked at him. ‘That’ll be Hartnell to do the fitting. We’ll have to finish this later.’
He took her hands and pressed them. ‘Left to your own devices, you’d make the very best decisions for the country, far better than those ancient advisors.’
His eyes pierced hers for a moment, and then, with a smile, the queen released her hands. ‘Go to your lunch, darling, and I’ll see you later.’
And with a kiss on her cheek, he left.
The queen stood in thought for a moment as she watched the space where he had been, until the dresser led her into the main room for the fitting.
As Miranda headed back to the wardrobe, her mind whirred with possible newspaper stories: ‘The Queen Is a Puppet’, ‘Philip Faces a Barrage of Nos’, ‘Elizabeth’s Uncle Calls Her Shirley Temple’.
In her excitement, she turned a little too hastily, the door jerking and letting out an ominous creak.
Holding her breath, she plunged into the depths of the dresses, pushing herself amid the long, soft gowns.
‘Who’s in here?’ A sharp voice came from the door.
The tone was unmistakable: Miss Driscoll.
That was all she needed. The busybody was legendary for using misdemeanours to get ahead.
Then came the sound of garments and coat hangers being shoved aside, and Miranda felt the rustle of material around her.
It was only a matter of moments before Driscoll would find her.
What would she say?
Without the job, she’d have no articles.
And without the articles, she’d have no future career.
How could she have been so negligent? Why, oh why did she always make mistakes! O’Hara wasn’t wrong when he’d said that she was always failing to make deadlines, rubbing people the wrong way. She had to do better.
Driscoll’s hands were moving quickly down the long row of garments, the movement of gowns closer and closer.
Miranda pressed herself to the back of the wardrobe, praying against all odds.
But then Miss Driscoll seemed to stop the search.
‘What are you doing here, Miss Driscoll?’ came a familiar voice.
It was Caroline.
Miss Driscoll paused, stewing this over. ‘I thought I saw someone in here.’
But Caroline began showing her out. ‘There’s a lot of security surrounding the coronation gown, and we need to make sure we follow the rules. You don’t want anyone suspecting anything, do you?’
Evidently this was a veiled threat, as Miss Driscoll left, muttering, ‘I’ll speak to the minister about this,’ and slammed the door closed behind her.
Miranda felt herself slump in relief. ‘Thank goodness she’s gone.’ She made her way through the dresses. ‘And now I’m even more in your debt, Caroline, saving me from Miss Driscoll.’
But Caroline’s face had gone pale. ‘I shouldn’t have let you in. My heart stopped when I saw Miss Driscoll in here. I could have lost my job.’
To Miranda’s astonishment, Caroline crumpled into tears, her hands covering her eyes.
‘Surely it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? I’d be booted back to America for sure, but they wouldn’t get rid of you, too, would they?’
‘You don’t understand. Without this job, I’d have nothing.’ This brought on a new wave of tears. ‘It was such a stupid risk. You must promise not to tell a soul.’ She reached her hand out to Miranda, beseeching her.
Miranda found herself promising, watching the relief on Caroline’s face as she led her to a side door, Miranda slipping back into the corridor and hurrying through the passageways.
And it was there, in the guest room corridor, that she spotted someone else who was in a place she shouldn’t be. At one of the doorways, Lucy was leaning inside to kiss someone goodbye.
She’d heard the girl talking about a man she’d met, someone who could help get her onto the stage, but something felt off about it. Lucy seemed lonely and desperate, an easy victim. No wonder Betty was intent on keeping an eye on her.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if Miranda did likewise.
Miranda knew how it felt to be on your own, after all.
Then she reminded herself of why she was there and pushed away the thought – she had absolutely nothing in common with the girl, after all.
But she’d mention it to Betty all the same, she thought as she hurried away.
AS SHE WENT TO the telephone box later that evening, her mind flitted back to that look on Caroline’s face, the worry of losing her job. She’d meant to tell O’Hara about the gown, but as she heard his gruff voice on the other end of the phone, doubt crept through her.
If she told him about the gown, it would be all over the newspapers. Even without Miranda’s name or any source on it, she knew that suspicions would fall on Caroline. She couldn’t let her down, and especially not now that she’d met Angus. Anything to help the poor woman find a little joy.
‘Have you seen the gown yet?’ O’Hara’s voice boomed down the receiver.
‘N-no, but I have more gossip.’ Thinking fast, she said, ‘The queen’s husband, Philip, isn’t at all happy.’
‘It can’t be easy, having a wife as monarch.’ Of course O’Hara would loathe the idea of bowing down to a woman.
She relayed the couple’s conversation.
‘Interesting,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘Write it up. And what about the gown? I thought you said you had a way to get it?’
Thinking fast, she made up a lie: ‘I’m still working on it, sir. But for now I have a way to get the security maps.’ She drew a heavy breath – those were the plans in the minister’s boardroom. It would be risky getting them, but surely that was better than putting Caroline’s job at risk?
O’Hara barked, ‘Just get it by the weekend,’ and thrust down the phone.
As she headed home, she worried about what she’d promised.
How would she get into the minister’s office? It was always busy, and the cabinet where the documents were kept was locked. It felt like madness.
But at least the only person whose job was on the line was her own.