Princess Elizabeth's Spy (26 page)

“Come on, Lilibet,” Maggie urged, taking the girl’s hand, all senses straining. They made their way down the dark, narrow corridor. Red lights blinked at them and steam hissed through pipes.

Lilibet tripped and fell, letting out a small yelp.

“Come on!” David said.

Lilibet looked up at Maggie, her face white. “My foot. I think it’s broken.”

Oh, Gods, what now? What more can we endure?
But there was no time to lose. Just as she did at Camp Spook, Maggie hoisted Lilibet up and into a fireman’s carry. “You weigh less than Molly Stickler,” she panted, taking off in a trot as fast as she could.

“Who?” Lilibet asked.

“A girl from long ago and far away.” Maggie was grateful for her morning regime of sit-ups and push-ups and all the early-morning runs she’d taken since those muddy days at Camp Spook.

The submarine’s emergency sirens continued to wails. Maggie, carrying Lilibet, and David retraced their steps back to the ladder that led back up to the hatch. Over the intercom, they heard,
“Die Gefangenen sind geflohen! Die Gefangenen sind geflohen!”

“They’re saying ‘The prisoners have escaped!’” Maggie gasped.

“Oh, hell,” David said. “So much for stealth.”

He climbed the narrow gray-painted ladder to the hatch and wrestled with it until it opened. They had predicted correctly. The fire safety system had caused the captain to take the boat to the surface.

Then Maggie, breathing heavily, but not slowing down, went up the ladder first, helping Lilibet. With his free hand, David helped the young Princess when she emerged. Outside, on the hull, they all drew great breaths of cold fresh air, watching the frothy white caps crest on the grey waves. The channel was rough and the U-boat bobbed in the choppy water like a child’s bath toy.

“Do we have a plan?” Lilibet asked.

Oh, Your Highness, if only we did.
“Let’s climb to the top of the sail,” Maggie said, sounding surprisingly reasonable as she felt the sweat in her hair start to freeze. At least they’d be farther from the hatch that way.

Maggie, helping a limping Lilibet, and David all scrambled over the top of the hull until they reached the sail. They climbed up yet another long, thin ladder to reach the highest peak of the sub.

Cold, damp winds gusted around them. They held on to the railing of the sail for dear life—David muttering curse words, Lilibet with her mouth set in a grim line, and Maggie, fighting panic, trying desperately to think of a next step. While she was overwhelmingly grateful for an escape from inside the submarine that had seemed impossible, being up on the sail of a Nazi sub in the middle of the gray-green North Sea didn’t seem all that much better.

The submarine could continue sailing this way, on the surface, all the way to France. Unless they wanted to swim in the freezing waters, they were as trapped on the sail as they were in the bowels of the submarine. Here eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of a British ship.
Come on, Mr. Churchill, I’m running out of tricks.

She looked at David and Lilibet. David had a nasty head wound; his blood still caked in his hair and on his face. Lilibet’s face had scratches and bruising and was stained with tears. Around them, on all sides, was nothing but sky and the ocean.

Gregory emerged from the hatch. He had a desperate expression on his face. He was followed by Boothby and two armed crewmen.

“No!” Gregory cried, his voice getting lost in the freezing wind, as he approached their perch on top of the sail. He climbed towards them as Boothby and the two sailors came behind him.

“Come back inside! You’re safe with me! I never meant to hurt anyone!”

The group stared at him in disbelief, as though he were an apparition. He certainly looked like one, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted.

“You don’t understand!” Gregory called. “I can’t go back to England!” His eyes leaked tears, as his voice grew frenzied. “I can’t do it!” He kept climbing. “It’s freezing cold up there in those planes, it’s dark—they shoot at you, you shoot at them. People die, but before they do, they scream—horrible high-pitched screams. Men cry. I’ve seen people with limbs burned off, with melted skin and bone.”

He reached them and raised his hands in supplication; his eyes had a cold, dead look to them. “I just want it all to stop. The nightmares and the memories and the horror—I can’t go back. Can’t even seem to drink myself to death! That’s why I made this deal with the devil. This way I
don’t have to go back
!”

Gregory’s pain was palpable. Was he a villain, or just a casualty of war? Maggie felt a mixture of both horror and sympathy wash through her. She knew him—or thought she did.

“Then no more killing,” she said. “End it. You’re not your father—you don’t have to be.”
Just as I don’t have to be mine,
she thought, almost absently. “Don’t sell us all out to the Nazis just to save yourself. You might live, but what about your conscience?”

But he couldn’t meet her eyes, and turned away. “Let me worry about my conscience, Maggie,” he said, calmer now.

The wind began to die down and the waves weren’t quite as violent. The gray at the edge of the horizon was turning a delicate pink. And she could also hear the rumbling engine of a ship. They all looked towards the direction of the sound.

Whose ship was it? German or British?

“It’s German,” Gregory said, as if reading their minds. “You quite cleverly disarmed the sub, but they’ve radioed to France for a pickup from a German patrol boat. There’s nowhere for you to run. Even if I wanted to help you now, I couldn’t. Things are in motion and have taken on a momentum of their own.”

“That’s pathetic, Gregory,” Maggie called. “Don’t be a coward. Be the hero I know you can be.”

The sound of the engine seemed closer, and Maggie felt a tingle of horror. She knew what she had to do, if the worst happened. David would have to use his cyanide tablet, and she’d have to jump overboard. The Nazis weren’t going to take them alive. And she had to believe that Lilibet would be treated well in Germany and that Frain and Churchill would somehow rescue her.

The sky was turning a streaked scarlet. Maggie could see the Nazi patrol boat coming toward them, and she put her arm around Lilibet.
Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning,
Maggie thought absently. She looked around her.
So, this is how it ends,
she thought.
Well,
she thought, looking over at David,
at least we’re fighting the good fight together.

And then, without warning, the world seemed to explode. There was a wall of noise. Bright flashes and flares of light. The stench of smoke. Time itself was pierced by a thunderous detonation. The waves roiled and crested and the sub lurched to one side and back again. Boothby and the crewmen struggled to keep their balance.

Lilibet fell against Maggie, whose back hit the guard rail, hard.

David took advantage of the swaying to grab Gregory by his coat and sideswipe him with the briefcase, which hit his face with a loud
crack.
Gregory staggered back, stunned. He put his hand to his cheek, and his face lit with rage. He lunged for David, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing, eyes wild.

Maggie saw David struggling to get free from Gregory. She ran to Gregory and tried to pry his hands off David’s neck. Lilibet, seeing what was happening, crawled over to Gregory, brave as the Prince in
Sleeping Beauty.
Just as Maggie kneed him in the groin, Lilibet bit down on his ankle as hard as she could. “Good girl!” Maggie managed.

Gregory cried out in anguish and released his grip on David, who fell to the deck, gasping for air. Gregory stumbled backward and fell as well, curling into a fetal position.

“
That’
s for calling him a poof!” Lilibet yelled into the wind. Maggie was filled with both amazement and sisterly pride.

Before anyone had a chance to recover, there was another enormous blast—the approaching German ship exploded in smoke and lacy white froth. One final detonation, and the ship burst into a ball of orange and red flames, reflected in the grey water. Boothby and the two crewmen watched helplessly.

Gregory managed to turn himself over and whistled through his bleeding teeth and lip. “Goddamned British Navy.”

“You want to know a British military secret?” David shouted, propping himself up on his elbows. “We’re equipped with
really big guns,
you … jerk!” he said, realizing the Princess was there.

Maggie went to Lilibet and cradled her in her arms, keeping her eyes west. “The British are coming.”

“About time, Paul Revere,” said David, before turning back to Gregory. “You’ll have quite the story to tell before they hang you for treason.”

But Gregory was already unlacing his heavy boots and stripping off his mackintosh. “But it seems like such a lovely morning for a swim,” he said, a man with nothing to lose, nothing to live for.

“No!” Maggie screamed. “Don’t do it!” She didn’t know how she felt about Gregory—disgust, hate, pity? But she did know she didn’t want him to die. “You’ll never make it!” Even if he could swim to France, the water was too cold. It would kill him before he could reach the shore.

“But I might,” he said, winking at her with his good eye. “And it’s better than the alternative,” he called back to them before he dove into the sea.

Maggie watched Gregory’s head bobbing amidst the waves. Then he vanished beneath the surface, rising again, choking on seawater. His eyes locked with Maggie’s as he slowly, slowly slipped beneath the surface of the water. She watched him sink into the darkness until she couldn’t see his face any longer.

Oh, Gregory, what a waste,
was all she could think, feeling her eyes well up with hot tears.
What a tragic, tragic waste of a life.

She, David and Lilibet, exhausted, huddled together for warmth, until the rubber dinghy reached them.

That evening, after being debriefed and
arriving
back at Windsor Castle, Maggie and David were taken to the Royal Family’s private apartments. They’d been given hot baths, glasses of cognac, fresh, dry clothes, and a chance to sleep. Now up and dressed and looked over by the Royal Physician, they entered the royal family’s private sitting room. David’s head was bandaged, as was the wrist that had had the handcuff on it. Maggie looked tired and pale, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

It was a large chamber, but cozy, with buttercup-yellow silk walls, a soft red Persian carpet, and a plethora of needlepoint pillows. The King and Queen were there, sitting on an overstuffed sofa, surrounded by their corgis. Winston Churchill and Peter Frain sat in chairs opposite. Hugh was present as well, sitting next to Frain, a pair of crutches at his side. He and Maggie locked eyes. She smiled and his face relaxed. He tried to stand.

“Please don’t,” Maggie said. She tried to remember her Royal etiquette. “Your Majesties,” she said, making a shaky curtsey. David did the same, with a bow.

“Please, sit down, both of you. You poor dears,” Queen Elizabeth said. Maggie smiled. She sounded just like a mother—which, of course, she was.

“Quite an adventure you two had, heh?” Churchill said, getting up. He gave David a bear-like embrace, slapping the younger man’s back repeatedly, while David winced. Then he kissed Maggie’s hand. “Can’t seem to keep you out of trouble, Miss Hope.”

The King had risen as well. “Jolly good show, both of you. If anything had happened to Lilibet … Well, I just can’t bear to think of it.”

“Well, it didn’t,” said Frain. “And they didn’t get Mr. Greene and Miss Hope with the knowledge they each possess, either. The U-Boat’s been captured and the surviving men all taken into custody. I have just one question. What happened to Gregory Strathcliffe?”

“He decided to swim for France,” Maggie said.

“And?”

“He—he drowned.”

“Good.” Frain nodded. “More paperwork, of course, but that’s that, then.”

The Queen indicated an ornate silver tray with a porcelain teapot, with enamels and gilding, as well as matching translucent bone cups and saucers on the low table in front of one of the sofas. “Please sit down, everyone. Who would like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Maggie said, taking a seat as the Queen poured cups for both her and David.

“How is the Princess, ma’am?” Maggie asked, accepting the cup and saucer. “Her foot?”

“She’s, well, she’s had quite the time of it. The doctor’s seen to her and it’s just a sprained ankle, thank goodness. She’s resting with Alah now. But she has her grandmother’s strong constitution—and she’s going to be fine.”

“She was very brave,” Maggie told the King and Queen. “She helped save us.”

“Of course she did,” said the King, taking the Queen’s hand and beaming with pride. “She’s our daughter.”

“Mr. Thompson,” Maggie said, “how is your leg?”

“Fine,” replied Hugh. “I’ll be on crutches for a while but expect to make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Maggie said, wishing she could say so much more.

“I must apologize for my role in all this,” the King said. “I knew about Lily’s background and I allowed her to stay at Windsor anyway. If I’d sent her away, as I should have … Instead, I sent away Marta Kunst Tooke, who was completely innocent.”

“And I let my prejudice against Louisa blind me to the fact that it was actually Audrey and George Poulter who were setting up the kidnapping plot,” Maggie interjected.

“All’s well that end’s well, then?” the Prime Minister said.

“Indeed,” added Frain. Then, to Maggie and Hugh, “I’ll see you two at my office on Monday morning, after the New Year,” he said. Then his tone softened. “In the meantime, happy Christmas.”

“Thank you,” David chimed in. “Still Jewish, of course. But I do love a cup of mulled wine and those little almond cookies at this time of the year. And the trees are always pretty.”

As Churchill, Frain, David, and the King and Queen began a long political discussion, Maggie leaned over to Hugh. “So, how’s the leg?” she asked. “Really.”

“I’ll live,” he told her. “Just needed a few stitches.”

“That’s good.”

They listened to the discussion for a while, then Hugh said, “So, you’re off to Leeds for a wedding, then?”

“How did you—?” Maggie began, then realized that she’d had to clear her schedule with MI-5 months ago and of course he’d know. “Yes, off to my friends’ wedding. I’m a bridesmaid.”

“Are you, um, bringing anyone? As a date, I mean?”

“No,” Maggie said. She wished she could ask him, but they both knew it wasn’t in the cards.

“Well,” he said, not hiding his pleasure. “Good.”

The next day, after breakfast, Maggie and David packed up their things. From Windsor, they would drive straight to Leeds, for Nigel and Chuck’s New Year’s wedding.

“Merciful Minerva,” David exclaimed, “in all the excitement, I’d nearly forgotten about good old Nigel’s getting hitched.”

“Well, as a bridesmaid,” Maggie said, “I’ve been getting regular updates all fall. You wouldn’t think Chuck would be so girly about her wedding, but she really did get into the spirit. We might need to start calling her Charlotte Mary.”

They walked past the doors to the nursery. “Do you mind?” she said to David. “I’d like to check in on Lilibet.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Maggie gave a soft knock at the door. Alah opened it. “Oh, Maggie!” she cried, falling into Maggie’s arms. “We’re ever so grateful to you, for bringing our Lilibet back!”

Maggie was stunned, and held the woman, patting her back. “She was truly brave,” she said. “A credit to you and Crawfie.”

Alah sniffled. “If anything had happened …”

“But it didn’t.”

Alah wiped at her eyes. “It didn’t. You’re right. Stiff upper lip, Miss Hope. Stiff upper lip.”

“May I see Lilibet?” Maggie asked. “I’m off to a wedding and then, well, I’m not really sure what’s next.”

“Of course,” Alah said. She went to Lilibet’s bedroom door and knocked. “Miss Hope is here to see you!”

The door popped open and Lilibet and Margaret both burst out. “Oh, Maggie,” Lilibet said, hopping to her on her good leg and wrapping her arms around Maggie’s neck. “It all seems like a dream now, doesn’t it?”

“A bit,” Maggie said, smiling.

“Were you
really
on a German submarine?” Margaret demanded. “Because sometimes Lilibet likes to tease me.”

“We really were,” Maggie answered. “Cross my heart.”

“Maggie,” Lilibet said, taking her hand and leading her over to the sofa, “I want to thank you—and Mr. Greene—for everything.”

Maggie blinked back tears as she sat next to the young woman. “It was our pleasure, Your Highness. And now you and Margaret have a wonderful holiday and New Year.”

“Will you be back in January?” Lilibet asked. As Maggie searched for an answer, the girl suddenly realized, “You—you weren’t here to teach me maths, were you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Maggie smiled. “Well, that’s
partly
why I was here,” she said. “And you have to admit it came in handy.”

“The code—” Lilibet began.

“Yes,” Maggie finished. “So, keep working on your maths, all right? And I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Someday.”

The day of Chuck and Nigel’s wedding dawned clear and sunny. Maggie awoke from her trundle bed, set up in Chuck’s old room, and spent a moment looking out the window, watching the gray turn to bright white and then, finally, a bright azure.

“Wake up, sleepyhead, it’s your wedding day!” she said to her old friend, fast asleep.

Chuck groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. “Five more minutes …”

“Up!” Maggie pulled the duvet off.

Chuck sighed and turned over, a dreamy smile on her face. “It really is today, isn’t it?” She looked over at her wedding ensemble, on a hanger over the door. It wasn’t a white dress—not enough rations—but it was a lovely portrait-neck burgundy silk suit that Chuck’s mother had done over with an ivory lace collar.

“It’d better be,” Maggie said, sitting down on the corner of Chuck’s bed. “I don’t think my back can stand that trundle bed any longer.”

Chuck sat up. “Now, just because it’s not a feather bed in a
castle.
”

“Oh, please. Living at Windsor was like ‘camping in a museum,’ as Crawfie used to say.”

“Well, I hope it wasn’t too awful. I’m so glad you came a bit early—dealing with all of the wedding plans, plus the family and the future in-laws—or, as I like the call them, ‘the outlaws.’ “ Chuck rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s just say I’ll be glad to finally be married.”

“And you’re going to be a beautiful bride.”

“Nigel thinks so, at least, and that’s all I care about.” Chuck rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She wasn’t a conventional beauty, but she was handsome and her intelligence and wit gave her a sparkle that drew people to her.

“Well, we might as well start by getting you some tea and breakfast,” Maggie told her. “Don’t want the bride fainting away, now do we?”

“Is it going to be strange for you, Maggie? I mean, without John?”

It was, but Maggie didn’t want Chuck to spend even a moment of this day worrying about it. “It’s hard. Every day is hard. But life goes on. And I know he’d be so happy to see you and Nigel finally tie the knot. So, I’m fine, darling. Really.”

The wedding was a small ceremony, with only close family and friends, at Chuck’s family’s church, Holy Trinity. Maggie was wearing her green wool dress and had rolled her hair. She was putting on Chuck’s lipstick when Sarah arrived.

“Kittens!” she squealed, putting down her valise. “You both look ravishing!”

“Sarah!” Chuck and Maggie chorused, running to the slender, glamorous woman in the smart cherry-colored suit and matching turban. “You’re here!”

“Without a moment to spare,” she said. “The Ballet’s in Liverpool this week. The damn train kept breaking down. I’ve been up all night—never thought I’d get here.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Maggie said, “and that’s all that counts.”

“Plenty of time,” Chuck said.

“My, aren’t you calm for a bride-to-be!” Sarah exclaimed.

Chuck motioned to the glass of Buck’s Fizz Maggie had made for her. “That certainly doesn’t hurt.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Oh, may I have one?”

“Of course,” Maggie said, mixing orange juice and champagne. “Let’s have a toast.”

The three women raised their glasses. “To Chuck,” Maggie began. “A beautiful bride and a beautiful woman, inside and out. We wish you a lifetime of happiness.”

They clinked glasses.

“To the honeymoon!” Sarah said, with a sly smile.

They clinked again.

Then, “To friends,” Chuck said. “War, bombs, rationing—my engagement—I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And you’re going to need us.” Maggie smiled. To Sarah, “I don’t know if you’ve met her in-laws yet, but they make the Germans seem like Beatrix Potter’s fuzzy bunnies.”

Holy Trinity Church was small and stone, with a sharp gothic bellower pointing heavenward. The young women and Chuck’s parents parked in the lot, then walked in the cold, crisp air, past the graveyard with its gray lichen-covered headstones, to the entrance of the church. They passed over the threshold and waited in the vestibule for the organ music Chuck and Nigel had chosen, Purcell’s “Welcome, Glorious Morn.” The sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, making them glow and casting reflections of sapphire, ruby, amethyst, and emerald on the hard wooden pews.

Chuck’s mother proceeded down the worn stone aisle, followed by Maggie and Sarah. There was a pause and the small group in the first few rows of the church rose as Chuck took her father’s arm and began the walk down.

Nigel waited for her at the altar, smart in his RAF dress uniform, still a bit barrel-shaped, but thinner now, his face showing more angles and planes. As Maggie took her position at Chuck’s side, she managed a glance at the congregation in the pews. David was there, looking handsome in his gray morning suit.

Maggie looked away, back to Chuck and Nigel, as her heartbeat quickened. She was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings—happiness, relief, longing, anger, and anguish, all at once.

The ceremony was short, solemn, and sweet. And after it was over, the bride, groom, and wedding guests walked over to the wedding luncheon, held in the back room of Anthony’s, the town’s finest restaurant. In the small room, tables were pushed together. The guests sat down as waiters brought in trays of champagne coupes, for the toast. As soon as the speeches were made, waiters brought bowls of steaming parsnip soup and trays of dainty-looking sandwiches—cucumber, ham and mustard, mock crab salad. The drinks began in earnest—pints of beer, shandies and gin-and-tonics pink with Angostura Bitters and glistening ice cubes.

Maggie found herself caught up in the swirling joy of the day, raising her glass to Nigel and Chuck’s health and happiness for at least the fifth time. It was infectious and there was no way she could resist.

“You doing all right, love?” Sarah asked.

Warmed by a glass and a half of shandy, Maggie answered, “I’m fine. Really. It’s Chuck and Nigel’s big day and I couldn’t be happier.”