Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

Queenie—”
    “Yes, my lady? See, I remembered this time—I’m improving, aren’t I?” She was staring at me expectantly.
    “I’ll want all my summer clothes washed and pressed,” I ended lamely. “You can do that without scorching anything, can’t you?”
    “I’ll give it a ruddy good try, my lady,” she said.

 
    Chapter 6
     
    January 17, 1933
I can hardly believe it. I am going to the Riviera. Still have
a few things to take care of first. Find spectacular wardrobe
somehow. Sort things out for Queenie.
     
    I was in an agony of indecision about what to do with Queenie. I had put aside enough money to pay her for a year, but it was a pitifully small amount. Would her parents let her live with them at home? Could she find another job while I was gone? I knew I was being ridiculously softhearted. Anyone else would have given her the sack after a day. I had tolerated and forgiven a string of ruined clothes and other gaffes and she really hadn’t shown many signs of improvement. Maybe this would be a good time to let her go and hope that she landed another job, somehow, somewhere. Since she had accidentally set her former employer’s skirt on fire, I didn’t think that was too likely.
    Then I thought of her face when I’d announced the trip to the Continent. Most girls of her station would be terrified at the thought of going abroad. But she was excited. I sighed. What was I going to do with her? I really couldn’t take her with me, but I couldn’t just turn her out to fend for herself. I decided the only thing to do was to go and visit Granddad. He was wise. Besides, his neighbor Mrs. Huggins would be there, and she was Queenie’s great-aunt. Together they would come up with a solution for me.
    The thought of visiting Granddad cheered me up instantly. He was the one person who was not fettered by all the silly rules of my class, who showed that he really cared about me. I cared about him too, but our lives were so different that it was hard for us to spend time together. I didn’t belong in an Essex suburb and he didn’t belong at Rannoch House. I put on my overcoat and scarf again and headed for the Underground station.
    Granddad’s neat little semidetached house usually looked quite cheerful, with its gnomes in the tiny front garden. But at this time of year nothing was growing in those tiny flower beds and one of the gnomes had fallen on his face. I righted him before I knocked on the front door.
    It was opened by Mrs. Huggins (or should I say Mrs. ’uggins, because that is what she calls herself), Granddad’s next-door neighbor. She was wearing a flowered pinny over a hand-knitted jumper of orange and purple stripes. I realized that Queenie’s taste in clothes obviously ran in the family.
    “Well, strike me down,” she said. “If it ain’t ’er ladyship. Come on in, ducks. This won’t ’alf perk up the old bloke.”
    “Is he ill, then?”
    She nodded as she ushered me into the narrow hallway. “It’s ’is chest again.” She leaned close to whisper the words.
    “You know what it’s like in the winter. He’s just had a nasty cold and it don’t seem to go away, so he’s getting my good stew and dumplings ’til he’s on the mend.”
    “Who is it, Hettie?” came Granddad’s voice, followed by a bout of coughing.
    “It’s me, Granddad.” I went through to the tiny living room. My grandfather was sitting in an armchair by the fire, a rug over his knees. His face lit up when he saw me.
    “Blimey, you’re a sight for sore eyes, love. Come and give your old granddad a kiss.”
    I kissed the top of his bald head and pulled up a chair beside him.
    “Make us a nice cup of tea, Hettie,” Granddad said. He took my hand and held it tightly. “So how have you been, my love? Not seen you since Christmas. Been keeping all right?”
    “Oh, I’m just fine, Granddad. More to the point, how are you?”
    “Oh, not too bad. You know every time I get a ruddy cold it goes straight to my blooming chest. But I’m getting over it. Hettie’s taking good care of me.”
    “I’m going to go to the south of France,” I said. “I wish I could take you with me. It would do you good to be in a warm climate.”
    “South of France?” He gave a throaty chuckle. “Not for me, thanks, love. They eat frogs’ legs and all kinds of funny stuff, don’t they? No, I never did take to France. Not after my boy Jimmy didn’t come back from the Great War. So you go and have a good time,