Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

concluded.
    “Actually, I suspect Mummy twisted their arms to make them invite us,” Fig said candidly. “Ducky isn’t the most hospitable of people usually.”
    It obviously ran in the family.
    “So the point is, Georgie, that we’ll be taking off for the south of France as soon as we can book tickets.” There was a long pause, then he added, “And of course we’d like you to come with us, wouldn’t we, Fig?”
    “Golly, I’d love to,” I said quickly.
    Fig choked on her last toast crumbs. “What Binky was trying to say is that we’d like to have invited you to come with us, but we simply can’t afford another ticket. I don’t know how we’re going to come up with the funds for our own fares, but in my current condition—well, the doctor did say that sea air could be a wonderful tonic for me. So I hope you won’t be too disappointed.”
    “Oh, no, not at all,” I said, trying to sound bright.
    “And if we hear of anyone who is motoring out, we’ll see if they can bring you along to join us,” Binky said. Fig coughed on a crumb again.
    “But the point is, Georgiana, that we want to shut up this house completely,” she said. “Even one person can get through an awfully large amount of coal during a winter. So I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to Scotland unless you can find someone to stay with in London.”
    “That’s all right,” I said. “I have a place where I’m always welcome.”
    “You do?” They were both looking at me.
    “Certainly. I can go and stay with my grandfather.”
    This produced an impressive fit of coughing from Fig. “Your grandfather?” she demanded when she had recovered.
    “You mean the old Cockney man? The one who lives in Essex?” She spoke this last word as if it was equivalent to Outer Mongolia.
    “Well, my other grandfather, the old duke, has been dead for more than twenty years,” I said. “I don’t propose to camp out at his gravesite. My living grandfather has often told me that I’m always welcome at his house, even if it is humble compared to this one.”
    I saw swift looks pass between Binky and Fig.
    “You can’t live in Essex. The gutter press would have a field day if they found out,” Fig said.
    “And the queen would be furious.” Binky was looking really worried now. “Look here, old bean. It’s just not on. A member of the royal family, even if it is a very junior branch of the family, can’t just camp out in a commoner’s cottage.”
    “Actually, it’s a semidetached,” I said. “Besides, I have no alternative. I don’t want to be all alone in Scotland and you’re closing up this house. What do you expect me to do—sleep underneath the Arches and join that soup queue?”
    Binky winced. He was a kindhearted soul, just hopelessly weak where Fig was concerned. I watched him chewing at his lip.
    “I tell you what,” Binky said. “I’ll see what I can do. We’ll work things out somehow, I promise.”
    So did that mean they were going to find the money for my ticket after all? I didn’t know whether to be excited or not.

     
    My hopes of traveling to France with them sank a little lower the following morning. I came downstairs to hear Binky on the telephone, apparently to a travel agency.
    “It costs how much?” I heard his voice rise an octave. “For one berth? Yes, I realize that the Blue Train is special, and that it cuts out the inconvenience of changing trains in Paris. And yes, I realize that it’s called the Millionaires’ Train, but we’re not all millionaires, y’know. And no, I would not consider taking another train, impudent pup.” He put back the mouthpiece and came toward me up the stairs. “I had no idea it cost that much. But in her current condition I can’t expect her to change trains and take a taxicab across Paris, can I?” He looked at me with despair on his face. “Dash it all, Georgie. I wish things weren’t so bally complicated. Father and Grandfather never had to count every penny. I feel like such a hopeless failure.”
    “It’s not your fault,” I said.
    Binky nodded. “But I can’t help feeling that if I were a more enterprising sort of chap, I could make a go of things. I could grow some kind of cash crop.”
    “Nothing grows in the Scottish Highlands. You know that. And you’ve already sold off the best bits of land. Perhaps I’d better marry a millionaire and help us both.”
    Binky put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good old stick, Georgie, but don’t