The Good Servant, page 31
Crawfie gave her full attention. ‘Come on then.’
‘It’s a secret.’
Crawfie grinned. ‘Out with it.’
Lilibet held out her left hand, wiggling the fourth finger. ‘Philip and I are engaged to be married.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Crawfie stood up and hugged her. ‘How wonderful. Congratulations!’
‘Thank you. The public announcement is tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! Let me see that ring.’
‘Philip designed it. The stones are a gift from his mother, Princess Alice.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Crawfie squeezed Lilibet’s hand with love. ‘I’m so happy for you.’
Lilibet took a seat. ‘Now that I’m twenty-one, Papa has finally given his consent.’
‘Of course he has. You and Philip will be very happy together.’ Crawfie smiled. She looked thoughtfully at Lilibet. The Princess had been just a little girl when Marion and George first met, but she was so grown up these days. Now that she was getting married, now that Margaret was nearing seventeen, perhaps it was finally time for Crawfie to make a change within her own life. ‘Actually, I have a secret too,’ she said.
Lilibet looked at her curiously. ‘Well, do tell me.’
‘I am engaged to be married too!’
Lilibet clapped her hands. ‘How exciting! But you are not wearing a ring?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t know you had a beau? Who is he?’
‘Major George Buthlay.’
‘A soldier! Tell me about him.’
‘He is a little older than me and he is a bank manager with Drummonds Bank.’
‘A catch! When is the big day?’
‘Well …’ Marion hesitated. ‘It has been a long engagement, but I think perhaps the wedding will be soon. I must ask the Queen first.’
‘Oh, Mummy will be as pleased for you, I know, as I am! We will all want to come to the wedding. After all, you are our Crawfie.’
The two women chatted for several minutes, both delighted for each other, until they heard a scream from the nursery.
They exchanged worried looks and, in unison, jumped to their feet and ran towards the noise.
Bobo was standing by Alah’s chair, shaking and crying pitifully.
‘What on earth has happened, Bobo?’ asked Crawfie.
Bobo pointed to Alah’s chair. ‘I can’t wake her up,’ she sobbed.
Crawfie’s heart began pumping hard. ‘Alah!’ She shook her friend’s arm. ‘Alah, it’s me, Crawfie. Can you hear me?’
Alah’s arm flopped over the chair arm. ‘Alah!’ Crawfie’s voice was rising. ‘Bobo, call the doctor.’
Bobo was rooted to the spot.
‘Bobo! Get the doctor!’
When she had gone, Crawfie and Lilibet knelt before Alah. Crawfie took her pulse as she had been taught in a wartime first aid course.
‘Is she alive?’ Lilibet asked, her voice a little shaky.
‘Just. Very slow heartbeat. Let’s get her on the floor and into the recovery position.’
They got her onto the floor and placed a small cushion under her head. ‘Get a blanket, please, Lilibet.’
The two of them sat by the dear servant, talking to her and stroking her forehead. ‘The doctor is on his way,’ Lilibet told her. ‘Don’t worry. Help is coming and we’ll get you as right as rain.’
Marion sat on her heels. ‘She’s had a chesty cough for a while now,’ she said to Lilibet, in a low voice. ‘She refused to see the doctor. Where is he?’
When he came, Dr Mackay felt for Alah’s pulse, took her temperature and listened to her lungs. ‘Pneumonia. We need to get her to hospital.’
‘I will go with her,’ Lilibet said.
‘No, no, I will go,’ Crawfie insisted. She felt almost sick with worry.
Dr Mackay agreed. ‘Your Royal Highness, you must stay here. Please let Her Majesty know.’
‘I will, of course.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Sitting in the ambulance and stroking Alah’s hand, Crawfie spoke to her old friend as calmly as she could manage. ‘Now, Alah, dear, I knew there was something wrong – didn’t I say you should see the doctor? Thank goodness Dr Mackay was at the Palace today. Imagine, the King’s own physician tending to you! You are so precious to us all. When you get better, I am going to make sure you have every afternoon off to rest. I shall personally tie you to your bed if you don’t behave. And anyway, I want you at my wedding. You have to be there. Why didn’t you admit to feeling so rough? Hang on tight. We are nearly at the hospital.’
Dr Mackay and the medical team swept Alah off into a treatment room while Crawfie sat in the long corridor outside. After a while, she needed the lavatory and a passing nurse directed her. ‘The teashop is just near it if you need some refreshment.’
It was while Crawfie was buttering a toasted teacake that Dr Mackay found her. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said.
Crawfie dropped her knife. ‘No? You don’t mean—? No! She can’t be gone?’
‘We did all we could, but the pneumonia was too far advanced.’
Crawfie stared at him in horror. She almost fell back into her chair, barely able to stand, as she felt tears well in her eyes.
The nursery, when she returned to the Palace, was peaceful and quiet. Bobo was waiting for her and when Crawfie had delivered the terrible news, they clung to each other, their tears flowing freely.
Later, Crawfie washed Bobo’s face and hands and put her to bed. ‘You must get some sleep, Bobo. Grief is tiring. See you in the morning.’
Bobo closed her eyes obediently. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep, and when she had, Crawfie tiptoed out of the room and closed the door silently.
Back in the nursery, she plumped up the cushions on Alah’s chair and opened the big window to let her spirit free.
Outside, London rumbled past. From Green Park the scent of plane trees, mown grass and the song of a blackbird assaulted Crawfie’s senses, as she sent a prayer to Alah, giving thanks for all the times they had shared, the laughs, tears and tiffs. She would miss her so dearly.
On her way to her bedroom, she hesitated outside the closed door of Alah’s room but couldn’t bear to go in. That would be for tomorrow. Now she had to write a reply to George.
My dearest George,
Thank you for your letter. Please never doubt my love for you. I hate it when we have misunderstandings. You have waited so patiently for me, I know, but I really am determined that we will be married soon. I just hope I am worth the wait.
I want so much to build a little home together. We may not be rich, but we will be happy.
I have made up my mind to talk to Queen Mary before I speak to the Queen. I hope she might discuss it with the Queen so that it won’t be such a shock when I announce our plans. I know that sounds rather feeble of me, but I hate to upset them. In many ways, yes, they are my family and leaving them will be difficult. I shall explain that I won’t be leaving them entirely after we are married – not just yet. I have to see it out until the end. I know you will understand. I will let you know the moment I have the royal assent.
With all my love, darling,
Marion xx
P.S. Dear Alah died today. I haven’t the wherewithal to write more about that at the moment. I am too tired and too sad.
Chapter Forty-Six
Buckingham Palace, 11th July 1947
‘Come in.’ Tommy was sitting at his desk.
P-T, his loyal secretary, popped her head round his door. ‘Miss Crawford to see you, sir.’
‘Excellent. Show her in, and perhaps we could have some tea?’
P-T nodded, before leaving the room. A moment later Crawfie entered, looking a little anxious.
‘Come along in and sit down.’ Tommy offered her a seat.
‘Thank you for seeing me.’
‘Always a pleasure. How can I help you?’
Crawfie took a deep breath and let her words spill out. ‘George and I want to finally get married.’
Tommy peered at her. ‘I see.’
‘I told Queen Mary this morning because she has always been such a support over the last fifteen years and I felt I could discuss it with her. But when I told her, she said that I couldn’t leave the family now because they wouldn’t manage without me. I’m sorry.’ Crawfie pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘As you know, George and I have waited so long, I had rather hoped that this time …’ She wiped her eyes again.
Tommy sat back in his chair. ‘And you thought, by telling Queen Mary first, she might pave the way to the Queen’s consent?’
‘I suppose I did.’
P-T came in with two cups of tea. P-T glanced quietly at Crawfie’s tearstained face, but Tommy gave a warning look she recognized as an order to say nothing and leave quietly.
When they were alone, Tommy poured the tea. ‘Now you drink this, and tell me all about your fiancé.’
Through a few more tears and a little nose blowing, Crawfie told him. ‘A major, eh? Jolly good. Gordon Highlanders, too. And he saw action, you said?’
‘He fought in the Great War – he is a little older than me, you know – and was made Major then. As you know, he worked with a relief agency, organizing essential supplies to those made homeless or sick. Unfortunately he was invalided out with malaria.’
‘Malaria? Remind me, where was he stationed?’
‘Italy.’
He picked up his pen and jotted down these details, then asked, ‘And how do you think I could help you?’
‘I would like to make an appointment to see the Queen on an urgent, important and most personal matter.’
Buckingham Palace, 12th July 1947
The Queen listened as Crawfie put her case.
‘So you see, ma’am, we have waited all these years to be married because I never wanted to leave you or the Princesses. It has been my duty and my honour to serve Your Majesties, and to have left would be very unfair on the Princesses when they most needed me.’
The Queen put her head to one side, in thought. ‘I suppose you would be thinking of leaving us when you marry? You must see that this would be most inconvenient. A change at this late stage for Margaret would be undesirable.’
‘I assure you I do not wish to upset your plans. For the time being, I would be happy to live and work at the Palace, even after my marriage. But my work here will soon no longer be required. Princess Elizabeth will be married and Princess Margaret is almost seventeen.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I have a likeness of George, Major Buthlay, to show you, if you would care to see?’
Crawfie handed over the small photograph that she had treasured ever since he had given it to her. It was an old one of him in uniform, looking young and very smart.
There was a long silence as the Queen surveyed it. ‘Why, Crawfie, that was a great sacrifice you made. I shall talk with the King.’
Buckingham Palace, 13th July 1947
Tommy had become very fond of Miss Crawford. Over the years she had shown herself to be utterly loyal, discreet and courageous. But he had never much liked the sound of this George Buthlay, and if it looked as though Miss Crawford was now really going to marry him, he had to made some enquiries.
And he found some disturbing news. With friends in high places, it had been easy for Tommy to get someone in the war office to pull out Buthlay’s records. They were now sitting on his desk in front of him and told a sorry story.
George had indeed fought in France during the First World War but had come out as a captain, not major. In the last war he was not declined for poor eyesight; he had not attempted to enlist in the first place. It was true he had worked for a relief agency, but he had not been invalided out with malaria – he had been cashiered because an inordinate quantity of essential supplies that he was in charge of (including food, medicine and fuel) had gone missing, presumed stolen and sold on the black market.
In short, the man was a liar and a cheat.
How on earth was he to tell Miss Crawford?
Chapter Forty-Seven
Buckingham Palace, 24th July 1947
Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret insisted on meeting George.
‘He can come here,’ Margaret decreed. Nearly seventeen now, she was always determined to get her own way.
‘To Buckingham Palace?’ Crawfie hadn’t thought of where they were to meet. Imagining George actually in her place of work made her feel uneasy.
‘Yes. He will be our guest,’ Margaret said airily. ‘Any guest of ours is always welcome.’
Ten days later, George was on his way down from Aberdeen. Crawfie met him at the station.
Several heads turned as the tall young woman with a large nose embraced the much older, shorter, moustached gentlemen.
A couple of busybodies passed them and muttered, ‘Every pot has a lid, I suppose.’
Crawfie heard none of it. She was too excited. At last she was able to show off her wonderful fiancé to the people she cared most about. If only Alah was still alive. She would have adored him, surely.
Arriving by taxi at Buckingham Palace, Marion swept George inside. Tommy was just on his way out and they ran into each other.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Crawford,’ he said, eyeing the small, dapper man next to her.
‘This is my fiancé, Major George Buthlay,’ Marion told him with pride.
‘Ah. Major Buthlay.’ Tommy held out his hand. ‘Good to meet you.’ So, this was the little pipsqueak who had wormed his way into Miss Crawford’s life.
‘Sir.’ George was beaming. The cat who’d got the cream. Tommy made a note to have a word with him before he left.
George’s eyes goggled and gleamed as Marion took him up impressive staircases and treasure-lined corridors.
‘Might I bump into the King?’ he asked. ‘Or the Queen?’
‘Shh. Keep your voice down,’ Marion told him. ‘And no, because they are not here today.’
‘Shame. I think the King and I have a lot in common. Both servicemen. Where do they bank? Drummonds would be happy to look after them.’
Marion said nothing, but stopped outside the cream and gold door. ‘Here we are.’ She smoothed her dress and checked George’s regimental tie before knocking twice. The door flew open.
‘You are here at last.’ Lilibet and Margaret stood before them, two beautiful young women in pretty summer dresses.
George almost saluted them.
‘Major Buthlay, welcome,’ said Princess Elizabeth. ‘Do come in.’
‘We have ordered tea,’ said Princess Margaret.
For a moment Marion felt reality tilt. Her two worlds colliding almost made her dizzy. She had kept them separate for so long.
George was looking around the room, and Marion tried to imagine it through his eyes. It was certainly not ostentatious: two old-fashioned armchairs with a matching sofa, a desk from the time of Queen Victoria and a polished table covered in photographs of dogs and relatives. A large vase of summer flowers stood in the fireplace, and an ormolu clock struck the half hour on the mantelpiece.
‘Isn’t this a beautiful room, George?’ Marion asked, with obvious pride.
‘The Queen’s sense of style,’ Princess Elizabeth said with self-deprecation. ‘She is very clever at these things. I wouldn’t have a clue.’
‘Look out of the window, Major Buthlay,’ said Princess Margaret. ‘You can see all the way down to the lake.’
He walked over and looked, but said nothing.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Marion went to stand next to him, anxiously wanting him to show some appreciation of his surroundings.
‘Aye. It’s very nice. But not a patch on the Highlands.’
‘George!’ Marion said, with a small glare that only he could see.
Margaret laughed. ‘I quite agree. Balmoral is spectacular and we love being there – but don’t you think London is more exciting?’
Before he could answer, a footman and a maid came in with the tea tray.
‘Oh, strawberries,’ Princess Elizabeth said with delight. ‘You must try those, Major Buthlay. We grow them here. All down to Crawfie. She had us planting a little fruit and veg patch years ago. Now, do come and sit down.’
Cups of tea were poured and delicate scones, still warm from the oven, were handed around with clotted cream and the fresh strawberries.
When they were settled, Princess Margaret asked teasingly, ‘I hope you are going to keep Crawfie in order when you are married. She has been bullying us for the last sixteen years.’
‘Oh, don’t worry.’ He laughed. ‘I will.’
Marion smiled. ‘We have had a long engagement,’ she said. ‘George has been most patient.’
‘Some things are worth waiting for.’ His smile was charming and the Princesses, Marion could tell, had taken to him.
For almost an hour the four of them chatted about things they enjoyed and pets they loved. Marion was pleased to see that George was at his most charming, full of little jokes and shows of interest.
‘You three,’ he said. ‘You are so alike. Almost like sisters, all of you. You talk and laugh alike, and look at your mannerisms, the way you use your hands. It is uncanny.’
Marion blushed. ‘George!’
‘Crawfie is almost family,’ agreed Princess Elizabeth. ‘She has been a wonderful governess and friend since we were so little. When Crawfie first came here, she wasn’t very much older than I am now.’
‘Although we thought you were very grown up when we first knew you,’ added Princess Margaret. ‘Isn’t that extraordinary!’
‘You were tiny wee girls when I first arrived,’ Marion said. ‘And now look at you: two fine young women – and one of you almost married.’
Princess Elizabeth turned to George. ‘Are you free in November, Major Buthlay? Our wedding is on the 20th, at Westminster Abbey.’
George beamed. ‘I would be honoured to come.’
‘Excellent. And have you and Crawfie fixed a date yet?’
George took Marion’s hand in his. ‘I haven’t discussed this with you yet’ – Marion’s eyes widened – ‘but I have spoken to the minister at Dunfermline Abbey, and the 16th September is available. It’s a Tuesday.’
