A Royal Affair

by Allison Montclair

  “Three? It was two as of yesterday.”

  “He came over last night,” said Iris. “I was sneezing and blue. He brought curry for the one and whisky for the other.”

  “And after?”

  “And after, he left. In between, he was the perfect gentleman.”

  “You’ve had the most well-behaved courtship of your life with a gangster,” said Gwen.

  “I know,” said Iris. “I’ve gone through the mirror into Looking-Glass Land. But it’s still early. Plenty of time for it to go horribly wrong.”

  * * *

  They took the train to Greenwich in the afternoon. Gwen consulted her directions when they emerged from the station.

  “It should be north, towards the river,” she said. “We’re early.”

  “We should have come at noon,” said Iris. “We could have swung by the Royal Observatory and set our watches on the meridian.”

  The architecture evolved from Georgian to Victorian as they walked from the station. They emerged from the curved rows of houses and passed the Royal Observatory. Iris carried a small brown leather camera case at her side.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “He lives near the Royal Naval College. He lectures there.”

  “War stories and he’s a lecturer,” grumbled Iris. “There had better be tea. There’s the maritime museum. Have you taken Little Ronnie there yet?”

  “Of course. It’s part of every child’s adventures. I really must take him again soon. Maybe Saturday—no, that won’t do.”

  “Why not?”

  “He will be attending a birthday party.”

  “That should be jolly for you.”

  “I was not invited.”

  “Really? Snubbed by a six-year-old?”

  “By his mother. My psychiatric situation is known in our circles. She doesn’t want me around her children.”

  “Why? Is she afraid you’ll suddenly strip to your knickers and howl at the moon?”

  “That would be educational for the children, wouldn’t it? Yes, something like that. So I’ve decided not to press the issue with my mother-in-law. Not while things are on the mend.”

  “I’d go,” said Iris.

  “I know,” said Gwen. “But I’m not you. And you’re not Ronnie’s mother. I’ll choose my own battles, and a child’s birthday party is not one of them, thank you. Here’s the address. Oh, how pretty!”

  Unlike in the center of Greenwich, the homes here were separated. The Buchanan-Wollastons owned a two-storey wooden house that possessed both a front porch and a small balcony, both overlooking the Thames. It was painted sea-green, with light blue-green shutters and railings. There was a pair of telescopes mounted on the balcony, one pointed out, the other up.

  “He must be both a stargazer and a ship spotter,” said Gwen.

  “Or a connoisseur of bathing beauties,” said Iris, glancing towards the Thames.

  Indeed, a number of people were crowded onto a narrow strip of open shore, mostly mothers with small children, but with a scattering of young women taking in the sun. Gwen watched wistfully as a pack of small boys, younger even than her own, splashed about the edges of the water with their trousers rolled up as high as they could get them. Off to the right, a training ship from the Royal Naval College, covered with young cadets swarming about under the barked orders of their instructors, was carefully leaving its dock.

  “I can see why he picked this spot to retire,” said Gwen.

  “Retire?” boomed a voice from behind them. “Not a bit of it!”

  They turned to see a man in full dress naval regalia standing at the top of the steps leading to the porch. His beard was brown with streaks of gray, and so precisely trimmed that a sounding taken at any given point would have revealed a uniform depth to a thousandth of an inch. His bearing was straight as a mainmast, and as they approached, he removed his cap with a practiced flourish that had an old-fashioned gallantry to it.

  “How do you do, Admiral Buchanan-Wollaston,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “I am Mrs. Gwendolyn Bainbridge. This is Miss Sparks, my secretary. Request permission to come aboard, sir.”

  “Permission granted,” said Buchanan-Wollaston.

  “One moment, if you please, sir,” said Sparks, removing her Leica from her camera bag. “Could you put your cap back on for a moment? Perfect! Thank you, sir.”

  “My pleasure.” Buchanan-Wollaston beamed. “May I invite you into my humble abode, ladies?”

  He held the door as they entered, then followed them inside.

  The two women glanced around the parlour, where a decorative civil war had taken place. Model sailing vessels fought for surface space with some amateurish attempts at pottery. The walls were covered with framed photographs of ships from the Royal Navy bumping up against needlepoint samplers with religious and nautical texts for their subjects. “HOME IS THE SAILOR, HOME FROM THE SEA,” proclaimed one, while from across the room “THEY THAT GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS, THAT DO BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS; THESE SEE THE WORKS OF THE LORD, AND HIS WONDERS IN THE DEEP” met their eye.

  “‘For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof,’” said Mrs. Bainbridge, finishing the quote. “That’s from Psalms, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed, Mrs. Bainbridge,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “Sounds like you could give my wife a run for her money.”

  “Alas, my needlepoint is inadequate for the task,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “Else I would be doing nothing more than creating such nautical inspirations. Ah, what lovely model ships! Am I correct in guessing that they are your work?”

  “They are,” said Buchanan-Wollaston, puffing up with pride as Mrs. Bainbridge examined a group of miniature brigs and schooners, some defended with arrays of tiny cannon. “Each was a vessel with the British navy two centuries ago. I copied the designs from paintings at the museum. Have you been there yet?”

  “Not today,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “But it is a frequent stop for my son and me. I do believe the navy is in his future.”

  “How old is the lad?”

  “Six. Too young as yet.”

  “Under the current regulations, certainly,” he said. “Back in the days of the sailing ships, he could have begun as a cabin boy.”

  “How sad that these opportunities are no longer provided to today’s youths,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “So true, Mrs. Bainbridge,” agreed Buchanan-Wollaston. “I myself signed up with the navy when I was fourteen, and I’ve never left it.”

  “Fourteen!” exclaimed Mrs. Bainbridge. “My goodness! And you have risen so far! I understand that you were made captain in 1917.”

  “Yes, of the Fox. I was the exec of the Cornwall before that. I was mentioned in dispatches for my conduct during the Battle of the Falklands, so naturally, I was on the list for promotion.”

  “The ladies will certainly want to hear about that,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “Is that the Fox there?” asked Sparks, looking at one of the framed photographs.

  “It is, young lady,” he said. “Spent my command with her in the Red Sea. Not much of a war there at the time.”

  “Then came the Caesar,” continued Mrs. Bainbridge, looking at her notebook.

  “Depot ship,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “A relic. Couldn’t manage nine knots if a typhoon was blowing up her … stern. Couldn’t tell you how happy I was when they told me to bring her in to be scrapped.”

  “And then the Calypso,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “This was after the war, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Well after,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “I took her over in twenty-one.”

  “Wait, did you say the Calypso?” asked Sparks, suddenly breathless with excitement.

  “Yes.”

  “And you were her captain in 1921?”

  “I was.”

  “Were you, by any chance, still her captain in 1922?”

  “Yes, until the end of the year. Why?”

  “Oh,
Mrs. Bainbridge,” exclaimed Sparks. “This is too wonderful!”

  “What is it, Miss Sparks?”

  “Why, he was the captain who rescued Prince Philip!”

  “Were you?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge, rounding on the man.

  “You mean Prince Andrea?” he asked. “The Greek chappie?”

  “Yes, but his son as well!” said Sparks. “The baby prince!”

  “But this is so exciting,” burbled Mrs. Bainbridge. “Oh, we must hear that story at once!”

  “But don’t you want to know about the Battle of the Falklands?” he protested weakly.

  “Oh, that too, of course,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “But the ladies are all atwitter about Prince Philip. Rumour has it that he may be the one to capture our own sweet Princess Elizabeth. And she has you to thank!”

  “She does?” he said, bewildered. “I had no idea.”

  “Come, let’s sit and hear all about it,” said Mrs. Bainbridge, slipping her arm into his. “It’s all so terribly romantic and heroic. I want to know simply everything.”

  “There’s not all that much to say,” he said.

  “Then we won’t be taking up much of your time hearing it,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “Where shall we sit?”

  “I took the liberty of setting tea out on the deck,” he said, recovering his manners. “Shall we go up top?”

  “Let’s. But first, could we get a picture of you by your models? You don’t smoke a pipe by any chance, do you? You do! I adore a man with a pipe. Now, stand there—lovely! Did you get that, Miss Sparks?”

  “I did, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

  “Then let’s go have that tea, shall we?”

  “This way, ladies,” he said, indicating the stairs.

  Hot tea out of doors in July, Mrs. Bainbridge thought in dismay when they got there, but the china was charming and the biscuits were yummy.

  “Did you bring these back from your travels?” she asked, holding up a cup with a delicate floral pattern.

  “Oh no.” He laughed. “The missus bought them in a shop in Chelsea. Come on, lads! Put your backs into it!”

  They turned to see the objects of his attention, a team of cadets wrestling a mock-up of an antiaircraft gun into position on the training ship. Mrs. Bainbridge wouldn’t have thought they could hear him from that distance, but one of them looked up and waved, then nudged his fellows, who saw the two women with the vice admiral and commenced waving en masse. The two women waved back and blew kisses, which encouraged further waving by the young men until their instructors railed at them to get back to their task.

  “What handsome young men!” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “They are indeed, Mrs. Bainbridge,” said Sparks. “A credit to the navy.”

  “Now, tell us about the thrilling rescue of the Greek royals,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “There wasn’t all that much to it,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “We were patrolling in the eastern Mediterranean when I received orders to make all speed to Phaleron Bay, no reasons given, no questions asked. We did. Next thing I know, a Greek launch motors up by us. A fellow with an enormous bald head comes up the ladder. I recognised him immediately. His name was Talbot. Gerald Talbot. He had been the naval attaché in Greece, but his term there was over, so I had no idea what he was doing in Athens. Turns out, he had made some kind of a deal for the prince’s life. He handed me my orders, and suddenly a light cruiser in the British navy became a private yacht for a pair of royal Greeks.”

  “Were they with this Talbot fellow?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “They were. Prince Andrea came up the ladder like a proper sailor, but she was terrified. Had to send down some men to help her up. When she came on board—well, she was beautiful. Ever seen her?”

  “Only photographs,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “She looked like something out of a painting from another century. Gainsborough or one of those fellows. Lit from within, like a great lady ought to be. She greeted me quite graciously once we finally got her on deck. She had a way of staring at you quite intensely when you talked. Found out after she was deaf, but could read lips in four languages. Then up comes a valet and a lady’s maid—with luggage!”

  “One would expect to be well attended, even under circumstances as trying as those,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “But where were the children?”

  “That was the damnable thing, pardon my language,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “There we were, supposedly defending British interests at sea, and Talbot’s telling us that we have to go to Corfu to pick up the children and the rest of their retinue and take them across to Italy. Like we were a bloody pleasure cruise, pardon my language again.”

  “Oh, a bit of salty language from an old salt is only to be expected.” Mrs. Bainbridge laughed. “It will scandalise the ladies, and they will love it. Please, continue.”

  Buchanan-Wollaston stared out across the Thames, watching the boats go by.

  “We didn’t know if the Greeks would change their minds, so time was of the essence,” he said. “One cable from Athens to Corfu, and we would have the local revolutionary garrison waiting for us. The Calypso had a top speed of twenty-nine knots, but only for the utmost necessities. We ran her at twenty-two knots and reached the island in the early morning.”

  He sipped his tea.

  “Of course, there wasn’t a dock there built for the likes of a C class cruiser, so we had to take a landing party in. We took two boatloads of sailors, issued with rifles and a pair of Lewis guns. The prince, the princess and Talbot came as well.”

  “Lewis guns!” exclaimed Sparks. “You were ready to go to war.”

  “You’re familiar with Lewis guns? You surprise me, young lady.”

  “Military family,” said Sparks quickly. “Learned all I know about guns from my uncles. The Lewis was a light machine gun.”

  “Quite so,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “I was ready to defend my men and my ship. The situation was iffy, to say the least. We docked at a marina about a mile and a half north of the villa. Talbot somehow commandeered a truck, and half of us piled in while the rest secured the dock. We pulled up at this rather pretty two-storey villa on a rise overlooking the straits. We woke the butler, and straightaway there was a quartet of young lovelies swarming the prince, crying their eyes out.”

  “His daughters,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “It must have been a terrifying experience, not knowing the fate of one’s father.”

  “I suppose it was,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “After that, it was pure chaos. The prince ran around grabbing everything valuable he could carry. The girls had to pack, but only what they could fit into one trunk apiece. The nanny had the baby—I remember they fashioned a crib of sorts by putting his bedding into an orange crate, and he slept right through it all.”

  “And Princess Alice?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “She saw to the children at first, but then she and Talbot started collecting papers from the offices and burning them.”

  “Did they?” asked Sparks. “What sort of papers, do you know?”

  “Correspondence, I expect,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “Anything official that the revolutionary government might use against them in the future. Who knows? Didn’t read them, didn’t need to. We loaded what we could onto the truck. The butler and another servant took the family and servants to the dock in a pair of autos, and we loaded the entire lot, along with the nurse, a governess, and another lady’s maid for the girls, back onto the Calypso. We left for Brindisi that same night.”

  “How were they? What were they like on ship?”

  “Oh, no better place for a pack of young girls than a naval vessel,” he snorted. “The two oldest flirted with every sailor they saw, while the younger two ran full speed along the decks like it was their own personal playground. More disruptive than a barrage from six-inch guns, to have young girls aboard.”

  “We girls do cause havoc, don’t we?” commented Mrs. Bainbridge. “What about the prince and princess?”


  “He stayed up on the bridge throughout and peppered us with questions. He was a military fellow himself, you know. Once he was on the ship, he never looked back.”

  “Did Princess Alice?”

  “She was distraught. In tears, much of the time.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Yes. She stayed at the stern, watching Corfu and Greece disappear. I remember that Talbot fellow stayed with her.”

  “Did he?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge as Sparks shot her a look.

  “Yes. Couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, but he seemed to be comforting her.”

  “Her husband should have been doing that,” said Sparks.

  “Not every husband is the comforting sort,” said Buchanan-Wollaston. “Not every wife needs comforting. My Dora handled my absences without bursting into tears about it every other minute.”

  “No doubt,” said Sparks. “Did you happen to know why the princess was crying?”

  “Oh, there was something,” he said. “Something she left behind at the villa, don’t know what. ‘We have to go back,’ I heard her say to her husband at one point, but he dismissed her out of hand, and I can’t blame him.”

  “No, of course you can’t,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “And Talbot was quite the stalwart. Whatever it was she left behind, he said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get them back. When things are safe.’”

  “Any idea what it was?” asked Sparks.

  “None. We got into Brindisi the following day, sent them on their merry way, and went back to acting like a proper naval ship. I am quite astonished to hear that the baby boy we carried over in an orange crate is now a suitor to our princess.”

  “He also ended up in our Royal Navy, you’ll be glad to know,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.

  “Did he?” said Buchanan-Wollaston, looking pleased.

  “Yes,” said Sparks. “He served quite valiantly during the war, no doubt due to his early exposure to you and your crew.”

  “I doubt that highly.” Buchanan-Wollaston laughed. “But I’m glad one of our boys may be joining the royal family. Puts us one up over the army, what?”

  “Yes, it does,” said Mrs. Bainbridge, giving him a tight smile. “Now, you left the Calypso shortly after that?”