The Royal Nanny (29 page)

“Besides,” Milady Dugdale went on, “this place has always been a bit crowded, hasn't it, and you'd be absolutely knocking round in the Big House. Queen Mary says she and the boy's grandmother will visit. You see, Their Majesties could not get away right now to explain all this, nor did they want to just write or telephone.”

I knew how busy and bereft Johnnie's father was, fighting a war, and yet I considered him a coward not to tell me this himself. And for not keeping Johnnie with the family. His mother, at least, should have fought for him—or written a damned note to her husband—to have the boy stay at York Cottage, which had been his home.

But a strange little voice in my head said quite clearly,
B
ut you
are his mother, except by blood.
Y
ou have reared him, helped him, protected and loved him.
A
nd they are letting him, thank
G
od, stay in your care . . .

“Charlotte,” another voice, perhaps a real one, broke into my head. “Are you quite all right? You look . . . well, dazed. Do you understand what I've said?” Lady Dugdale asked, leaning close and shaking my wrist as if she needed to wake me up.

“Yes. Yes, all right,” I managed, as I told myself this could have been worse. I steeled myself to be calm when I wanted to scream and break things for this was wrong, wrong, wrong. And cruel, though I would fight to keep Johnnie from thinking so. At least it would not be for me like poor Margaretta Eager who had been sent away from her royal Russian girls. And Chad was waiting to take us there.

“I am glad they sent you,” I told Lady Dugdale, shaking myself back to reality. “It's best their Royal Majesties didn't do it, for I fear what I might have said. You have ever been a friend to me, if you don't mind my saying so, milady.”

“I not only don't mind, but I am honored,” she said, looking much relieved at my change of tone.

I let out a big breath, and my shoulders slumped. My heartbeat quieted a bit. I'd seen Wood Farm once from afar, years ago, riding round the estate with Chad, but I could picture none of it now. Perhaps it would be almost like a house of my own.

I
WANTED TO
hate Wood Farm but I could not. The farmhouse was much smaller than even York Cottage, of course, but it was broad enough across the front that twelve windows could be opened to the breezes from the fields and forests in fine weather. It was all sturdy, muted redbrick with a covered doorway and a
small garden in front surrounded by a low, square wall, though right now snow lay on it all like vanilla frosting, including the two chimneys and slanted roof. In truth, it was a charming house.

“We can keep peeps in the yard,” Johnnie announced, for I'd spent the way over here explaining to him that, now that he was growing up, he could live away from York Cottage just like his brothers did.

“Only one peep at a time, remember?” Chad told him as we got down. “Peep George would be unhappy if you got more right now, but I know he'll like this new place.”

Chad winked at me over Johnnie's head and behind Lady Dugdale's back as he opened the gate for us. Yes, I thought, with Johnnie here and Chad but three miles away, this house could be a home. Already I could imagine Penny swinging on the gate with Johnnie.

The rooms were comfortably furnished and spic and span. The scent of lemon oil and—could that be?—baked bread filled the air. It was a bit chilly but we could soon build up the hearth fire in this main room and the kitchen. It had electric lights and a telephone on the wall.

“Of course,” Her Ladyship said as we walked from room to room on the ground floor, “you can bring Johnnie's furniture and things he likes.”

Johnnie chimed in, “Especially my new gramophone and Peep George—and Lala too. But where will Papa and Mama sleep when they come here? Don't they want to live with me anymore?”

My gaze slammed into Lady Dugdale's, but we turned away from each other. I had much work to do, far more than just packing and arranging.

“We'll talk about all that later, my dear,” I told him. “And Chad and Penny will visit and I'm sure your family will too.”

Chad waited below while the three of us went upstairs and even looked into the attic with its single hall and four small rooms for servants. The views out the upstairs windows were good. We could watch the seasons change the trees from here and even see the smoke from the railway station on a clear day. The bedrooms upstairs were spacious compared to the nursery and rooms at York Cottage. In a way, it seemed to me a step up, but I would have lived in a mud hut to keep Johnnie with me.

Chad was waiting downstairs, turned sideways so that, despite his crutches, it looked as if he had two legs and was whole again. But he would always be whole to me, all I ever needed, if I had Johnnie near to protect and tend.

“Well,” I whispered to Chad, “at least Their Majesties have bought me off at a pretty price—and place.”

“I was hoping you would accept the inevitable,” he told me as he held my arm and I stepped up into the carriage. “Including expecting a caller at the door, one Mrs. Wentworth will not give the eagle eye to when I appear with another peep.”

“I can have another peep?” Johnnie asked as he piled in next to Lady Dugdale.

“I'm afraid peeps don't like the gramophone played as loud as you do,” Chad said, climbing up into the driver's seat and putting his crutches under his leg. “Except Peep George doesn't seem to mind, so I think he's it for now.”

“Lala said it's not a boy but I'm not changing its name!”

“Not a boy?” Lady Dugdale said with a laugh. “But how do you know, if I dare ask?”

“Peep George laid an egg,” Johnnie told her. “Only girls do that, like when I was born, right, Lala?”

“More or less,” I told him, patting his shoulder, “but we'll work on all that too.”

Johnnie bounced in his seat, Her Ladyship smiled, and Chad nodded before he turned back toward the horses. So, instead of total desolation and defeat, I felt I had won a little war to get to stay with Johnnie. But that didn't mean I wasn't still going to fight for my little prince.

W
henever we could steal away from our duties, Chad, Penny, Johnnie, and I spent time together, as we did one spring day in 1917, on a Sunday picnic to a wooded area called Cat's Bottom. I'd already explained to Johnnie that there would be no cat to see.

“I do feel a bit guilty sometimes for being so content,” I told Chad as we sat together on our blanket and watched the children pick flowers and then, laughing, throw them at each other.

“That's how it's been for me, not being able to fight the Huns. I know you understand. It's amazing the war has gone so bad for Russia that the tsar has been forced to abdicate. Another big blow to His Majesty. One royal cousin causing all this mess and the others the victims of that.”

I sighed. “Uneasy is the head that wears the crown, as I've heard said. But with all their appearances among their people and their bravery during the war so far, I think Their Majes
ties will weather this storm. But I . . . I can't believe it either about Tsar Nicholas. I've never seen a ruler so protected and so powerful. Even on holiday, nothing but guards, guards, guards. But maybe that means he was never really free. I'm hoping England grants asylum to the Romanovs. Johnnie's never forgotten the tsar's four daughters and the poor little tsarevich . . .”

“Poor because he won't ever rule now? They'll probably leave Russia with enough wealth to build themselves a palace right here on these grounds and one near London. But you have seen enough rulers to know more about them than most, haven't you, my love?” he asked and pelted me with some purple columbine Penny had brought him before she was off again.

“Including an American president,” I said. “It's been a more amazing life than I could ever have dreamed, and yet—despite seeing all the glamour, the food and fashion, yachts and travel and important people—it's being someplace simple like this with you, Johnnie, and Penny that means the most to me. I do feel I've succeeded with the children—except David.”

My big, stalwart man reached over and squeezed my hand. “Any more letters from him?” he asked as he stroked my arm, wrist to elbow. His merest touch was enough to electrify me, and he knew it.

“One last week, delivered right to Wood Farm's door. He was very sarcastic about his father, terribly. He referred to his war appearances to boost morale as stunts . . . stunts! I should burn the letters, all of them. But, you know, he's been so callous toward Johnnie—”

“Jealous of your love and attention for his younger brother, whom he considers damaged and unimportant compared to him.”

“I forget you know David well too. But I thought—when and if
he becomes king—if he tries to belittle Johnnie or lock him away, I would just remind him I had some letters that would not make him look too good.”

Chad looked surprised, then hooted a laugh. “Why, Charlotte Bill, alias Lala, a blackmailer.”

“I wouldn't do it, of course, just suggest it to him, that he treat Johnnie better. I'm grateful his mother and grandmother still visit and care for him, but he does feel he's been sent away at times—for being ill or naughty. I try to talk him out of that.”

“I have always loved your backbone—and the rest of you,” Chad said. “And I am proud to help you with Johnnie. Who could not love him? So, since you've said you will marry me, let's ask Their Majesties' permission together the first chance we get—when they're visiting here and the time is right with all this death and destruction. Maybe it would be best when the war is over. Surely, he will think we'll both be good for his boy, and Penny can live with us too. And, of course, I will write to your parents.”

“Yes, Chad Reaver, again I say that I will marry you and somehow, someday, we will live happily ever after.”

F
INCH APPEARED ONE
evening at Wood Farm when Johnnie and I were working on his writing a letter to his parents. I hadn't seen the man who was David's valet for over a year—and here he was in a spiffy uniform!

“Finch, it's so good to see you! Is David here too?” I asked when I opened the door myself and glanced out at David's motorcar.

He gave me a light hug and patted Johnnie's back as the boy ran up and hugged him.

“How are you, Johnnie, my boy?”

“Fine, but I think I'm really Lala's boy. Since I don't live at York Cottage anymore, I was sad but mostly not now.”

“Oh, I see. But you are still a fine lad, and a prince of a boy.”

I shook my head at Finch and frowned behind Johnnie's back, for I'd gone round and round with the boy about whether he was still a prince. He'd finally declared on his own that he'd rather be a farmer and help Chad with the peeps than go back to London again because there were too many noisy people there. But on some deep level—I prayed he had not sensed it from me—he must have felt he'd been betrayed. And yet he seemed happy here.

“So how is David?” I asked as I put my arm around Johnnie's shoulders.

“He's in London,” Finch said, “much enamored of a new lady and generally raising Cain. I motored down to collect some things for him. He's officially moved out of York Cottage now.”

“Haven't we all? But not another French girl, I hope. Come in, sit down by our very own hearth and tell us all you know.”

“All right to tell . . . both of you?” he asked, with a roll of the eyes toward Johnnie, who came up to his shoulder now. “Prince John is growing fast, but—”

“Yes, all right. Johnnie, why don't you go to the kitchen and ask Cook for some tea for us—and feed Peep George before you come back too, all right?”

“I will have tea with you, because Finch is on our side in the war.”

“Yes, he is,” I assured him as he went out.

“Another peep?” Finch asked. “Isn't this peep the sixth about now?”

“He's named this one after George, whom he misses terribly.
He won't give it up so it's much too big. Chad had to clip her wings so she won't fly away.”

“Ah, Chad. And has he clipped yours?”

“I'm not leaving Wood Farm as long as Johnnie needs me.” I lowered my voice. “His spells are getting worse as he gets older, when I hoped it would be the opposite.”

“But about David. He's taken by—and taken up with—a married woman of his set, Freda Dudley Ward. Her husband knows it, but is quite amenable and prefers to look the other way.”

“Oh, no. Do Their Majesties know?”

“More or less—mostly less, since he tells them she is just one of many friends, but it's much more. But the thing is, she dominates him, and he seems to love it. Bloody damn—sorry for that language,” he whispered, “but he's lost his mind. He likes her to order him around and talks baby talk to her sometimes. I swear, he lisps worse than Harry used to. The thing is, there has been an Inspector Palmer snooping around.”

“Trying to get something about all this on David?”

He shook his head. “Just the opposite. Trying to clean up after him in a way, cover his tracks. With this awful, endless war and the way royal houses are falling, I think the king is trying to—as the Prince of Wales describes it—‘put the skids' on him. So the prince just wants you to know that dealing with Inspector Palmer, in case he comes here, can be a two-edged sword. It looks like he's trying to help, but he may report to the king.”

I heaved a huge sigh. “As if King George doesn't have enough on his mind right now. Thank you for the warning but I doubt any inspectors will come here to talk to a nanny from years ago.”

“The prince admitted he's sent you letters—and he's sent some that could be blackmail fodder to the French mistress he had. At
least Freda Dudley Ward is not some guttersnipe and knows how to keep her mouth shut. But the prince regards you highly. You were like a moth—”

I held up my hand to stop what he would say, but Johnnie bounced back into the room then too. “Finch,” he said, “I want you to meet Peep George out by the back door to the kitchen.”

“I'd be honored, sir,” he said and stood.

“My name is Johnnie here at Wood Farm where I am happy. But if I go anywhere else, my name is Prince John.”

The two of them headed toward the kitchen. I went to the front window and frowned out at the distant pine trees, which looked as if they were spearing the racing clumps of clouds. My mind raced too. Finch had properly called Johnnie “sir,” though how often I thought of him as my boy and tried to forget that he was a prince. Now, David, heir to the throne, was running amok in these terrible times. We'd heard just this week that the tsar was actually under arrest with his family, though I had not told any of this to Johnnie.

“Now that's a smashing peep!” Finch told Johnnie as they came back in. “You take good care of him.”

“I do. Chad and I take good care of Lala too.”

Finch shot me a look over the boy's head. “I'm glad to hear that. Which reminds me, after a spot of tea, I've got to go back to taking care of another of your brothers, namely David.”

“David doesn't like my peeps or my papa. And I don't think he likes me. But Lala does, better than she likes him.”

I gave a little gasp. From the mouths of children—even Johnnie's—but I should know that by now. It hit me full force then: David had been permanently damaged by his first nanny. When I rescued him, he thought it his due to be cherished above
the others. Even before Johnnie, he'd fought for that. But my necessary and obvious love for the youngest royal child had angered and hurt him too. I dreaded how his relationships with his two nannies might shape and shake his future as prince and king. Was it true that
the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world?

G
OD FORGIVE ME,
I was happy when Finch left. He'd brought the outside world with him, brought out Johnnie's buried feelings that he'd been abandoned by David and his family. But it had also emphasized Johnnie's love for the life I had built for him here.

As if to celebrate that dream of mine, the four of us went on a picnic that very afternoon, not far from the house. Because we were all together, it seemed a wonderful outing as we headed toward the meadow. We could have been on a desert isle and we would have felt that way. Chad must have been thinking the same, because he began to sing the lively, old Boer War song “Marching to Pretoria
.
”

      
W
alk with me
I
'll walk with you,

      
A
nd so we will walk together . . .

      
D
ance with me,
I
'll dance with you

      
A
nd so we will dance together . . .

      
W
e are marching to
P
retoria . . .

      
P
retoria, hoorah!

“And Wood Farm, hoorah!” Johnnie shouted.

I looked at the boy as he went back to singing lustily, swinging his arms and marching along. It reminded me of that day he had marched and stomped on his father's precious stamps. But Wood Farm and this lovely surrounding area on the great estate were
his home and now mine too. The four of us were a little family of God's making and our own.

I recalled the old tune “When Johnny Comes Marching Home,” an American Civil War song Queen Mary used to play on the piano at York Cottage:
“
W
e'll give him a hearty welcome then, hurrah, hurrah!”

Johnnie not only felt welcome here but was surrounded by love. It was a bit daunting how perfect and precious our lives seemed to me in that moment, a million times better for my boy than living in a palace or a grand house amidst power and position. Oh, yes, I resented that the king and queen had seen fit to exile him, to hide him, but I vowed to make up for that.

Johnnie looked at me again and grinned. “I'm going to grow up to be just like Chad, Lala,” he told me. “And someday I will have hundreds of peeps, and no one will steal them or shoot at them from the sky either! I will keep them safe here, take good care of them, and they will be happy just like me! Am I like a peep to you, my Lala?”

“Yes, my dear,” I told him as Chad smiled at both of us. “Only, always, I love you so much better than that.”

F
INALLY THE KING
was coming for a brief respite from the war, and Chad and I were going to ask him for permission to wed. My father had written back a lovely letter—in my mother's handwriting, for his had never been good. If we could stay in Their Majesties' good graces, we would be married in the church here, small, private with just Johnnie, Penny, my parents, and my friends Mabel and Rose. I even decided to be daring enough to hire Rose to make me a new gown.

Thank God, things were looking up a bit. The Americans
had entered the war at last and had given all of us a great boost in morale and men. Meanwhile, speaking of sending letters, poor Margaretta Eager poured her heart out to me in correspondence, especially when the assurance of British asylum for her dear girls and their family seemed to move so slowly—and then halted when King George privately admitted he feared bringing the once autocratic despot here to England when his own powers were under fire by some liberals in the government. How I wished I dared plead with His Majesty to help his Russian cousin's family, for I could not stand the idea of those five lively children imprisoned all their lives.

“Mrs. Lala,” Victor, our elderly Wood Farm footman, announced with a knock on the open upstairs schoolroom door, “a male visitor to see you, not Mr. Reaver or Mr. Finch this time, but an Inspector Palmer, says he's from a government Special Branch, that he did.”

Johnnie looked up from laboriously writing a “Welcome Back” letter to his parents. “A special branch of a tree?” he asked.