The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(58)

All attention was focused on the Queen. “Let us not forget those on whom the first cruel and shattering blows of war have fallen—the women of Poland,” Elizabeth continued in her singsong way. “Nor do we forget the gallant womanhood of France, who are called on to share with us again the hardships of war. War has at all times called for the fortitude of women.

“When it was an affair of the fighting forces only, wives and mothers at home suffered constant anxiety for their dear ones, and too often the misery of bereavement. They could do so little for the men at the Front. Now, this is all changed.

“For we, no less than the men, have real and vital work to do. To us also is given the proud privilege of serving our country in her hour of need. The tasks that you have undertaken are in every field of national service.

“I would like to thank you for giving your help in these trying times. When war is over we will continue to work for the continued well-being of all mankind.”

She gifted them with a brilliant smile. “Thank you all.”

When the applause had died down, Max told Maggie, “Of course, when the men come back from battle, it will be quite a different story.”

“Yes,” Maggie replied in kind, “they’ll have a lot of changes to get used to, won’t they?”

Max ignored the gibe. “Want to step out with a future RAF pilot?” he asked, using his handsome profile to great advantage.



“I used to step out with an actual RAF pilot.” Yes, and look how that turned out.

“John Sterling. Yes, gone now—to make cartoons for Walt Disney. Not exactly men’s work.”

“Wartime propaganda,” Maggie corrected, concealing her surprise at how much he knew. “Words and images—just as important as bombs these days, if not more so.”

“You know,” Max said, taking the last bite of cake, “before this war started I was studying to be a doctor.”

“The military can always use doctors, of course.”

“I was thinking, maybe instead of joining the RAF, about going back to finish medical school. Only a year left in my training…But the idea of flying a Spitfire is hard to shake off.” He grinned.

“You won’t continue to work for Mr. Churchill?”

Max shrugged. “The Boss knows I’m not going to be around forever. Although I feel sorry for him—losing all of the best and brightest young men to the services. Soon we’ll be down to a few nearsighted Jews and women.”

“Are you trying to be offensive, Mr. Thornton?” she asked, warning in her tone. “Or are you just stupid?”

It took a moment for her remark to register. “Sorry, sorry!” He laughed. “Don’t be so spiky! Look, Maggie,” he said, with his most earnest gaze. “We’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you with dinner tonight—”

“Miss Hope!” The Queen stopped by their table, a trail of corgis following in her wake like ducklings.

Maggie and Max rose. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Walk with me, please, Miss Hope,” the monarch commanded. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation earlier.”

Maggie shot a look at Max, then returned her gaze to Queen Elizabeth. “Of course, ma’am.”

The corgis all waddled after the Queen as she led Maggie out of the drawing room. The massive oil paintings in the corridor had been removed for safekeeping, but the ornate Sansovino frames remained, works of art in themselves. Still, there were stains on the ceiling from water damage, and some of the plaster on the walls had been shaken loose, probably from bombing. Although there were a few guards in sight, Maggie and the Queen had relative privacy underneath the glittering chandeliers.



“It looks better at night,” the Queen confided. Maggie noticed she was holding a glass of what looked—and smelled—like Dubonnet and gin. “And I must confess I prefer Windsor. I live for the weekends, when we can get back to our girls.”

Maggie dared a look at the Queen’s face. Her opalescent powder had settled in the creases around her eyes. She had aged in the last years. “It sounds challenging, ma’am.”

The corgis’ claws clicked on the gleaming wood not covered by the carpet, and a few had decided to start yapping. “Hush, darlings.” The Queen opened her handbag and pulled out a small box of treats. She shook some onto the carpet, and the dogs dove, silent at last. So that’s what the Queen keeps in her handbag.

One of the dogs looked up at Maggie, bared his sharp teeth, and growled low in his throat.

Oh, heaven help me. “Is that Dookie? I think he remembers me from Windsor.” And ruining my lovely leather gloves.

“Of course he does! You remember Miss Hope, darling Dookie?”

Dookie the Corgi. My canine nemesis. But a loyal defender of the Princesses.

As Dookie took his biscuit, continuing to glare, the Queen turned back to Maggie. “Did you enjoy the tea?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you. And your words were inspiring. It’s wonderful you’ve taken the time to acknowledge and appreciate women’s war work.” Then, impulsively, she went on. “It’s not always easy. You know. To be female in the professional world.” She took a breath. “I know Your Majesty has many concerns, but women in the SOE—”