Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery) Read Online Free PDF

letting the family down by crying like that in front of the servants.”
    I spotted my nephew, Podge (whose real name is Hector Hamish Robert George, Viscount Garry), clinging to Nanny and howling. He noticed me at the same moment, broke away from Nanny and started up the stairs toward me. “Auntie Georgie, I’ve got to go on a train to another country and they won’t let me take my soldiers with me.”
    “You’re going to a beach,” I said. “You won’t need toys. Will you find some shells for me?”
    He looked bewildered. “Aren’t you going to come with us?”
    “I’m afraid not, Podge.” I was going to say that his parents weren’t prepared to pay for me, but that wasn’t quite cricket. “I’m rather busy at the moment,” I finished.
    “I want you to come.” He started to cry again as Binky’s voice came from the front door, announcing, “Car’s here.”
    “Come along, Podge. Say good-bye to Auntie Georgie,” Fig said impatiently.
    I hugged him. He clung to me.
    “You see,” Fig said to Binky, who was holding the door open for the constant stream of servants and luggage, “I told you we should have sent him home to Scotland. It’s going to be unsettling for him. He’s probably going to cry all night on the train and upset everyone.”
    “Of course he’s not. He’s going to be a big boy, aren’t you, Podge?”
    Podge nodded tearfully and took Nanny’s hand as she led him out. I watched with a lump in my throat.
    “And Georgiana, we can count on you to make sure the house is properly closed up, can’t we?” Fig turned to ask as she swept to the front door.
    “Don’t worry,” I said.
    I noticed she didn’t come up to hug me. Binky tried to negotiate the servants and baggage. “’Bye, old thing,” he called to me. “So sorry you can’t come with us. I hope it all works out with the queen this morning.”
    And then they were gone.
    “Did you want your cup of tea in bed, miss, or are you already up?” Queenie appeared, carrying the tea tray.
    “You’re about an hour too late and, as you can see, I’m already up,” I said. “Tell Cook that I’ll have a proper breakfast this morning.”
    At least I’d make the most of my last days here by helping to use up their food. Our cook, Mrs. McPherson, has always had a soft spot for me and she sent up a perfect breakfast: bacon, kidneys, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread and two eggs.
    I finished the plate with relish then went up to select a suitable outfit for my upcoming visit to the palace. Luckily Queenie had not tried to clean my one good tweed suit yet!
    I always approach Buckingham Palace with great trepidation. Who doesn’t? I know they are relatives, but most relatives don’t live in great gray stone palaces, surrounded by iron railings and guards in red coats. And most relatives are not queen-empresses, sovereigns over millions and millions of people across the globe. I am one of those people whose limbs won’t obey them when they get nervous. I do things like trip over carpets and knock vases off tables at the best of times, so you can imagine what it’s like in a palace. I’m only glad I wasn’t born when my great-grandmother was still alive. I would have probably knocked her down the grand staircase and she certainly wouldn’t have been amused.
    Still I tried to look jaunty and confident as I walked down Constitution Hill toward the front gate of the palace. Most people arrive at the palace in a great black motorcar, so the guards at the iron gates looked surprised and suspicious when I showed up on foot.
    “Can I help you, miss?” one of them asked, barring my way, not even standing to attention or saluting. This is what happens when one doesn’t own a decent fur coat.
    “I’m not a miss; I’m Lady Georgiana, His Majesty’s cousin, and Her Majesty is expecting me,” I said.
    The guard turned as red as his jacket. “Begging your pardon, my lady. I didn’t expect someone like you to be arriving on foot.”