“It will seem odd not to have King George on the throne,” Eve said. “Nothing will be the same without him.”
“He was wonderful to the soldiers during the Great War,” Mum said. “Did I ever tell you that he visited the frontline troops?” She had, but Eve wanted to hear the story again. “Your father saw him, and he said it cheered him to see His Majesty mingling with his soldiers. King George walked in the funeral procession when they brought the Unknown Warrior home to London.”
“Will there be a funeral procession for King George?”
“On January 23, according to the paper. I’m sure they’ll announce the route, too.”
“I want to watch it.” Eve couldn’t explain why but it seemed important. “Come with me, Mum. We should watch it together.”
“I’m not sure I can. Lady Rosamunde may need to appear at some of the funeral events, and she’ll need my help getting ready. I’m so sorry, Eve.”
“I understand.” But she didn’t. Over the years, hundreds of disappointments had contributed to a thick wall of resentment toward Audrey’s mother for commanding all of Mum’s time, expecting her to be at her beck and call. Before they had a chance to share a second cup of tea, the jangling bell summoned Mum to Lady Rosamunde’s room.
“Don’t look so glum,” Mum said as they hugged goodbye. “I’m sure the new king will rise to his duties. England will soldier on.”
Eve left through the servants’ entrance and walked around the row of town houses to the front. A taxi pulled up, the rear door opened—and there was Audrey. Eve might have mistaken her for Lady Rosamunde if she hadn’t known she was still in bed. Audrey looked slender and elegant, dressed in a fur-collared coat and stylish hat like the ones her mother wore. Even the languid way Audrey moved and walked was like her mother. But there was no mistaking Audrey’s amber hair glowing in the sunlight beneath her hat. Eve hurried toward her before she had a chance to disappear inside. “Audrey! Audrey, wait!”
“Eve? . . . Oh, hello!” She paused on the front step. “How nice to see you. How did you know I would be here?”
“I didn’t. I came to see my mum. Did you hear that King George died last night?”
“Yes. They closed school for a few days.”
“My classes were canceled, too.” Eve looked her friend up and down again, noticing her fashionable shoes this time. “You look really great, Audrey. And so stylish. Like a model in a magazine.”
“Thank you.” The new Audrey seemed cool and remote. Eve was about to say goodbye and leave, but then the old Audrey emerged with her shy, familiar smile. “It’s too cold and wet to stand out here and talk. Come inside so we can warm up with a cup of tea.”
“Are you sure?” Audrey’s butler opened the front door, but Eve had never entered through it before.
“Of course I’m sure. I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing.”
The butler took their coats, and they went into the morning room, where a fire blazed on the hearth. If the maid who brought their tea was surprised to see Eve Dawson upstairs when she had just been down below with the servants, she didn’t reveal it.
“So tell me about your classes, Eve. Have you become a typist yet?” Even Audrey’s voice sounded different, clear and precise like a radio announcer for the BBC.
“No, it’s only been five months. But my teachers think I’ll be ready to apply for a job in the spring.”
“Do you like your courses?”
“I suppose. Now that I’ve picked up the basics, I find the classes a little boring. The only point of them now is for me to learn to type faster and with fewer mistakes. And I hate sitting inside all day.”
“You always did prefer roaming the woods,” Audrey said with a smile. “Do you have a roommate?”
“Three of them. From my school. We share an attic room in a boardinghouse, close enough to walk to class every day.” She sipped her tea, remembering how Audrey had taught her to hold the cup and saucer properly. “How about you, Audrey? Do you still get homesick for Wellingford like you did at your last boarding school?”
“A little. And like you, I also find school boring. I’m learning French, reading English literature, and improving my skills on the piano, but most of our time is spent learning to attract a husband and be a dutiful wife. They don’t put it that bluntly, of course.”
Eve wanted to laugh but Audrey didn’t appear to be joking. “You look smashing, Audrey,” she said instead. “I like the way your hair is fixed.”
“It looks like you bought some new clothes, too.”
“Mum took me shopping for skirts and sweaters so I’ll look smart when I go for job interviews.” Eve took a few more sips of her tea. It had barely cooled enough to drink and they already had run out of things to talk about. “King George has been on the throne since before we were born,” Eve said, remembering what brought her here. “I came to ask Mum to go to the funeral procession with me, but she can’t get away. Do you think you’ll go?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. I only just heard the news.”
“I feel like I should go. It’s such a meaningful event. Once in a lifetime and all that.” On a whim, Eve added, “Come with me, Audrey. Let’s watch it together.”
She tilted her head as she considered the idea. Once again, the old Audrey broke through the cool exterior. “Yes, let’s. I do think I’d like to go.”
It took Eve a moment to react to her surprising reply. “Super! I’ll find out the processional route from the newspaper and figure out a good place for us to stand.”
“Shall I ask Williams to drive us?”
“There will be thousands of people, Audrey. We’ll never get anywhere near the route in a car.”
“I expect you’re right.”
They settled on a plan to take the Underground, and Eve quickly finished her tea, deciding she should leave before Audrey changed her mind—or Lady Rosamunde appeared and put an end to their plans. “Make sure you dress warm. It’ll be cold outside.”
Eve fetched her own coat from the hall tree and headed out the front door without waiting for the butler. She nearly collided with a young gentleman bounding up the steps just as she was leaving.
He caught her in his arms and held her for a moment. “Whoa! What’s your hurry?” he asked, laughing. “The town house isn’t on fire, is it?”
“No. I’m so sorry.” He held her shoulders as if she needed to be steadied. She caught a whiff of his scent, a rich, spicy aroma that reminded her of leather armchairs and warm rum by a fireplace. They hadn’t collided very hard, but he was so impressively lordly that Eve couldn’t seem to breathe.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Eve . . . Eve Dawson.” She didn’t need to ask who he was—Audrey’s brother, Alfie. He was very tall, like his father, and had the same strong, patrician nose and jaw. Alfie could have been the model for a bust of someone famous like Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar.
“Hello, Eve Dawson. You must be a friend of Audrey’s.”