Page 107 of The Heir Apparent
James said nothing for a long time. “I’ve read everything there is to read about what happened. I don’t think she could have been saved.”
The snow burned my throat as I breathed in. “But we don’t know.”
“We don’t,” he said. “What I do know is that she loved you. And she didn’t want to leave you that night.”
The park emptied out as people vanished into the city. A light sifting of snow was accumulating on my coat, flakes caught on the tips of my eyelashes and in my hair. I remembered that I had a cheque for £1.5 million in my pocket that I probably shouldn’t get wet.
“I’ll talk to you in a couple of days,” I said softly.
“Stay in touch. Let me know when you’re safe.”
I made it back to Cumberland with Rita a few paces behind before the snow started to descend in a silent storm. It was three days after Christmas, so those who hadn’t stayed in Norfolk for the week would be watching from their windows. At exactly 2 p.m., the car rolled into view, a white van withWILLIAMS CARPET CLEANINGwritten in bright red letters on the side. The older relatives didn’t like it when servicemen clogged up the quadrangle, but I would need to endure their disappointment one more time for this to work. When the bell rang, I found a young man, no older than nineteen, with Mary’s slight features and narrow shoulders. He had the same fierce eyes that seemed to see everything. Across the square, a lace curtain shifted in a second-storey window.
The boy patted Chino, who appeared at the door to greet this stranger, and then smiled at me. “Hey. I’m Charlie.”
He rolled a carpet cleaner and a heavy plastic trolley into the living room, and we shut the door behind him. My suitcase and backpack stood by the stairs.
“So… I can actually clean some carpets while I’m here sinceyou’re paying me and all,” he said. “The noise will kind of add to the whole thing.”
“Oh,” I said. “If you want? I’m moving out of a room upstairs, so maybe it’ll be nice for the owner if it’s all clean.”
His machines droned so loudly upstairs that I almost missed the knock at the door. I edged closer and saw Stewart through the windows. When he spotted me, he waved, leaving me no choice but to open the door to him. The trolley stood in front of my suitcase and backpack, and I hoped Stewart wouldn’t try to come into the house in case he saw them. Luckily Chino leapt forward, whining with excitement and pawing at his pressed grey suit.
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness,” he said, trying to politely push Chino’s nose out of his crotch. “I saw the workman’s van, so I assumed you were home.”
I could never recall an aide dropping by uninvited. He must have seen Charlie’s van and come prowling over to check on me. The moment called for me to be irritated. If I looked as terrified as I felt, his suspicion would be confirmed.
“What do you need?” I asked brusquely. “I’m trying to get the house in order before I move out.”
He dropped his head. “Yes, of course, apologies. I have some documents for you to review. They’re not the kind I can just email to your office.”
I took the manila envelope from his hands but made no move to open it.
“Okay,” I said.
We looked at each other. When I was small, I would sometimes flee the tears and shouting at Cumberland 1, cross the quadrangle and find Stewart’s door among the row of staff apartments over the garage. Reluctantly, he would let me in, and I would sprawl on his living-room floor to watch TV in peace. A bowl of crisps would appear by my side, but he otherwise left me alone until, eventually, he looked at the clock and sent me home.
He hesitated. I wondered if he too remembered he had once been the only stable adult in my life.
“I do wish you had come to me, ma’am,” he said finally. “I think you know that I’m fond of you. If you were having trouble, I would have been able to help you.”
I nodded, remembering all the small kindnesses he had shown me—so that by the time he had asked me to open my mouth and placed the dropper of sedative under my tongue, I complied.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I said. “When I was a child, I loved you. I used to pretend you were my father. But when I needed you, I didn’t go to you for help.”
He opened his mouth, hesitating again. After a pause, he bowed slightly and said, “Review that document and we can discuss it in a few days.”
He walked back down the steps, careful of the snow.
“Stewart,” I called and he turned. “I don’t remember much of the days after my mother died—you made sure of that—but my body never forgot it. That’s why I didn’t go to you. I couldn’t make myself do it.”
He had the decency to look ashamed, but I knew drugging me into submission was the least he would do in service of the monarchy; perhaps he even told himself he had done it to protect me.
Again, he bowed—deeply this time—and walked back to his tiny apartment, an old man dressed in a suit three days after Christmas. Chino watched him mournfully as he left us.
“Come on,” I said, and he cocked his head. “It’s almost time.”
An hour later, Charlie trotted down the stairs and started packing up his equipment. He heaved my bags into his trolley and swung the lid over the top. I watched from the window as he loaded them into the back of his van. When he came back, his brows were furrowed, the way Mary’s were when she was concentrating.
