‘Coming!’ she shouted back.
She glanced back at the wardrobe one last time before closing the door, the mystery of 1705 lingering in her mind.
She hurried down the stairs to find Oliver was waiting in the living room, and he’d really outdone himself this time. The table was set for a proper afternoon tea, complete with a crisp white cloth and an impressive spread. Tiered trays overflowed with dainty finger sandwiches, golden scones and pastries so pretty they looked almost too good to eat. A silver teapot sat in the middle, and a collection of mismatched china cups added a charming touch.
‘Wow,’ Clemmie said, her eyes wide with delight. ‘This looks incredible! I was suffering from a hangover this morning but now I’m starving.’
He smiled, his boyish charm making her heart skip a beat. ‘Only the best for my honoured guest,’ he said with aplayful bow.
‘You’ve set the bar pretty high, you know. I can’t believe I’m sat in Royalwood Cottage. I watched a documentary about this place once.’
‘Well, I figured if we got to stay here, we might as well do it properly,’ he replied, pulling out a chair for her. ‘Now, my queen, would you care for tea?’
She giggled as she took her seat. ‘Why, thank you, your majesty.’
For a while, they devoured the delicious food. Clemmie marvelled at how light and buttery the scones were, and how the strawberry jam tasted like it had just been made that morning. They swapped stories and jokes, the easy banter making her feel very much at home.
‘May I present to you, Queen Clementine of Tea-topia,’ Oliver said with an exaggerated bow.
Clemmie laughed. ‘Oh, stop it! If I’m the queen, then you’re the king, King Oliver of Sandwich-land.’
He gave a mock-serious nod. ‘Indeed and as your loyal subject, I demand you try the lemon tart. It’s fit for royalty.’
As Clemmie took a bite, letting the tangy-sweet flavours melt on her tongue, her gaze wandered to the big bay window. Outside, the lodge’s gardens rolled out in a sea of green. The peaceful scene was broken only by the sound of a steady thud of hooves. Two riders trotted across the lawn, their horses moving gracefully, coats gleaming in the sunlight. ‘Look how shiny they are.’
Oliver followed her gaze and smiled. ‘That’s one of the things I love about this place. You never know what or who you might see.’
‘What do you mean…? Who was that?’
‘The Queen loves her horses and is often seen riding around the estate.’
Clemmie looked back towards the window. ‘Granny wouldn’t believe me if I told her I’ve just seen the Queen riding her horse.’
‘It happens quite often.’
‘Is this place used often? Who else has stayed here that you know?’ Clemmie tilted her head curiously. ‘These walls feel like they have so many stories to tell.’
Oliver leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. ‘Royalwood Cottage has always been a place of discretion. Officially, it’s been used as a retreat for royal friends or visiting dignitaries. But unofficially…’ He paused, his grin turning mischievous. ‘Let’s just say it’s a place for people who couldn’t exactly stroll into Eldenbridge Palace without raising eyebrows.’
Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘You mean… secret rendezvous?’
He nodded. ‘Something like that. Over the years, it’s hosted everyone from artists and writers to… let’s say, more adventurous acquaintances of the royals. The walls here could certainly tell some fascinating stories, but they’ve always been sworn to secrecy.’
The intrigue sent a shiver of excitement through her. ‘Now I’m here,’ she said with a whisper, leaning in. ‘What’s my story going to be?’
Oliver raised his teacup in a toast. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be unforgettable.’
They clinked their cups together, and Clemmie felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the tea.
As the conversation turned to lighter topics, Clemmie questioned Oliver about the number she had seen earlier. ‘Does the number 1705 mean anything to you?’
Oliver frowned slightly. ‘1705? Not off the top of my head. Why?’
She explained how she had noticed the number engraved inside the wardrobe upstairs and how she’d also found it in Beatrice’s recipe book and on her lucky apron. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ she said, shrugging. ‘But it caught my eye.’
Oliver laughed, ‘The furniture here is old, really old. That could just be the year it was made. But if you find a secret passage or a treasure map, do let me know.’
Clemmie grinned. ‘You’ll be the first to know.’
