Clemmie managed a nervous laugh. ‘My granny always says a good cup of tea fixes everything.’
The Queen’s expression softened again. ‘She sounds like a wise woman. It reminds me,’ she continued, leaning back in her chair, ‘of my own grandmother, Queen Eleanor. Did you know she was quite the baker in her day?’
Oliver and Clemmie exchanged a surprised glance. Clemmie shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. That’s fascinating.’
‘Indeed,’ the Queen replied. ‘Stories have been passed down in our family about how she learned to bake from the palace chef, a dear friend of hers. Tragically, he was killed during the war, but his lessons stayed with her. She would spend hours in the kitchen, perfecting his recipes. This very torte we’ve been serving today reminds me of one of those recipes.’
Clemmie glanced towards Oliver whose eyes widened.
‘I’ve even baked something very similar myself.’
‘You bake, too?’ asked Clemmie.
The Queen smiled. ‘Baking has always been a bit of a refuge for me. My mother, Queen Matilda, was much the same. I remember when I was a child, she would invite me into the kitchen to help her. Of course, the staff were always on hand, but she insisted on doing some things herself. She said it was important to stay connected to simple pleasures.’
The Queen paused, her gaze falling to the teapot as she poured herself another cup. ‘I can still recall the scent of the kitchen, the feel of dough beneath my fingers. My mother had a particular fondness for making fruit cakes. She would let me stir the mixture and sneak a taste when no one was looking. It was our little secret.’
Her voice carried a note of fond nostalgia, and for a moment, Clemmie felt as though she were peering into a private corner of the Queen’s life, one rarely glimpsed by the outside world.
‘It sounds wonderful,’ Clemmie said softly.
The Queen nodded. ‘It was. Those moments taught me that even in the midst of great responsibility, one must find time for simple joys. It’s a lesson I’ve carried with me throughout my reign.’
She reached for another biscuit, her movements unhurried. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she turned her attention back to Clemmie. ‘Tell me, Clemmie, does your family have any royal connections? Perhaps your great-great-grandmother did?’
Clemmie blinked, caught off guard by the question. ‘Oh, no, Your Majesty. My family has always been fascinated by the Royal Family, especially my granny, but we’ve never moved in those circles.’
The Queen’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes, a thoughtful intensity. She leaned forward slightly, her tone becoming quieter. ‘Have you, by any chance, ever come across the name of the Earl of Aberford?’
The question hung in the air as Clemmie’s mind raced. Instinct told her to tread carefully. She nodded. ‘I recently saw a photo of him for the first time, and his name is written in the visitors’ book at the royal cottage where we’re staying. Why do you ask?’ she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.
The Queen studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. ‘Well,’ she said, her tone returning to its earlier warmth, ‘my great-grandmother was very fond of the Earl, and he told her tales of visiting Puffin Island.’
‘What a coincidence.’
‘Yes, it is, and I have it on good authority that he loved a good torte.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and stood gracefully. ‘I mustn’t keep you from the festivities any longer and I should return to the garden before anyone notices my absence.’
Clemmie and Oliver rose as well, both murmuring their thanks and placing their cups and saucers on a nearby table. The Queen jiggled a bell and Mr Kensington immediately appeared to escort them back to the garden party. The Queen offered a parting smile. ‘I do hope you’ve enjoyed this little interlude. Perhaps we’ll have another chance to talk soon.’
As the door closed behind them, Clemmie turned to Oliver, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘What was that all about? The Earl of Aberford has been to Puffin Island?’
Oliver shrugged, but his brow was furrowed in thought. ‘I’m not sure. But it felt… significant, didn’t it?’
Clemmie nodded. The name ‘Earl of Aberford’ lingered in her thoughts. She had never heard him mentioned by her family, though they were obsessed with royalty. Surely his name would have cropped up before now if it was significant, especially if he had a connection to Puffin Island?
As they stepped back into the sunlight and the lively buzz of the garden party, she couldn’t dispel the feeling that thiswas only the beginning of something much larger. The Queen’s words had been kind, but they had left a lingering sense of mystery. Clemmie knew she had some important questions for her granny when she returned home.
‘Well,’ Oliver said with a grin as they stepped back into the garden. ‘That’s one way to spend an afternoon.’
‘No one back home will believe me when I tell them I’ve had tea with the Queen. It was so surreal, just like this place. Shall we grab another drink? Then I would love to take a closer look at the rose garden,’ said Clemmie.
The sweet scent of roses hung softly in the air, blending with the distant murmur of voices and the music from the band. Clemmie and Oliver strolled down the gravel path, their prosecco glasses catching the light, refracting tiny rainbows onto the ground as they walked.
The rose garden was serene, tucked away from the lively bustle of the main garden party. Rows of perfectly pruned rose bushes stood in disciplined symmetry, their petals ranging from soft blush pinks to deep crimson reds. At the heart of it all, a weathered wooden bench beckoned. As they sat, Clemmie leaned back, exhaling deeply. ‘Can we just talk about Lady Rosalind for a moment? The way she kept going on about that recipe… It’s almost as if she’s convinced that I’ve copied it from somewhere. Which I have, my great-great-grandmother’s recipe book.’ She glanced sideways at Oliver.
Oliver swirled his prosecco thoughtfully. ‘It’s peculiar, isn’t it? She was sure she’d tasted your creation before. Do you think…’ He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. ‘Do you think that’s why the Queen invited us for a chat?’
Clemmie’s expression grew serious. ‘I’m beginning to feel uneasy about all of this. If Lady Rosalind genuinely believes she’s familiar with the recipe, it might stir up trouble. And Fiona…’ She blew out a breath. ‘Fiona will jump at anyopportunity to make waves. If Lady Rosalind’s suspicions fuel her, I could be in for a very rough ride. What if I’m branded a cheat?’
