‘But I’m not a girl. I’m over the age of sixteen, and that makes me a woman – a self-sufficient woman who is capable of organizing the entire coronation, if need be.’
Against his efforts to remain stern, he smirked. ‘The whole coronation? We have a team of over forty already, and we still have another four months to go. It’s not just a few fancy carriages being wheeled out to take the queen to Westminster Abbey. It’s a mammoth operation. Millions of people will be flooding into the capital, many setting up tents, and thousands of foreign dignitaries and their entourages need to be housed, fed and entertained. That’s not to mention the military procession, the outfits, the coaches, the rehearsals and the banquets.’
‘All right, so what part of it am I supposed to be organizing?’
Sinclair led her back down the staircase. ‘You’re to be in charge of the stands on the procession route, including deciding who will be sitting there. It’s no easy task. The Ministry of Works has a team constructing the stands as we speak. There’ll be space for around six thousand, and there’s a lot of politics around who goes where.’
‘That doesn’t sound too taxing,’ she said nonchalantly.
With a mocking look, he shook his head. ‘There is nothing more taxing than giving people a seat they think is beneath them.’
They vanished through the secret door and headed into the back corridors. As they passed elaborately uniformed footmen, butlers and maids, it felt as if they were backstage in a theatre.
‘You’ll have to convince the minister you’re up to the task,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure he’ll be too happy about leaving a woman in charge of it, and an American, at that.’
Irked by this doubt in her abilities, she reaffixed her glasses. ‘My mother was British, and I’m a citizen. Plus, she taught me how to make a decent pot of tea, which I gather is the greatest test of them all.’
He chuckled. ‘You gather correctly.’
As they continued down the corridor, she asked, ‘And how are you involved with the coronation?’
‘I’m looking after the diplomatic side of things – the dignitaries coming from abroad, organizing where they’ll stay and dine, how they’ll get to and from the abbey.’
‘That sounds like a lot of tedious work, telephoning all those hotels and restaurants.’ She laughed. ‘I’d much rather be organizing the stands.’
‘It won’t be me who does the telephoning,’ he said frostily. ‘I’m a diplomat. I manage assistants to do that kind of work.’ As if to prove this point, he began to flick through the folder of papers, too busy for her.
They came to a wider corridor, doors on either side opening into offices – some larger ones, busy with desks and people, and others small, containing a single desk for a manager.
‘Here’s where the preparations and politics take place. The officesat this end are dedicated to the coronation, and at the other end is the Privy Purse along with the advisors’ offices.’
The main coronation office was the largest, filled with desks and filing cabinets, a series of cordoned-off desk spaces on the far side. In the centre of the room, suited men of various ages stood around a large table discussing a document. Towards the door, a middle-aged woman with pursed lips typed rapidly, the noise like a thousand marching insects.
As Sinclair led her through the tables and desks, Miranda asked, ‘Why don’t they use the plans from the last coronation, or the one before, Edward’s one that didn’t happen?’ She’d read about it. There had been that sensational abdication: ‘Selfish and bad’ King Edward had fallen in love with an American divorcée and had to give up the throne to his ‘stuttering but good’ brother, King George.
‘Fifteen years is a long time,’ Sinclair said stiffly. ‘Everything needs to be reviewed and modernized.’
Miranda looked around the antiquated office. ‘You can say that again!’
Without so much as acknowledging this, he gestured to a desk not far from the spectacled woman. ‘This is where you’ll be.’
‘And where do you sit then, Mr Sinclair? Or do you have a separate office?’
‘I have one of the cordoned-off desks on the other side of the room.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But as I said before, I’m working on something completely different from you, so I can’t imagine our paths will cross.’ And with that, he said, ‘Good day, Miss Miller,’ and stalked off.
‘It’s Miranda,’ she said to his disappearing figure.
She pulled out the chair and sat down. With no work to do, nothing to even look at, she found her eyes straying to the group of men standing around some plans in the middle of the room.
Suddenly, one of them lowered his voice, the others crowding closer, and if ever anyone liked a secret, it was Miranda.
Deciding to look inside a nearby filing cabinet, she moved soundlessly behind them, ears open for any snippets of their conversation.
‘We’re dealing with people at the very top, and they’re being verycagey,’ one of the men was saying. ‘Impossible to get anything out of them.’
Another one lowered his voice. ‘Is it because of the rumours?’
‘What rumours?’ the first man whispered.
