‘What ideas does he have for modernizing the coronation?’
‘He wants to invite businessmen and trade unionists to the service – normally it’s lords and ladies, clergymen and prime ministers. He says it reflects the changing times in a postwar Britain. He also wants to alter the liturgy, make it less pompous and more understandable.’
‘That’ll be difficult to change. The liturgy goes back centuries.’
‘Yes, that’s what Churchill and Lascelles say.’ Elizabeth slid her feet into the shoes. ‘They don’t want the monarchy to be too transparent. If people can see through the liturgies and the gowns, they’ll realize that, underneath all the pomp, we’re just ordinary people. Why keep a hereditary monarchy if you’re not getting someone special?’
‘But you bring a lot more to the monarchy, Ma’am,’ Miss MacDonald said quickly. ‘You bring knowledge and balance, the morals and teachings of your father.’
‘Except that I never had my apprenticeship with him before he died. It was a few cursory mornings, going through the red box, the state papers.’ She paused. ‘The advisors are right, but Philip has a point, too. He wants to have the coronation televised, letting the world see inside the sanctum of the holy service. Churchill and the Duke of Norfolk arefurious with the notion of bringing cameras into such a sacred service, and it would make it so much more nerve-wracking for me.’
‘Wouldn’t it be lovely for everyone to watch it, though?’ Miss MacDonald said. ‘All my family adore the royal occasions, and none of them will be invited into the abbey. Think of how much more popular you’ll be if everyone can feel part of it.’
Thoughtfully, the queen nodded.
Miss MacDonald smiled. ‘You could be the queen of modernity, moving with the times.’
A knock came from the door, the butler there to collect her for the car. Elizabeth donned her usual close-lipped smile and let him escort her out.
But instead of going with her, Miss MacDonald stopped for a word with Caroline.
‘I’d like you to go with the queen to Balmoral next week, standing in as the head dresser.’
‘Who, me?’
‘I have personal reasons why I can’t be there, a family memorial.’
For a moment, Caroline wondered if she’d heard correctly. ‘Of course, it would be an honour.’
‘It’ll only be for two nights, then I’ll be up to take over. You’ll be given a train ticket to return to London.’
But Caroline was barely listening.
She was going to Balmoral.
Her mind reeled with everything that the news entailed. She’d always been told the job would involve travelling with the queen when required, but this?
A flurry of images whirled inside her: the great castle, the dramatic scenery, and of course Angus.
Would she see him while she was there?
The thought of him made her at once fired up with excitement and then anxious with utter fear:Why would she taunt herself with something she could never have?
‘Will you make sure Her Majesty’s gown is ready for this evening,Caroline?’ Miss MacDonald was putting on her coat to leave. ‘I’ll see you after the service.’
Within a minute, she was gone, and Caroline found herself standing in the dressing room alone with her thoughts.
The mirrors reflected her image back at her from every angle, this time her cropped hair and sagging shoulders filling her with frustration. She’d let herself be driven down by Frank, by her situation. From those first moments that she’d realized she was pregnant, she had become a victim.
And worse, she’d let Frank perpetuate it, using it to keep her in her place.
With a sigh, she thought about the queen, trying to rule for herself, desperate to throw off the mantle of the inexperienced girl that the older men kept foisting upon her.
That was where they were similar, both trying to regain control over their lives.
The old corgi came to sit beside her, as if a bolstering force.
‘I wish I could spruce myself up a bit,’ Caroline said.
