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brimmed with information.
    She had collided with Phyllis in the yard and had learnt that Cleopatra’s cot had been moved from the barn to the squash court where she, Phyllis, was to look after both Hugh and the baby. ‘Although, I daresay, sheintends to nip over here when royalty arrives. Good riddance if you ask me. You should see what she’s made away with from here for their comforts.’
    Phyllis out of the way; Hugh and Cleopatra looked after; Marco and Flavia free to cavort with Tommy Tiddler at The Bell. Things were working out. Muriel thanked Kitty.
    As both women rejoiced at the turn of events there was a moment of triumphant astonishment. The lights came on. Power restored. They had returned from the brink of disaster.
    Lizzie tripped into the room, pale with cold, at that very moment.
    ‘Will I be able to have a bath now? I’m frozen stiff.’
    She encapsulated a peculiar mixture – halfway between humble and assertive.
    ‘Yes, Lizzie, but probably not yet. Let’s go to the kitchen and stand near the cooker. I gather that’s warming up.’
    Lizzie able to watch ‘soaps’! The Queen Mother’s small refrigerator cooling gin and vodka. The Queen on television.
    The telephone rang in celebration. It was Delilah.
    ‘We’re so happy for you, Muriel. Dawson was blue with cold writing his sermon for tomorrow. Talking of which, I’ve had a call from the organist – as soon as the wire was mended as a matter of fact – and she wonderedwhether, er, it might be appropriate to play the National Anthem before the service begins?’
    Peter and Monopoly were in the study and enjoying themselves when Muriel told Peter of Delilah’s query.
    ‘Tell them to play “Thy Majesty How Bright”. We’ll have to get Mummy there on time.’
    The telephone rang again. It was someone from the local police station wishing to check on details for the royal visit. The officer was in a jovial mood and added, after fixing an appointment, ‘The Queen would have to pay a handsome ransom if either of these ladies got themselves kidnapped. I daresay she’d do as much for the bow-wows.’
    Muriel hadn’t catered for kidnap.
    Lizzie asked, ‘Sorry to be a bore but do I have to curtsey every time they come into the room or just morning and evening?’
    Peter replied, ‘Every time. Every time they sit down or get up.’
    All was in uproar for the next few hours. No sign, though, from the dependants in the outhouses although Phyllis was reported to be gallivanting to and fro with baskets full of delicacies and appearing well pleased with life.
    Delilah rang several times more and detectives, some of them girls wearing ponytails, came and went to check quarters.
    Lizzie wasn’t able to settle and packed and repackedchocolates for the visitors, lamenting that she had nothing for ‘Cunty’ or ‘Farty’. Muriel hadn’t warned her.
    ‘What a foul thing to call them.’ Peter reminded her that it was because King George VI had not been capable of pronouncing his ‘r’ s that ‘Cunty’s’ soubriquet had come about. She was actually called Miss Crunchard. By the same token Miss Farthing was known as ‘Farty’. The late King, it was said, had also often confused friends by referring to his ‘wank’.
    The guests arrived at the front door on the dot of four and the household waited to greet them on the steps. Muriel wondered how many relations Kitty had collected together.
    Dulcie stood, gruff and bowing from the waist as a frail and bent Queen Elizabeth climbed out of the Daimler with much help from Moggan and Cunty who, in Muriel’s view, had aged since her last visit. Phyllis was there too – curtseying and dressed to kill.
    Soon they were all in the hall. Queen Elizabeth well wrapped in furs and dark feathers, smiling wanly as the household fell to its knees. Princess Matilda, towering above them all, smiled too through thin, cracked, red lips. Her straight yellowish hair sprouted from under a fur beret – like Ken