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Prologue
We agreed to meet a few hours after the funeral. In the Frogmore gardens, by the old Gothic ruin. I got there first. I looked around, saw no one. I checked my phone. No texts, no voicemails. They must be running late, I thought, leaning against the s
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part 1out of the night that covers me 1. There were always stories. People would whisper now and then about folks who hadnt fared well at Balmoral. The long-ago Queen, for instance. Mad with grief, shed locked herself inside Balmoral Castle and vowed
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2. A shock to the system, going from sun- drenched St. Tropez to cloud- shadowed Balmoral. Ivaguely remember that shock, though I cant remember much else about our first week at thecastle. Still, I can almost guarantee it was spent mostly outdoors. M
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3. Next to my bedroom was a sort of round sitting room. Round table, wall mirror, writing desk,fireplace with cushioned hearth surround. In the far corner stood a great big wooden door that ledto a bathroom. The two marble basins looked like prototyp
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4. It was Sunday. So, as always, we went to church. Crathie Kirk. Walls of granite, large roof of Scottish pine, stained-glass windows donateddecades earlier by Victoria, perhaps to atone for the upset she caused in worshipping there. Something about
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5. Hours later Pa left for Paris. Accompanied by Mummys sisters, Aunt Sarah and Aunt Jane. Theyneeded to learn more about the crash, someone said. And they needed to arrange for the return ofMummys body. Body. People kept using that word. It was a pu
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6. Willy and I walked up and down the crowds outside Kensington Palace, smiling, shaking hands. As if we were running for office. Hundreds and hundreds of hands were thrust continually into ourfaces, the fingers often wet. From what? I wondered. Tear
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7. Then everyone moved on. The family went back to work, and I went back to school, same as I did after every summerholiday. Back to normal, everyone said cheerily. From the passenger seat of Pas open-topped Aston Martin everything certainly looked t
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8. Despite its two male headmastersMr. Gerald and Mr. Marston, both legendsLudgrove waslargely run by women. We called them the matrons. Whatever tenderness we got, day to day,came from them. The matrons hugged us, kissed us, bandaged our injuries, w
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9. We called them grub days. They were Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, I think. Immediately after lunch wed queue inthe corridor, along the wall, craning to see, just ahead, the grub table, piled high with sweets. Munchies, Skittles, Mars Bars and,
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10. A month later it was half-term. I was going home at last. Waitno, I wasnt. Pa, apparently, didnt want me to spend the break wandering aimlessly around St. JamessPalace, where hed been mostly living since his breakup with Mummy, and where Willy an
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11. The next morning Pa and I went to a beautiful lodge on a snaky river. KwaZulu-Natal. I knewabout this place, where Redcoats and Zulu warriors clashed in the summer of 1879. Id heard allthe stories, legends, and Id seen the movie Zulu countless ti
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12. Most of my teachers were kind souls who just let me be, who understood all that I was dealingwith and didnt want to give me more. Mr. Dawson, who played the organ in the chapel, wasextremely gentle. Mr. Little, the drum teacher, was exceedingly p
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13. Late at night, after lights-out, some of us would sneak out, go roaming up and down the corridors. A strict violation of the rules, but I was lonely and homesick, probably anxious and depressed, andI couldnt abide being locked into my dormitory.
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14. Mr. Marston, while patrolling the dining room, often carried a little bell. It reminded me of the bellon the front desk of a hotel. Ding, have you a room? Hed ring the bell whenever he wanted to geta group of boys attention. The sound was constan
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