The Girl behind the Throne (Editing)

Chapter 3

I was pushing my trolley down the large corridor of the servant's floor, beginning to arrange the piles of linen so that it would be easier to throw the items into the wash, when Maggie came running down the long hallway, her sensible shoes squeaking like mad on the wooden floors.

'Tess, can you sort out Master James's room? There's been a disaster in the kitchen'. Maggie was breathless, as a small pudgy woman in her sixties; I imagined that her running shuffle was the most exertion she had been put under in the last decade.

'That's fine Maggie, do you need my help?' I replied, watching Maggie twist her soft chunky hands in a characteristically nervous display. I loved Maggie; she was the main housekeeper of the house and therefore one of the more senior members among the rather small permanent staff that The Family kept.

'Ivy has cut her hand, again'. Maggie replied, with an uncommon eye roll, in the two days I had been back, I had only heard continual complaints around the young kitchen aid. 'I've already sorted out Master Richard's room, so Master James's is the last one left to be done.'

Thank heaven for small mercies, I thought as I nodded in reply and watched Maggie shuffle/run back towards the kitchen. The thoughts of going into Jamie's room was bad enough, but couple that with his creepy and insufferable younger brother- it would have been too much to bear.

I began to push my linen trolley ahead, making my way towards the east wing of the palace, where Richard, Jamie and occasionally their first cousin, Andrew resided.

As I grew closer and closer to Jamie's room, I wondered what it would look like. The last time I had entered Jamie's domain, I was eleven, he was thirteen and there had been West Ham regalia all over the place. He had been a mega fan, to the degree that my dad would tell me stories about Jamie arguing about their chances in the leagues, when he was trying to serve dinner.

I didn't think Jamie was that into West Ham now, I remembered him talking about polo a lot, and I wondered would it be full of polo memorabilia.

I tried to focus on arranging the linen I would need, before I entered the room, and I failed. Twice I had turned around and lifted my hand to knock on the thick mahogany door to realise that I had in my nervousness picked up twelve pillowcases and nothing else.

Shaking my head, I picked out the necessary items while giving myself a stern talking to. Jamie probably wasn't even still in his room. It was now nine in the morning; the Royal Family had only just finished their breakfasts, and would begin to talk about their duties, with their necessary teams, until around eleven in the morning. Jamie would be held up with Prince Things until around five o'clock that evening, only breaking to eat lunch and dinner.

I lifted my hand and knocked twice, waiting the polite five seconds for a reply before turning the knob and pushing on the thick wood of the door. Jamie's room was not the way I remembered. It was messy, sure, but I think that Jamie will always be messy- but other than a large sound system in the corner of the room and a few books on the night stand, there were no personal items.

Clothes were strewn everywhere, there were t-shirts, jeans, riding jodhpurs and jackets flung over the no doubt expensive ornaments which filled the whole palace, including one alarmingly giant replica of a leopard, which had a pair of boxers over its head, covering one ear.

Smiling, I picked up the boxers gingerly, between two pinched fingers, and flung them into my linen trolley. Quickly, I picked up all of the clothes on the floor, depositing them in the trolley, I began on the bed.

I stripped the pillows first, taking off the white pillow cases, only stopping when a bright flash of colour in the muted beige bed, caught my eye. Bending, I picked up a photograph, which had been placed under his pillow. It was of me.