On the lower terrace the royal nurse was walking up and down with the baby princess that all the fuss was about.
‘We’ll send out the invitations to look like bills. The baker’s boy can take them. He’s [p99 a very nice boy. He made baby laugh yesterday when I was explaining to him about the Standard Bread. We’ll just put “1 loaf 3. A remittance at your earliest convenience will oblige.” That’ll mean that 1 person is invited for 3 o’clock, and on the back we’ll write where and why in invisible ink. Lemon juice, you know. And the baker’s boy shall be told to ask to see the people—just as they do when they really mean earliest convenience—and then he shall just whisper: “Deadly secret. Lemon juice. Hold it to the fire,” and come away. Oh, dearest, do say you approve!’
The King laid down his pipe, set his crown straight, and kissed the Queen with great and serious earnestness.
‘You are a wonder,’ he said. ‘It is the very thing. But the baker’s boy is very small. Can we trust him?’
‘He is nine,’ said the Queen, ‘and I have sometimes thought that he must be a prince in disguise. He is so very intelligent.’
The Queen’s plan was carried out. The cellars, which were really extraordinarily fine, were secretly decorated by the King’s confidential man and the Queen’s confidential maid and a few of their confidential friends whom they knew they could really trust. You would never have thought they were [p100 cellars when the decorations were finished. The walls were hung with white satin and white velvet, with wreaths of white roses, and the stone floors were covered with freshly cut turf with white daisies, brisk and neat, growing in it.
The invitations were duly delivered by the baker’s boy. On them was written in plain blue ink,
‘The Royal Bakeries
1 loaf 3d.
An early remittance will oblige.’