Another bath was welcome, and refreshing, after the dust, and the excitement of the motor run. Smith's choice of clothes was a new, grey, lounge suit, of most satisfactory cut, and finish. At the end of the half hour which he had allowed himself, the King left the dressing room, and passed down the private staircase, out into the sunlit garden, with an excellent appetite for his second breakfast.
The breakfast table had been placed on one of the lawns, in the green shade thrown by a magnificent sycamore tree. A couple of gorgeously clad footmen were responsible for the service of the meal but they soon withdrew to a discreet distance. The unpretentious domestic life, traditional for so many years, in the palace, had made it comparatively easy for the King to reduce to a minimum the distasteful ceremony which the presence of servants adds to the simplest meal.
A few personal letters, extracted by some early rising member of his secretarial staff, from the avalanche of correspondence in the Royal post bags, had been placed, in readiness for the King, on the breakfast table. One of these letters bore the Sandringham postmark, and proved to be from his youngest sister, the Princess Elizabeth, who was still, officially, a school girl. It was a charming letter. With a frank and fearless affection, a spontaneous naïveté, that pleased the King, the young Princess wrote to offer him her congratulations on his Coronation, congratulations which, she confessed, she had been too shy to voice in public, the day before. The letter touched the King. He read it through twice, allowing his eggs and bacon, and coffee, to grow cold, while he did so. There was a note of sincere feeling, of genuine affection, of sisterly pride in him, mingled with anxiety for his welfare, in the letter, which afforded a very agreeable contrast to the subservience of the Family in general, which had so jarred upon him, at the state banquet, the night before. This sister of his seemed likely to grow up into a true woman, a loyal and affectionate woman. She reminded him, in some odd way, of Judith.
What would the future bring to this fresh, unspoilt, sister of his? "A woman, a woman with a heart, at the head of the procession." Another of Uncle Bond's phrases! What an insight the little man had into the possibilities of positions, and situations, which he could only have known in imagination, in the imagination which he wasted on the construction of his grotesquely improbable tales! He must do what he could for this fresh, unspoilt sister of his. That would be little enough in all conscience! Meanwhile he could write to her, and thank her for her letter. That was an attention which would please her.
Producing a small, morocco bound, memorandum tablet, which he always carried about with him, in his waistcoat pocket, the King made a note to remind him to write to the Princess, in one of the intervals of his busy official day.
"Write to Betty."
Then he resumed his attack on his eggs and bacon, and coffee. He did not notice that they were cold. This letter of his sister's had turned his thoughts to—the Family!
He was the Head of the Family now. Somehow, he had hardly realized the fact before. In the circumstances, it really behoved him, it would be absolutely necessary for him, to try to get to know something about the various members of the Family. His early distaste for Court life, his absorption in his own chosen profession, his frequent absences at sea, had made him, of course, little better than a stranger to the rest of the Family. And, if they knew little or nothing about him, he knew less than nothing about them. The Prince had been the only member of the Family with whom he had had any real intimacy, since the far off nursery days they had all shared together, the only link between him and the others. And now the Prince was dead.
This fresh, unspoilt sister of his would probably be worth knowing. Any girl, who recalled Judith, must be well worth knowing. And there was Lancaster! Lancaster was now, and was likely to remain, Heir Apparent. And William? William had looked a very bright, and engaging youngster, in his naval cadet's uniform, the day before. The others? The others did not matter. But Lancaster, and William, and Betty, he must get to know. And now, at the outset of their new relationship, he had a favourable opportunity to take steps in the matter, which would not recur. He could let them know that he was their brother, as well as—the King! No doubt, they had their problems, and difficulties, just as he had his. He would do what he could, to make life easy for them. After all, it was quite enough that one member of the Family, at a time, should be condemned to the intolerable isolation, and the dreary, treadmill round of the palace.
Might he not usefully begin, at once, with Lancaster? He could send a message to Lancaster, asking him to join him, at his informal lunch, at the palace, at noon. Lancaster had always seemed, to him, a dull, rather heavy, conventional, commonplace person; but there might be something human in him, after all. Perhaps, at an informal intimate encounter, he might be able to establish some contact with him, and get him to talk a little about himself. That would be interesting, and useful. Yes. Lancaster should provide his first experiment in Family research.