19.The Queen(1)(1380)

The Queen

A

Dawn came at last, and the rim of a lemon-coloured sun rose up behind the roof-tops somewhere behind Victoria Station.

A while later, Sophie felt a little of its warmth on her back and was grateful.

In the distance, she heard a church clock striking. She counted the strikes. There were seven.

She found it almost impossible to believe that she, Sophie, a little orphan of no real importance in the world, was at this moment actually sitting high above the ground on the window-sill of the Queen of England’s bedroom, with the Queen herself asleep in

there behind the curtain not more than five yards away.

The very idea of it was absurd.

No one had ever done such a thing before.

It was a terrifying thing to be doing.

What would happen if the dream didn’t work?

No one, least of all the Queen, would believe a word of her story.

It seemed possible that nobody had ever woken up to find a small child sitting behind the curtains on his or her window-sill.

The Queen was bound to get a shock.

Who wouldn’t?

With all the patience of a small girl who has something important to wait for, Sophie sat motionless on the window-sill.

How much longer? she wondered.

What time do Queens wake up?

Faint stirrings and distant sounds came to her from deep inside the belly of the Palace.

Then, all at once, beyond the curtains, she heard the voice of the sleeper in the

bedroom. It was a slightly blurred sleep-talker’s voice. ‘Oh no!’ it cried out. ‘No! Don’t – Someone stop them! – Don’t let them do it! – I can’t bear it! – Oh please stop them! –

It’s horrible! – Oh, it’s ghastly! – No! No! No! …’

She is having the dream, Sophie told herself. It must be really horrid. I feel so sorry for her. But it has to be done.

After that, there were a few moans. Then there was a long silence.

Sophie waited. She looked over her shoulder. She was terrified that she would see

the man with the dog down in the garden staring up at her. But the garden was

deserted. A pale summer mist hung over it like smoke. It was an enormous garden, very beautiful, with a large funny-shaped lake at the far end. There was an island in the lake and there were ducks swimming on the water.

Inside the room, beyond the curtains, Sophie suddenly heard what was obviously a knock on the door. She heard the doorknob being turned. She heard someone entering the room.

‘Good morning, Your Majesty,’ a woman was saying. It was the voice of an oldish person.

There was a pause and then a slight rattle of china and silver.

‘Will you have your tray on the bed, ma’am, or on the table?’

‘Oh Mary! Something awful has just happened!’ This was a voice Sophie had heard many times on radio and television, especially on Christmas Day. It was a very well-    known voice.

‘Whatever is it, ma’am?’

‘I’ve just had the most frightful dream! It was a nightmare! It was awful!’

‘Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. But don’t be distressed. You’re awake now and it will go away. It was only a dream, ma’am.’

‘Do you know what I dreamed, Mary? I dreamed that girls and boys were being

snatched out of their beds at boarding-school and were being eaten by the most ghastly giants! The giants were putting their arms in through the dormitory windows and

plucking the children out with their fingers! One lot from a girls’ school and another from a boys’ school! It was all so … so vivid, Mary! it was so real!’

There was a silence. Sophie waited. She was quivering with excitement. But why the silence? Why didn’t the other one, the maid, why didn’t she say something?

‘What on earth’s the matter, Mary?’ the famous voice was saying.

There was another silence.

‘Mary! You’ve gone as white as a sheet! Are you feeling ill?’

There was suddenly a crash and a clatter of crockery which could only have meant that the tray the maid was carrying had fallen out of her hands.

‘Mary!’ the famous voice was saying rather sharply. ‘I think you’d better sit down at once! You look as though you’re going to faint! You really mustn’t take it so hard just    because I’ve had an awful dream.’

‘That … that … that isn’t the reason, ma’am.’ The maid’s voice was quivering terribly.

‘Then for heaven’s sake what is the reason?’

‘I’m very sorry about the tray, ma’am.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about the tray. But what on earth was it that made you drop it? Why did you go white as a ghost all of a sudden?’

‘You haven’t seen the papers yet, have you, ma’am?’

‘No, what do they say?’

Sophie heard the rustling of a newspaper as it was being handed over.

‘It’s like the very dream you had in the night, ma’am.’

‘Rubbish, Mary. Where is it?’

‘On the front page, ma’am. It’s the big headlines.’

‘Great Scott!’ cried the famous voice. ‘Eighteen girls vanish mysteriously from their beds at Roedean School! Fourteen boys disappear from Eton! Bones are found

underneath dormitory windows!’

Then there was a pause punctuated by gasps from the famous voice as the newspaper article was clearly being read and digested.

‘Oh, how ghastly!’ the famous voice cried out. ‘It’s absolutely frightful! Bones under the windows! What can have happened? Oh, those poor children!’

‘But ma’am … don’t you see, ma’am …’

‘See what, Mary?’

‘Those children were taken away almost exactly as you dreamed it, ma’am!’

‘Not by giants, Mary’

‘No, ma’am. But the bit about the girls and boys disappearing from their

dormitories, you dreamed it so clearly and then it actually happened. That’s why I came over all queer, ma’am.’

‘I’m coming over a bit queer myself, Mary.’

‘It gives me the shakes, ma’am, when something like that happens, it really does.’

‘I don’t blame you, Mary.’

‘I shall get you some more breakfast, ma’am, and have this mess cleared up.’

‘No! Don’t go, Mary! Stay here a moment!’

Sophie wished she could see into the room, but she didn’t dare touch the curtains.

The famous voice began speaking again. ‘I really did dream about those children, Mary. It was clear as crystal.’

‘I know you did, ma’am.’

‘I don’t know how giants got into it. That was rubbish.’

‘Shall I draw the curtains, ma’am, then we shall all feel better. It’s a lovely day.’

‘Please do.’

With a swish, the great curtains were pulled aside.

The maid screamed.

Sophie froze to the window-ledge.

The Queen, sitting up in her bed with The Times on her lap, glanced up sharply.

Now it was her turn to freeze. She didn’t scream as the maid had done. Queens are too self-controlled for that. She simply sat there staring wide-eyed and white-faced at the   small girl who was perched on her window-sill in a nightie.

Sophie was petrified.

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