The rest of the morning fell away no matter how much he tried to grasp at it. At every hurried glance at the clock, hours seemed to have gone by, so he tried to do it as little as possible. Jon experienced the strange ethereal sensation of not being in charge of his own body as a force (equal parts habit and survival) channelled through him to thunder him towards his goal. The vegetables were done, the meat would be done, the Christmas pudding was ready to be put on to boil in the wake of the main course. Jon was busy doing the ancillary things – the gravy, the garnishes, and the bread sauce – as he finally realised that he had used every egg timer in Balmoral.
At one point, he spied Tony Speck returning from his morning rounds, trying and failing not to bring half of the ’Moral’s snow inside with him. The man did not come in and offer a hand or any words of encouragement, and Jon was almost glad of the fact.
His other visitor was far more interesting. A mousey man in his midforties strode into the kitchen in a light brown suit, tightly cut trousers, and a novelty Christmas tie depicting a fuzzy reindeer. His family crest was clipped to his breast pocket like a badge of honour. Jon didn’t notice the man at first, so when he looked up to see Thomas Crockley standing there, he almost dropped the jug of bread sauce.
‘Sorry, old bean,’ Crockley said in his odd manner. Crockley had the air of an old transatlantic movie star out of time, crossed with an East End of London market trader. If that sounded incredibly bizarre, it was precisely because it was. Crockley was always hard to place, to pin down, and that was why most found him incredibly uncomfortable to entertain. There was always the creeping notion that one was not meeting the real Thomas Crockley, and maybe no one ever had.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Jon smiled, hoping that he would rather quickly get to the point of his interruption. Even though the main players of the dinner were sorted, the chorus still needed to be prepped.
‘I was just in search of a light. Thought the kitchens might be the best place to come for an open flame.’ Crockley glanced around. ‘You really are all alone down here. I mean, I heard of the command to send all the servants away, but I didn’t actually think that the old man would be obeyed.’
Jon set down the sauce while he could and went into a drawer to bring out a firelighter.
Crockley took it with thanks. Jon hoped he would leave, but instead he lit his cigar there in the archway. ‘Credit to you, Alleyne. Always need a smoke when I get up from a snooze. Even if it’s the middle of the afternoon.’
Jon smiled. ‘Well, if you ever need a light, there’s means in the drawing room. And if you can’t get there, there’s a box of firelighters in the pantry.’
‘Thank you, old boy. Thank you.’ Crockley chuckled, faltering in the archway. ‘It smells gorgeous in here.’
Jon had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to acknowledge the beautiful aroma of Christmas dinner wafting from every corner of the kitchen. He thought that maybe if he had had time to stop, he would have to also acknowledge how impossibly famished he was himself.
A small smoke pyre was drifting from Crockley’s cigar and assaulting the mouthwatering aroma. ‘Can’t possibly be as good as last year’s though, can it? I mean, no offence to your abilities, but you are just one man.’
He recalled a similar sentiment crossing his mind when he’d heard of the plan for the 25th of December. But Thomas was stalling and, what was more, he was in the way. ‘Is there something else I can help you with, sir?’
Crockley grinned, teeth a gleaming white barricade. ‘Sharp, aren’t you? Yes, I just figured it good to get away from it a bit, you know. The children and the in-laws – there’s something brewing up there. Maud’s disposed and the boys are off doing God knows what. I have always thought of us more as a parenting team, anyhow.’
‘Where is Princess Maud?’ Jon knew that it was not his business, but with Speck the only security present, maybe it was.
‘Oh, she is in her father’s private study. He’s calling them all in there, one by one. It has the air of some kind of draconian march. They come out much less happy than when they went in. Her uncle David just came out looking like a flamin’ radish.’ Crockley stopped himself then. He had just realised that his mask had slipped. Thomas Crockley was not as eloquent as he liked to portray himself to be. Jon could relate – it was almost as if the Royals spoke their own language, a language that was infectious. Crockley’s East End accent came through occasionally, as did Jon’s Bajan one, but all too often everyone sounded like everyone else.
RP: Received Pronunciation. For newsreaders and royalty.
This was an interesting development. King Eric was having private counsel with his family individually. Jon wondered what could possibly have been said to David, a man who, even when accused of the most heinous things, had consistently kept his natural pigment throughout. He really would have liked to have known, but, as always, he came back to the fact that speculation did not cook dinner.
‘Stupid old sod. Why is he even here?’ Thomas was talking of David, and not the King, and not Jon. ‘It brings the mood down. Puts everyone on edge. It doesn’t matter if he’s blood, at least it doesn’t where I come from. You know, I think I may take a walk. Enjoy this on the move.’
‘The weather is rampant out there, sir,’ Jon said, reclaiming the word from Prince David.
‘Yes. Rather less rampant than upstairs though, I assure you.’
‘If you must, take my coat, sir. The red anorak. It’s on the rack down the hall.’
‘The anorak on the rack. Thank you, Alleyne. One of the best ones, you are.’
One of the best ones. He was unsure what that meant, but before he could summon the energy to inquire, Thomas Crockley had disappeared. Jon went back to his work with thoughts of what the King and his brother could possibly have discussed. And then there were the other members of the family too. It was as if the King were tying up loose ends – having the final say – but there was no reason to believe he was intending to step down today, was there?
Not for the first time, Jon had the intense feeling that the real story was happening elsewhere and that he was a small part of something bigger. A singular piece of the puzzle. And he was far from the most important piece.