Johnnie was taking a nap, watched closely by both of my undernurses, and this was my afternoon off. I planned to meet Mabel and take the boys for a walk with us. The leaves were fully budded and the robins and skylarks sang, so why not? Poor Harry, recently turned six, had been put in splints like Bertie had, but Harry was also in heavy boots to help straighten what his father called knock-knees. Despite his difficulty walking, the boy always wanted to go along, but I felt so sorry for him as the contraptions made him seem clumsier than he already was. Right now, he and three-year-old George knew they’d be in for a treat from their grandparents’ kitchen and Mrs. Grey, the head cook. I told her, “I hope we’re not in the way if we just stand here and smell those wonderful aromas.” “Never in the way,” the sprightly woman called to me as she supervised pouring and stirring and oversaw the arrangement of several silver food trays. “Not the queen’s grandchildren! Edwina here will fetch the little ones some biscuits.
