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25 August 1939 - Milford Park, Wiltshire
“You? You spoke to the League of Nations? A girl? Putting herself up in front of all those men and appearing in the papers? Are you trying to completely destroy your chances of finding a husband?” Aunt Charlotte gasped. “Before it was just refusing to even speak to the nice young men I found or even accepting a house party invitation, but what man of any standing will be interested in a girl who's appeared in the political section?” The society pages were, of course, acceptable if the only mention was attendance at a debutante ball or at Court.
“It hardly matters, Aunt Charlotte,” Veronica replied acidly. “Once war's declared, there won't be any young men to marry.”
Sophie blanched, darting a look at Simon and Toby. “She just means that the news of war will make everyone forget everything else.” It was blatantly not what Veronica meant, and everyone in the room knew it. Even Carlos, ensconced comfortably if not lawfully on the rug, understood in his own doggy way.
“Well, I will not forget. And you, Sophia, I'm surprised at you. Veronica and your brother may not care about propriety, but you've always been more sensible than that.” Aunt Charlotte took a breath, affecting injury at their ungratefulness. “Call for Barnes. Every time I think about how little any of you care about how much I've done for you and now there'll be another war...I have a headache coming on and can't bear it any longer.”
Toby waited until the footman closed the door in the wake of their aunt's exit then sank into the settee in an well-practiced boneless but still somehow kingly lounge. “Just me or is she more worried about the newspapers than Hitler?”
“Hitler's in the newspapers right along with Veronica and you,” Simon said. “It could be both.”
“Who cares about Aunt Charlotte?” Henry insisted as she lay on the rug next to Carlos. “I want to hear about Gebhardt trying to catch you! And Toby being arrested! It's like a novel! One of those good ones that Aunt Charlotte won't let me read.” The King of Montmaray and his Privy Council exchanged glances, wordlessly wondering how Henry had heard the more...exciting details. “What?” Her tone managed to be both indignant and injured. “You didn't think I left when I was sent away, did you?”
4 September 1939 - Milford Park, Wiltshire
“They're not going to let him fly, you know,” Veronica said without looking up from her book.
Pausing in the doorway, Sophie took a moment to wonder if Veronica had forgotten they weren't in the middle of a conversation. She couldn't be losing her memory at not yet one-and-twenty. Especially not Veronica of all people. Veronica without a memory would be like Caravaggio without his sight or Beethoven without his hear– never mind. “Who's not going to let who fly?” she asked as she shut the door behind her.
“The Royal Air Force. And Toby.” She shifted over to give Sophie space on the bed.
“Why won't they? Anthony was very complimentary about his abilities.” Sophie still wasn't completely following, but now it was the usual not-following of Veronica's logical leaps. “Toby's always been good at things he's interested in.” For a long time, one of the few subjects falling under that heading was 'Simon,' and once again, Sophie didn't want that train of thought reaching the station.
Veronica closed the book, her thumb holding her place. “Are you getting in or just standing there?” she asked a note of asperity in her voice now. Seriously if Sophie was going to show up in her room in the middle of the night and just stand there like the Ghost of Christmas Past (even though that was a horribly trite comparison), it'd be fine as long as she knew. Her question answered by her cousin's slipping off her slippers and wrapping her dressing gown more tightly before she climbed on the bed, Veronica continued: “The RAF won't let him go into any danger. If he died or was taken prisoner because his plane was shot down, it could be a nightmare for the British government. And given their general disregard for international treaties - pacta sunt servanda is hardly Hitler's motto as we well know. So we can't exactly expect the Nazis to hold to the articles of the Third Geneva Convention.” She paused with a new thought and scrambled off the bed to dig through a stack of books on the floor. “Not to mention, I wonder if the articles regarding the treatment of Prisoners at War would even cover a monarch fighting under the flag of a third country. A case could be made that Toby would neither be considered a regular solider nor an officer and thus doesn’'t fall under the treaty's articles...”
From nearly anyone else, this slightly dispassionate analysis of the possible death or capture of Sophie's brother and king would, very possibly, be slapped by Sophie, but from Veronica, it was mostly expected. Sophie hadn't decided if she'd be as understanding when she next wrote in her diary though. “The question of international treaty aside -” because she wasn't sure she understood it “-Are you saying that the RAF won't allow Toby to fight because they're worried the London papers would react badly?”
“Yes,” Veronica was still looking for the book she wanted. “Can you imagine? ‘Boy king of an invaded nation and shining light of London Society cruelly shot down by the War Department's inept strategies’? Or if the propaganda was used with Britain's allies to try to weaken the alliances?”
A small, selfish part of Sophie hoped Veronica was right. Then Toby wouldn't have to go in danger, and she wouldn't have to worry about him for however long this war lasted. And even if she wasn't solely being selfish, if he died, who would inherit Montmaray? Veronica would be best but she – and Sophie and Henry - were still barred by Salic Law. Simon was still illegitimate. There weren't any random male cousins or uncles; would Montmaray just fade away? Another abandoned kingdom? Sophie looked up to meet Veronica's gaze and saw they were thinking along similar lines (though Veronica knew a regent would be appointed for Montmaray to hold the kingdom in trust for her sons – then Sophie or Henry’s). “If he doesn't fight though,” she said, biting her lip. “We saw what happened when King John was the only one to come home alive from the Great War. All that guilt eating away at him.”
“And Toby can't end up like that,” Veronica agreed. “My father went mad, and it's not that Toby would, but he'd hate himself forever for not fighting.”
Sophie nodded, holding that gaze between them like a lifeline. “So we're going to have to do something about it,” she said and hoped they'd be able to forgive themselves if something happened to Toby. “Are you ready to take on the government again? War Department this time, I should think.”
Veronica tossed her dark hair over her shoulder proudly. “I was thinking of finding another challenge.”
13 December 1939 - Montmaray House, London
”It’s a bit of a coincidence Henry being kicked out of school the day before Hitler pretended to offer peace, don’t you think?” a familiar voice asked as its owner strode into the room without waiting to be announced.
Sophie jumped up, nearly overturning the writing table in her haste, and hurried over to Toby to give him a hug. “You didn’t send word you’d be coming! Not that you ever write really. It’s worse than when you were at school.” She was smiling widely as she pretended to scold.
“You’ve been waiting months for that line,” Veronica commented sardonically as she also stood in order to welcome him back. “It’s not gotten any better with age.”
His boyish good looks had shifted into something slightly more grown up, but the grin was Toby’s own as he hugged first Sophie then his cousin. “It’s still a remarkable coincidence,” he argued lightly. “I bet Hitler was worried Britain would send her over. She’d have them all running scared. If Montmaray had an army beyond Simon and me, I’d make her General.”
“You don’t think she’d like that a little too much?” Sophie asked, her tone doubtful even though she couldn’t stop smiling at the surprise. “You look awfully well in that uniform.” She knew even as she said it that Toby wasn’t terribly concerned with how the uniform made him look – mostly because he knew too well that he looked very good in anything.
“At least if Henry were in charge, the French wouldn’t have retreated back to the Maginot line, and we wouldn’t be sitting here while Finland’s resisting invasion all by themselves,” Veronica said. “And the League is ‘considering’ ejecting the Soviet Union. Considering! For an illegitimate invasion of another country.”
“Bloody minded but effective,” Toby agreed, knowing better than to let Veronica get going about Finland or the League. Especially since she was right. “Do stop looking at me like that, Soph. I’m famished. Do you think Aunt Charlotte would let Cook give us biscuits or sandwiches or something?” He tugged one of Sophie’s flyaway curls and stole the seat she’d been in.
“Aunt Charlotte’s out at a meeting with Lady Reading. We’re to go later help sort clothes from America,” Sophie said. Making a face, she patted down her hair again and stepped out to ask the maid to bring them a tea tray.
He smirked, leaning over to snag one of the papers Veronica had been reading. “So would Aunt’s absence explain this copy of The Socialist Standard
is right out in the open?”
“More that she knows I’m twenty-one in just over a month,” she said. “And she hopes I shall stay here instead of joining a women’s auxillary. An inappropriate newspaper or two is nothing compared to that.” Veronica wrinkled her nose. “I shall join up, of course, but the entire concept of being ‘auxillary’ is completely asinine.”
“Why not write Colonel Stanley-Ross?” Toby offered. After merely four months of military experience, he was quite certain Veronica would not manage to last four days if the women’s commanders tried to make her into a telephonist or a cook. Were she assigned to a kitchen, the troops might not survive those four days either. “Perhaps he could suggest something.”
“One of the maids will be up shortly with tea,” Sophie announced as she returned. “Did you know Bert joined up too? The Army though. Nearly all the footmen have joined. Aunt Charlotte was nearly apoplectic.” She paused, just then noticing Veronica staring at Toby in amazement. “What is it? Are you being awful, Toby?”
“I come home for the first time since I joined up, and you accuse me of being awful?” Toby frowned, all injured innocence. “When I just wanted to see my dear family? Where is Henry anyway?”
“He had a good idea,” Veronica explained, sounding surprised. “And she’s back at Milford Park with yet another governess. One who certainly must have zoo keeping experience because she’s been there several months now.”
“I’m not surprised Henry got what she wanted,” he said, sitting up straight as the tea tray along with a plate of sandwiches and cakes were brought in. They’d all thanked the maid (unrefined or not, still none of them managed to ignore the servants) and helped themselves when a long break in conversation fell across the room, the quiet broken only by the popping of the fire and Toby’s restless shifting in his chair.
“You didn’t get kicked out or something, did you, Toby?” Sophie asked suddenly.
“What? No!” he glared at his sister. “Why would they kick me out?”
She might have offered several explanations if Veronica hadn’t interrupted. “What is it then? You’re acting like you did when you were sent down from Oxford.” Not that Veronica had forgiven him for throwing away that opportunity yet.
“I didn’t do anything,” Toby protested then sighed. “It’s just - they reassigned me.” He glared as the girls exchanged long and knowing looks. “I didn’t do anything! I earned my wings, and when everyone else was assigned to a flight squadron, I was sent to another training wing.” The girls remained silent, and he was beginning to become nervous at their reaction. “There aren’t enough pilots and flight crews at all! And I’m not bad at it honestly. I just...”
“You’re you,” Sophie broke in. “You’d be wearing a crown if it hadn’t gotten lost in the bombing.”
“I wouldn’t be wearing it right now,” he said, nearly pouting as he started to see her point. “And it shouldn’t matter.”
“We’re working on it,” she reassured him. “Well, Veronica is, and I’m helping her. There’s a plan.” Veronica nodded agreement, her expression calmly determined.
Tentatively, Toby looked from on girl to the other. “...you’re not going to go lecture them, are you?”
“If it’s the only way to make them listen to reason,” Veronica replied. “Don’t worry. I’ve become very tactful.”
The only FitzOsborne in the room who didn’t suddenly have a coughing attack at those words was Veronica herself.
1 May 1940
Telegram to Montmaray House, London from Flying Officer Tobias FitzOsborne
Assigned to flight squadron near London. Thanks to V & S. Love. Toby.
18 June 1940
"..the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin."
- Winston Churchill