‘Elizabeth,’ she spoke with absolute clarity.
‘And . . . why are you here?’ Her Majesty was not only able to maintain her composure, but asked the question with a tone of kind enquiry, even sympathy for a being who was somehow lost.
Elizabeth turned back to the window. ‘Because . . .’ she seemed to be reflecting carefully on her answer, ‘I am married to England.’
Both Her Majesty and I were following her every movement closely, when there was a sound in the passage outside. A gentle knock at the door. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’ came an enquiry from security and, in an instant, Elizabeth had vanished.
‘Quite,’ replied the Queen looking down at me. I knew she was wondering if I had seen Elizabeth too. I pressed my nose against her ankle wishing to convey that I had been with her through it all. I had witnessed not just one Queen Elizabeth, but two, in the same room and in conversation with each other, even though they lived centuries apart. How many corgis ever got to see that?
I couldn’t wait to tell Winston, but I had to pick my timing carefully. It was dinner time when I got back, and nothing, not even wondrous tales of the supernatural, could be allowed to distract a dog from his evening meal. It was true that Winston approached his food with less gusto than usual, on account of the flu. But all three of us were focused with single-minded attention on our plates, before we were taken for our post-prandial perambulation by security.
That evening, the three of us kept close together as we walked through the gardens. I knew better than to say anything in front of Margaret. She was not what Winston would call simpatico with any reports of experiences which didn’t conform to her own, narrow expectations. And not believing is not seeing. So it was much later, when we had retired to our baskets in front of the staff quarters’ fire, that the opportunity presented itself.
I waited to hear the sound of contented dozing from Margaret’s basket, before I climbed out of my own and into Winston’s. His own snoring was more laboured than usual—but it came to a halt the moment I got onto the blanket beside him.
The words came tumbling out. ‘On our way back this evening, the Queen and I were in the library and saw this amazing thing. I mean person. I mean, kind of like a person . . . only she wasn’t.’
Winston’s eyes blinked blearily open. ‘Go on.’
‘She was Queen Elizabeth. Only the first one. Wearing a black dress. She was there one moment and gone the next.’
‘Indeed?’ Although surprised, Winston wasn’t reacting with quite the degree of excitement I had hoped.
‘Did she speak?’
‘Only to say . . .’
‘Don’t tell me,’ he interjected. ‘That she was married to England?’
It was my turn for astonishment. ‘You’ve seen her too?’
‘Never! What you witnessed today was rare indeed. But not without precedent. The Queen’s father also once saw her ghost. She was dressed in black and said she was married to England.’
‘So she was a ghost?’
I knew nothing about ghosts, but thought they were supposed to be scary. Although the first Queen Elizabeth had possessed a decidedly otherworldly quality, I hadn’t found her scary. If anything, I had been struck by a poignant sadness.
‘Ghost. Spirit. What do these words actually mean? There is plenty of . . . activity at Windsor Castle. As the longest occupied royal castle in Europe, with so many kings and queens of the past thousand years living, dying and buried here, it’s hardly surprising. I think of what you witnessed today along the lines of trapped energy.’
I cocked my head to one side.
‘Like trapped wind; never comfortable for those involved and always a relief when it passes.’
‘Better out than in?’ I confirmed.
‘Winston’s First Dictum,’ he agreed.
I returned to my own basket, lest this unexpected turn in conversation started having a suggestive effect. I was beginning to doze off some minutes later, when Winston murmured from his basket, ‘Very auspicious that you saw the great Tudor Queen today.’
‘Hmm,’ I agreed, sleepily.
‘A sign, dear boy, that you are ready to take over.’
‘Take over what?’ I asked drowsily and without much comprehension.
But Winston said nothing more, his cryptic words left to wash beneath the rolling waves of drowsiness as I fell asleep.
One morning soon afterwards, on our return from a stay at Buckingham Palace, we emerged into the staff garden at Windsor to find everything had changed. The walls had been freshly painted. A new outdoor furniture setting took pride of place. And the flowerbeds were planted with shrubs and a dazzling array of bright, spring flowers—daffodils and crocuses formed a blaze of colour.