"Hmm," he said. "I think I should look it up somewhere."
"Hold on," I said. "Mrs. Mullet's
"She's shopping in the village," Dogger said. "If we're quick about it, we may well escape with our lives."
A minute later we were huddled in the pantry.
"Here it is," I said excitedly, as the book fell open in my hands. “But wait—this was published sixty years ago. Would it still be correct?”
"Sure to be," Dogger said. "Things don't change as quickly in royal circles as they do in yours and mine, nor should they."
The drawing room was empty. Daffy and Feely were off somewhere, most likely planning their next attack.
I found a decent sheet of writing paper in a drawer, and then, dipping the pen in the inkwell, I copied out the salutation from Mrs. Mullet's greasy book, trying to make my handwriting as neat as possible:
Most Gracious Sovereign:
May it please Your Majesty,
Please find enclosed an item of considerable value belonging to Your Majesty which was stolen earlier this year. How it fell into my hands (a nice touch, I thought) is unimportant, but I can assure Your Majesty that the criminal has been caught.
"Apprehended," Dogger said, reading over my shoulder.
I changed it.
"What else?"
"Nothing," Dogger said. "Just sign it. Kings prefer brevity."
Being careful not to blot the page, I copied the closing from the book:
I remain, with the profoundest veneration, Your Majesty's most faithful subject and dutiful servant.
"Perfect!" Dogger said.
I folded the letter neatly, making an extra-sharp crease with my thumb. I slipped it into one of Father's best envelopes and wrote the address:
His Royal Highness King George the Sixth
Buckingham Palace, London, SWI
England
"Shall I mark it Personal?"
"Good idea," Dogger said.
A WEEK LATER, I was cooling my bare feet in the waters of the artificial lake, revising my notes on coniine, the chief alkaloid in poison hemlock, when Dogger appeared suddenly, waving something in his hand.
"Miss Flavia!" he called, and then he waded across to the island, boots and all.
His trouser legs were soaking wet, and although he stood there dripping like Poseidon, his grin was as bright as the summer afternoon.
He handed me an envelope that was as soft and white as goose down.
"Shall I open it?" I asked.
"I believe it's addressed to you."
Dogger winced as I tore open the flap and pulled out the single sheet of creamy paper which lay folded inside:
My Dear Miss de Luce.
I am most grateful to you for your recent communication and for the restoration of the splendid item contained therein, which has, as you must know, played a remarkable part, not only in the history of my own family, but in the history of England.
Please accept my heartfelt thanks.
And it was signed simply “George.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Whenever I pick up a new book, I always turn to the acknowledgments first because they provide me with a sort of aerial photograph of the work: a large-scale map that shows something of the wider environment in which the book was written, where it has been, and how it came to be.
No work-in-progress was ever more kindly nurtured than
Additional and special thanks are due to Margaret Murphy, who not only chaired the Debut Dagger Awards Committee, but also stole time from her own hectic schedule on awards day to personally welcome a wandering alien to London.
To Meg Gardiner, Chris High, and Ann Cleeves for making me feel as if I'd known them all my life.
To Louise Penny, a Dagger winner herself, whose warm generosity and encouragement is exemplified in the beacon her website has become for aspiring writers. Louise truly knows how to “give back” for the things she has received. Besides that, her Chief Inspector Armand Gamache novels are simply terrific!