“I’ll unpack for His Majesty,” she heard the valet say as they disappeared into the bedroom, “and when I’ve repacked it with the clothes he’s wearing now, you can take it down and put it on the back of the carriage which will follow His Majesty to the City.”
The words were spoken in the somewhat grandiose manner of a Palace servant who thinks himself immeasurably superior to all lesser servants.
There was the thump of a trunk being put down on the floor and the noise of straps being undone and Zita could visualise the King’s uniform being taken out and laid on the bed.
The porter had already gone back down the stairs and now there was only the valet in the bedroom.
It struck Zita for the first time that she would not see the King alone.
She had forgotten that he would not dress himsel
