CHAPTER 11 – THE QUEEN IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE KING.
Margaret Rose Windsor, in her sixties.
07:03 (New York Time)
Sunday, August 24, 1997 ‘C’
Apartment #4, 607 West 51st Street, Hell’s Kitchen District
Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A.
Having awakened early, as per her custom, Nancy was already eating breakfast on this Sunday morning when Lucy and Erika joined her at the small dining table of their apartment. Both of the latter, holding mugs of hot coffee, also saw that Nancy was eating while listening with one ear to televised news, another habit of hers. Erika smiled and shook her head at that.
‘’Decidedly, you are a true news freak, Nancy.’’
It was Lucy who actually replied to that comment.
‘’That’s something she got from our mother, Erika. Ingrid IS a news freak. You can probably put that on a professional deformation as a top military commander.’’
‘’Yeah, I can understand that. I suppose that good information is half of a war won.’’
‘’It is half of a war won, Erika.’’ replied in turn Nancy while munching on her toast covered with raspberry jam. ‘’You wouldn’t believe the numbers of wars lost because of a lack of good information or, even worse, bad information. I…’’
Nancy then stopped speaking in mid-sentence and snapped her head towards their television set, making Lucy and Erika also look at it. They saw a newscaster speaking in front of a background showing the royal palace of Buckingham in London, with a side picture showing Queen Margaret.
‘’…Queen Margaret is said to have died early this morning, British time, victim of a stroke. Queen Margaret was known to be in poor health and to have been a heavy smoker all of her life. As per British royal custom, her son David will succeed her on the throne. We still have not heard any British official statement about how Queen Margaret’s funerals will be arranged and when they will be held. The British Prime Minister…’’
Seeing genuine sadness showing on Nancy’s face, Erika gently touched her left hand and spoke softly to her.
‘’Queen Margaret’s death seems to be touching you, Nancy. Did you know her personally?’’
‘’I met her twice when I was still only eight-years-old, when I brought back to England the remains of Sir Francis Drake, one of my past incarnations. I was treated at the time to a royal reception in Buckingham Palace and given a part ownership of Buckland Abbey, the Devon manor which Sir Francis owned in the second half of the Sixteenth Century. It was fully owned and administered by the British National Trust Society in 1991 but, as the late incarnation of Sir Drake, I earned the right to visit it at will and to use the old bedroom used by Francis Drake. Queen Margaret in person then gave me copies of the keys to the manor.’’
‘’Wow! And what kind of person was she, Nancy?’’
‘’She was a very intelligent and caring woman who deserved much better than being trapped into her monarchic role, where she was forced to follow the directives and ‘advice’ of a bunch of old, desiccated royal advisors. In truth, she could have been a first-class artist and musician and we had fun playing piano together during that royal reception. Damn, I must go to England and attend her funerals, so that I could pay my last respects to her.’’
‘’But school is starting again in about a week, while we have a gig scheduled at that Ninth Avenue night club on Tuesday night.’’ objected at once Lucy, making Nancy give her a reassuring smile.
‘’Don’t worry about that, Lucy: I would be gone for only a couple of days and the funerals will still take a few more days to be arranged. It will probably take place during next weekend, giving me plenty of time to return for the commencement of the new school year. Gee! That means that I better start booking right away my trip to England and reserve a hotel room in London: with all the dignitaries, celebrities and European royalties who will want to attend the funerals, the hotels in London are bound to be fully booked in a matter of days, while their prices will most probably shoot up to the stratosphere. Where’s that telephone book?’’
Finding and bringing to the dining table their New York City telephone directory, Nancy then started leafing through the pages listing various travel agencies and airlines while continuing to eat. Noting down a few numbers, she went to sit on their lounge’s main sofa, next to their telephone, and started making a series of calls while taking more notes. Meanwhile, Lucy and Erika sat down in front of their television set to listen to the news. However, as per the habit of American channels, little more was said about the death of Queen Margaret, the newscast quickly reverting to American news. When they finally switched off the television set, they saw that Nancy had put down her telephone and looked a bit discouraged, prompting a question from Lucy.
‘’What’s wrong, Sis?’’
‘’What’s wrong is that those British hotels were faster than sharks assaulting a piece of meat and already doubled and tripled the prices of their rooms in anticipation of the funerals. Their usual prices were already worthy of the term ‘predatory’ but now they have climbed all the way to ‘outrageous’. The cheapest hotel room in London is now going for over 600 dollars a night for a broom closet.’’
‘’SIX-HUNDRED DOLLARS A NIGHT?!’’ exclaimed Erika. ‘’Did you call the Ritz Hotel or what?’’
‘’No! I was asking the prices for things like simple inns and tourists’ hotels. As for London’s top hotels, forget it! With the army of rich European royals who will want to attend the funerals, their rooms will be in the thousands of dollars a night…at a minimum.’’
‘’Welcome to London!’’ said Lucy in a mocking tone.
16:09 (London Time)
Wednesday, August 27, 1997 ‘C’
Custom and immigration counters
Heathrow International Airport, London western suburbs
England, UK
When she stepped forward to one of the immigration wickets of the international arrival hall, Nancy presented to the British officer both her American passport and the honorary British passport she had received from Queen Margaret some six years ago. The official, a forty-something man with a very British-like moustache, opened his eyes wide on examining her documents, then respectfully saluted her.
‘’Welcome back in England, Sir Francis. I gather that you came to London for Queen Margaret’s funerals?’’
‘’You are correct, sir. Have they fixed yet the time of the official funerals? That information was still not available at the time of my departure from New York.’’
‘’It has just been announced, miss: the funerals will be held at Westminster Abbey on Saturday morning, starting at nine. Before that, the Queen’s body will be exposed on Friday in Westminster Hall. After the funerals, the Queen’s body will be carried to Windsor Castle and incinerated in Slough before her remains will be placed in the royal vault under St-George’s Chapel, next to her father, King George the Sixth, and her mother, Queen Mother Elizabeth. I however must warn you that it is next to impossible to find a room in London right now and that what little is left available is going for truly outrageous prices.’’
‘’I know, my good man. I already got the sticker shock while calling from New York, trying to book a room. Thankfully, I had an option available to me: I will go to my manor of Buckland Abbey, near Plymouth, and prepare for the royal funerals there.’’
The British official nodded his head in approval and stamped both of her passports before giving them back to Nancy while smiling to her.
‘’Then, I wish you a nice stay in England, Sir Francis.’’
‘’Thank you! And a good day to you as well, sir.’’
Taking back her passports, Nancy then went down to the luggage carrousels hall, where she collected her two suitcases before proceeding to the customs counters. There, she got the same kind of respectful, deferral treatment she had received at the immigration counter and was quickly cleared to leave the terminal. Her next move was to go take a taxi, or ‘cab’ in British parlance, and ask for a ride to the nearest train station, where she could take a train to Plymouth. Thankfully, no one recognized her at the train station and aboard her train and she was not hounded by any reporter or photographer, probably because those were already busy chasing after European royals and other V.I.P.s arriving in London for the funerals. In fact, President Perot was himself due to attend the funerals but would arrive only late Friday night. Once her train arrived in Plymouth, Nancy took a taxi ride to Yelverton, the small town next to Plymouth where Buckland Abbey was located.
22:51 (London Time)
Buckland Abbey, near Yelverton, region of Plymouth
Devon, England
Buckland Abbey, Yelverton, Devon. Started being built in 1278. Converted into a manor in 1541.
When her cab stopped in front of the main entrance of Buckland Abbey, the manor that Sir Francis Drake had possessed, it was already dark and no lights showed inside the old manor. Her driver gave her a questioning look then.
‘’The building closed for visitors in the afternoon, miss, as you can see. Do you wish to go back to Yelverton, so that you can find a room at a local inn?’’
’’No need for that, mister: I have the keys to the place.’’
‘’You have the keys, miss? How?’’
‘’Simple: it belonged to me, some 350 years ago. How much do I owe you for the ride?’’
The cab driver, still not understanding who she was, hesitated before giving her the cost of her ride, which she paid at once. An afterthought then came to her mind and she smiled to the driver, who wore a pair of thick glasses, while raising her right hand.
‘’Let me give you a tip. Please don’t move for a moment.’’
Subjugated by her beauty and charisma, the taxi driver stayed still as she touched his forehead with three of her fingers. However, he couldn’t help stiffen when her right hand started to glow, but she reassured him in a soft voice.
‘’Don’t be afraid, good man: I am going to tip you.’’
The driver then felt a soothing sensation through his body as Nancy’s hand glowed for a few seconds. When she lowered her hand, the driver had to remove his glasses, as his vision had blurred, and looked at them in confusion. His confusion then changed into disbelief and joy as he realized that his eyesight was now perfect.
‘’Bloody Hell! I can see clearly without my glasses! How did you do that, miss?’’
‘’I lived here, some 400 years ago, when I was Sir Francis Drake. Thank you for the ride, mister.’’
Only then did the British man finally understood who that supremely beautiful teenage girl was. Completely overwhelmed, he still had the presence of mind to get out and open her door, then took her suitcases out of his trunk. When he started to kneel in front of her, Nancy gently stopped him and smiled to him.
‘’Doing good deeds is my mission in life, my good man: no need to kneel before me. You can best thank me by being good to others around you.’’
‘’Please, let me carry your suitcases inside, Sir Francis.’’
‘’That you can do, sir.’’
Followed by the cab driver, Nancy walked up to the front door of the old manor and took out of her purse the set of big iron keys she had received from Queen Margaret six years ago. Selecting a key, she inserted it in the door’s lock and turned it. The mechanism opened with an audible ‘click’ and she then gently pushed the door open, entering a medieval lobby and inviting the driver in. Next, she walked down a hallway and climbed the stairs of the magnificent central staircase of the manor, made of polished and varnished wood. She finally entered a large room with lacquered wooden wall panels and pointed at a free space in the middle of what was known as ‘The Drake Room’.
‘’You may put down my suitcases there, sir. Thank you again for your help.’’
‘’It was an honor, Sir Francis. Have a good night, miss.’’
‘’The same to you, sir.’’
The cab driver then left the room to return to his vehicle. Nancy, now alone, looked with nostalgia around her. After all these centuries, this place still felt like home to her. Thankfully for her, an addition had been made to this room after she had been given co-ownership of the manor: a replica of a Sixteenth Century canopy bed similar to what Sir Francis had slept in during his stay in Buckland Abbey. Putting her suitcases on the bed, Nancy quickly emptied them, distributing her things into the various chests and closets of the medieval room. Next, she stripped naked and hung her clothes before pulling down the bed’s sheets and slipping in with delighted relief. Sleep came easily to her then.
The Drake Room, Buckland Abbey.
08:33 (London Time)
Thursday, August 28, 1997 ‘C’
The Drake Room, Buckland Abbey
When she woke up in the morning, Nancy could say that she had truly slept like a baby and felt fully recovered from the change of time zones her trip from New York had implied. Still naked, she got out of bed and went to a large window where a miniature replica of the GOLDEN HIND, Sir Francis’ ship, lay on top of a big wooden chest. She admired the model for a moment, then looked out through the old medieval window: the sky was cloudy and a bit gray, a common weather state in England…when it didn’t rain. After a minute of contemplating the outside panorama, Nancy went to her clothes and put on her panties, then put on a fresh set of clothes, choosing a conservative-looking, dark blue-gray female suit. Now being dressed in a decent manner, Nancy retrieved the small paper bag containing the sandwiches and bottled water she had bought in the train from London and went down to the kitchen of the manor. That room was still exactly as it had been when Sir Francis had lived in Buckland Abbey, with a huge fireplace, a set of smaller woodstoves, iron utensils and a large, strong wooden table. She did not light any of the stoves, knowing that tourists would start visiting the manor starting at eleven, and simply sat at the table to eat her sandwiches and drink her water. She was still eating when a middle-aged woman entered the kitchen and did a doubletake at her sight.
‘’What the…? Who are you, miss, and how did you get in the manor?’’
‘’Relax, madam. I am the co-owner of the manor and I used my own key to enter it last night.’’
The woman seemed confused by those words for a few seconds, until an expression of revelation came to her face.
‘’Miss Nancy Dows? Is that you?’’
‘’I am Nancy Dows, madam.’’ said calmly Nancy while continuing to eat. ‘’You probably saw me only once before, when I was nine, so I can understand why you didn’t recognize me at first. I came to attend the funerals of Queen Margaret but, finding no rooms in London, decided to come here and use the Drake Room, which was reserved for my use when I was given co-ownership of the manor by the Queen. Don’t worry about my presence disturbing your guided tours: I will stay discrete and will keep my things out of sight. Is the crypt of the chapel still accessible?’’
‘’Uh, yes but it is under lock and is opened only during guided tours, miss.’’
‘’That’s okay: I have the key for it. Thanks for the information.’’
A bit flustered and also quite excited by now, the woman then left the kitchen at a quick step, probably to announce Nancy’s presence to the other tour staff members for the manor. Effectively, the woman returned a few minutes later with one man and two other women, all of whom bowed politely to Nancy and with the man speaking to her.
‘’Welcome to Buckland Abbey, Miss Dows. I am Arnold Green, the head tour guide for the manor. We were not expecting your visit, I must say.’’
‘’You can blame that on the lack of hotel rooms in London, Mister Green. However, I also wanted to see again Buckland Abbey. It seems to have been well maintained during the past few years.’’
‘’The National Trust Service does its best to preserve the historic places in Great Britain which are under its care, Miss Dows. How long are you going to stay in Buckland Abbey, if I may ask?’’
‘’I will stay until Sunday morning, when I will take a plane to go back to New York. However, I will only sleep here and will eat out in town, while also visiting a few places around Plymouth and London. I know that the living facilities in the abbey are strictly limited, in order to preserve the historic cachet of the manor, so I will use this place as little as possible.’’
Green, apparently satisfied by her response, bowed again to her.
‘’I must thank you for your consideration, miss. We will now let you finish your meal. Have a good day, Miss Dows.’’
The British then left the kitchen, allowing Nancy to finish her frugal breakfast alone. Once done, she carefully gathered the sandwiches’ wrapping and empty water bottle and put everything back in its place before going up to the Drake Room, where she stored out of sight in a chest her clothes and suitcases, then carefully rearranged the bed’s sheets. With the Drake Room now as she had found it last night, her next move was to go down to the ground level and go to the chapel of the manor. Using an old stone staircase, she went down to the small crypt situated under the chapel. Thankfully, electric lamps had been installed there years ago and she didn’t have to hunt for a flashlight in order to see around her. With emotion growing in her, Nancy slowly approached a large, rusty bronze plaque fixed to one of the walls and stopped in front of it, then bowed her head in respect to the final resting place of one of her past incarnations, Sir Francis Drake, national hero for many but also despised pirate for others.
‘’You could say that I had many ups and downs in my diverse past, Sir Francis, like you did yourself. You however fully deserved to rest here, in your home country, instead of at the bottom of the ocean. I will now go visit other dead people who are honored in history. Rest in peace, Sir Francis.’’
Gently touching the bronze plaque for a few seconds, Nancy then stepped back and left the crypt, going back up to the ground floor and walking out by the main door of the manor. She looked around the quiet countryside and gardens surrounding the manor for a moment, then concentrated and flew off the ground, rising into the air and taking speed eastward, towards London. A tour staff present in the parking lot close to the abbey saw her fly away and, after watching her with his mouth open ajar in shock, then ran inside the manor to tell that tale to the other tour guides and house cleaners.
10:14 (London Time)
London Metropolitan Police patrol helicopter
Flying around Westminster Palace, London
Officer Harry Coyle, sitting in the front passenger seat of his police helicopter as it patrolled the area around Westminster Palace, suddenly tensed up when he saw through his binoculars a tiny dot approaching Westminster Palace at low altitude.
‘’Heads up, George! I see something approaching the palace from the West at low altitude, at our eight o’clock.’’
The pilot, George Stockdale, immediately snapped his head in that direction: one worry the government had was that some terrorist group, possibly Irish separatists, would try to attack London during the lying-in-state and funerals of Queen Margaret. Security was thus tight around downtown London and included helicopter patrols like their own. Changing heading and accelerating, the two police officers were soon able to better distinguish what that flying dot was. What they saw left them with their mouths wide open.
‘’Bloody Hell! How is this possible?’’ could barely say Stockdale before he activated his headset microphone to call his air controller at the London Metropolitan Police Headquarters.
‘’London Metropolitan Police Control, this is Helicopter 06, flying over Westminster Palace. We have a young woman flying at low altitude towards Westminster Palace, over.’’
‘’Helicopter 06, from Control: what type of aircraft is this woman flying, over?’’
‘’No aircraft, Control! She is simply flying in by herself, à la Mary Poppins, over.’’
There was a pause on the radio before the controller’s voice came back on the air.
‘’Say again, Helicopter 06!’’
‘’Control, I say again: a young woman is flying by herself at low altitude towards Westminster Palace. She is presently some two kilometers West of the palace and flying at an altitude of 600 feet and an approximate speed of 130 miles per hour, over.’’
‘’Helicopter 06, are you drunk?’’
‘’Hell no, Control! I am dead serious!’’
By the time Stockdale had said those words, his helicopter had crossed path with the flying girl, so he performed a tight turn to the right in order to catch up with her, then approached her from her left, on a parallel path some thirty meters from her. As he came level with her, the girl, a blonde of devastating beauty, smiled to the two police officers and waved in a friendly manner at them, making Harry Coyle make a remark to his colleague.
‘’I don’t know who that girl is but she sure is a hell of a looker, George!’’
‘’She is, but she is still approaching a restricted security zone. Control, this is Helicopter 06. We are now flying alongside the flying woman. She is young, in her late teens, is blond and doesn’t appear to be armed. She is wearing a dark blue and gray female business suit and waved at us in a friendly fashion. I request instructions, over.’’
There was again a pause on the radio before the controller’s voice came back on the air.
‘’Helicopter 06, signal to that woman to come down and land outside the palace security perimeter. A ground patrol will then check her out there, over.’’
‘’Understood, Control. Helicopter 06 out!’’
Stockdale then looked at Coyle, sitting to his right in the cockpit of their helicopter.
‘’Signal her to come down and land at once, George.’’
‘’Uh, okay! Just let me film her for a moment first: if not, the others will never believe us.’’
‘’Good idea!’’
Grabbing his handheld surveillance video camera, Harry Coyle filmed the flying young woman for a few seconds, then gestured to her to make her understand that he wanted her to land. In response, the girl nodded her head and gave him a thumbs up signal before starting to slow down and lose altitude, to the satisfaction of the two police officers.
‘’Helicopter 06 to Control: the flying girl is complying with our instructions and is flying down while slowing. She should land on Broad Sanctuary, near the crossing with Parliament Square, over.’’
‘’Acknowledged, Helicopter 06. Stay with her until she has landed and is met by our officers on the ground, over.’’
‘’Will do! Helicopter 06, out!’’
Stockdale then looked back at the flying girl, adjusting his own trajectory in order to follow her from fifty meters away, so that he wouldn’t risk killing her with his rotor blades.
‘’Damn! I can’t wait to learn who she is and how she can fly like this.’’
When Nancy landed softly and silently on the sidewalk, watched by a crowd of disbelieving passersby, she was nearly immediately approached by a group of four rather nervous British police officers. Nancy noticed at once that, contrary to British customs, those police officers were armed, carrying both submachine guns and pistols. She thus stayed motionless and calmly let the policemen approach her before speaking to the constable leading the group.
‘’Do not worry, gentlemen: I simply came to pay my respects to Queen Margaret. My name is Nancy Dows and here are my passports.’’
Partly reassured by her friendly tone and attitude, the senior constable took the two passports presented by Nancy and carefully examined them. He then knelt in front of her and bowed his head in respect.
‘’Welcome to London, Sir Francis. You may proceed to Westminster Hall, where the Queen’s coffin is lying in state.’’
‘’Thank you, my good man.’’ replied Nancy, nodding back before starting to walk towards the Westminster Palace complex. The three other police officers in the group then rounded up their leader as he got back on his feet.
‘’Why did you call that girl ‘Sir Francis’, sir?’’ asked one of the constables.
‘’Because this girl is the famous New York angel, Nancy Dows, who once was Sir Francis Drake in a previous incarnation. Let me call Headquarters on that and pass the word about her.’’
Crossing the intersection with Parliament Square, Nancy then walked for a good fifty meters in order to get in the back of the line of people waiting to enter Westminster Hall, where the coffin of Queen Margaret lay in state. Many of those people took a step back, unsure of what she was, while others knelt for her. To all, she simply gave them friendly smiles and continued on, until she took last place in the line, behind an aging couple who seemed unsure how to react to her. Nancy nodded her head once to the couple while smiling.
‘’Don’t mind me, good people: I am here to pay my respects to Queen Margaret, like you.’’
‘’Uh, how could you fly like you did, miss?’’ asked the man in the couple.
‘’I am a half-angel, sir. One of my past incarnations was as Sir Francis Drake.’’
The old couple, stunned, would have knelt before her, or rather tried to kneel, as they appeared to be in poor physical shape, with probable arthritis in their joints, but Nancy gently stopped them from doing so.
‘’Please, don’t kneel! We are all here to pay our respects to Queen Margaret. Let’s keep our focus on that.’’
‘’But you are an envoy of God and…’’
Nancy politely shook her head at once at those words.
‘’I am sorry but I don’t represent what you call ‘God’. I am an envoy of ‘The One’, who never pretended to be your god.’’
There was a long hesitation before the old woman spoke, her voice raspy.
‘’I heard about the healings and miracles you performed in New York, miss. May I ask a favor from you?’’
‘’Go right ahead, madam.’’
‘’Arthritis is making my husband and I suffer more and more these days, miss. Could you provide us some relief, please?’’
Nancy hesitated before responding: she certainly could and would like to perform a healing here, but that would detract on the present circumstances and would focus public attention away from the day’s intent, which was to pay homage to Queen Margaret. A strong mental voice then echoed inside her mind.
‘’Do good and help those people, Nancy: Margaret Rose Windsor would have wanted this. I will help you in order to enhance your healing effect.’’
‘’Thank you, Great One!’’ mentally replied Nancy, who then closed her eyes and concentrated. Within seconds, she started glowing from the inside, soon becoming as bright as a floodlight, forcing the people around her to cover their eyes. Then, a wave of white light exploded silently out of her and expanded at hypersonic speed through the Greater London Metropolitan area, touching over seven million people and healing them nearly instantly of any sickness, wound, deformity and even of amputated limbs they had suffered from. When she stopped glowing and opened her eyes again, Nancy sent out a strong telepathic message around her.
‘’PLEASE DO NOT HONOR ME FOR THIS: FOCUS INSTEAD ON HONORING YOUR DEAD QUEEN, AS I INTEND TO DO MYSELF.’’
While most people simply looked at her with new reverence but kept quiet and stayed in line, the reaction of the few reporters, photographers and paparazzi present around Westminster Palace was too predictable: they all started to rush towards her, their cameras held at the ready. Thankfully, The One was ahead of Nancy in that aspect and those rushing media members suddenly froze as if transformed into statues under the disbelieving eyes of the passersby, would-be visitors to Westminster Hall and polic