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Kit:
Everyone’s fine. Evan and Laura are safe, too.
Rosie:
evan and her mum were there?
Kit:
Yes. And I think…
Rosie:
?????
kit???
is everything okay????
Kit:
Are you free?
Rosie:
right now? do you want to ring me? xx
Kit:
In person, if you can. I’d rather not discuss this over the phone.
Rosie:
i can pop by in an hour xx
Kit:
Perfect. Thank you, Rosie. I don’t know who else to trust.
Rosie:
you can always trust me xx
i’ll be by right away xx
Kit:
Thank you. xxx
—Text message exchange between Lady Primrose Chesterfield-Bishop and the mobile of Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence, 18 January 2024
THE DOORBELL OF THE ABBOTT-MONTGOMERYS’ townhouse rings at ten o’clock on the dot.
As Maisie and I watch through the nearest strategically placed security camera, Kit, wearing a gray sweater and black trousers that fit him a little too well, pads to the door and opens it, revealing a pink-faced and breathless Rosie.
“Kit!” she squeals, and even though Maisie and I are listening through headphones in the basement, we both wince at her high pitch. Without waiting for an invitation, Rosie leaps over the threshold and throws her arms around Kit, embracing him like they’ve been reunited after years apart.
“Rosie,” he says, hugging her affectionately in return, though I don’t miss the look he gives the camera. “It’s lovely of you to pop by so quickly. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”
