Every night at 10 p.m. sharp, the suburb’s peace was obliterated. Excavators howled, steel slammed, trucks thundered past red-brick homes.
Behind three-meter steel barriers covered in black mesh,
floodlights carved the night into harsh white strips. The locals knew only one thing: this “secret build” was being called a royal project.
What they didn’t know was that it was really a palace for Camilla’s son — and funded by the crown’s own maintenance money.
At 14 Willow Lane, 72-year-old Margaret Thompson stared at the vibrating window glass, her heart racing. “They say it’s for the royal family,” she whispered to her cat. “But what royal family does this to its own people?” Her sleep was gone. So was her sense of safety.
The council moved fast — not to protect residents, but to pacify them. Mayor Harold Finch held a town hall, declaring in his polished voice that this was a “special national project” and resistance must be “responsible and patriotic.” Days later, envelopes appeared like hush money on doormats: £500 per household.
“Cooperate for Nunham’s progress,” the note read.
Some took the cash and fell silent.
Others didn’t.
At number 27, single mother Sarah Jenkins shoved the envelope into her coat pocket, fury burning in her chest. “This won’t buy my child’s sleep,” she told her neighbors. “Or our dignity.”
What she couldn’t see was that her anger had just brushed against the edges of a scandal that would soon rip through Buckingham Palace.