IT KEPT ON AND ON. One story after another. I thought at times of Mr. Marston ceaselessly ringing his insane bell.
Who can ever forget the spate of front-page stories making Meg out to be singlehandedly responsible for the End Times? Specifically, she’d been “caught” eating avocado toast, and many stories explained breathlessly that the harvesting of avocados was hastening the destruction of the rainforests, destabilizing developing countries, and helping to fund state terrorism. Of course the same media had recently swooned over Kate’s love of avocados. (Oh, how they make Kate’s skin glow!)
Notably, it was around this time that the super-narrative embedded within each story began to shift. It was no longer about two women fighting, two duchesses at odds, or even two households. It was now about one person being a witch and causing everyone to run from her, and that one person was my wife. And in building this super-narrative the press was clearly being assisted by someone or multiple someones inside the Palace.
Someone who had it in for Meg.
One day it was: Yuck—Meg’s bra strap was showing. (Classless Meghan.) The next day: Yikes—she’s wearing that dress? (Trashy Meghan.)
The next day: God save us, her fingernails are painted black! (Goth Meghan.)
The next day: Goodness—she still doesn’t know how to curtsy properly. (American Meghan.)
The next day: Crikey, she shut her own car door again! (Uppity Meghan.)
