The British royal family may not be able to keep “calm” amid continuing scandal over former Prince Andrew’s relationship with Jeffrey Epstein, as William suggested at the BAFTAs last night, but they are trying, visibly and deliberately, to at least carry on.
Today it was Queen Camilla’s turn.
On Monday afternoon at Clarence House, Camilla sat down over tea with Gisèle Pelicot, the French woman whose decision to waive anonymity after a decade of drugging, rape and abuse by her husband and dozens of other men has made her one of the most famous sex-abuse survivors in the world.
Camilla told Pelicot she had read her memoir in two days, that she “couldn’t put it down,” and that she had been left “shocked” and “speechless” by what she read. It was a carefully chosen engagement: dignity, compassion, moral seriousness, and a clear alignment with victims.
But outside the palace, the scandal continues to behave like a black hole, dragging ever more people into its maw.
Just days after Andrew Mountbatten Windsor became the first senior royal in modern history to be arrested, allegations emerged that, during his decade as Britain’s trade envoy, he charged taxpayers for massages and ran up extravagant travel expenses that were routinely “rubber-stamped” by officials.
Retired civil servants have described a culture of deference in which concerns were buried and costs scattered across budgets, making them hard to trace.
And the black hole keeps widening.
On Monday evening, Peter Mandelson—former Labor cabinet minister, former US ambassador, and long-time Epstein associate who appears to have worked hard to get Andrew his role as trade ambassador which so benefited his pal Epstein—was led away from his London home by plain-clothes police officers and arrested on suspicion of misconduct in public office.
Investigators believe he may have leaked sensitive government information to Epstein while serving as business secretary. The market-moving documents allegedly involved range from EU bailout plans to internal discussions about the sale of government assets.
Mandelson’s arrest came just four days after Andrew’s.
The political fallout is now international. Australia’s prime minister, Anthony Albanese, has publicly backed Downing Street’s move to explore legislation removing Andrew from the line of succession.
In the U.K.’s Houses of Parliament, some politicians are trying to force the release of around 100,000 “Mandelson files” using an arcane parliamentary device known as a “humble address.” In Washington, Democrats are promising “accountability and justice” for everyone in Epstein’s orbit.
Against this backdrop, the image of Queen Camilla listening intently to Gisèle Pelicot feels, for all its undoubted sincerity, slightly surreal, especially when Andrew is still living a life of privilege on the King’s estate—and the King’s dime.
The Palace line remains that “the law must take its course,” that sympathy lies with victims, and that the monarchy is cooperating fully.
Yet the question that refuses to go away is no longer just about Andrew, or even Mandelson.
It is about King Charles—and, specifically, what he knew, and when he knew it?
Not only did he sign off on a $14 million payment to Virginia Giuffre, but it is now quite clear that many warnings about Andrew were raised, but were dismissed or ignored.
Is he really going to claim none of these crossed his desk?
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