Prince Andrew’s Former Maid FINALLY Opens Up About His True Behavior

Shocking confession: Prince Andrew’s ex-maid breaks her silence after decades, exposing the arrogant royal tantrums and demands that left her in tears. What dark secrets from behind palace doors reveal the Duke’s spoiled side – and why she’s speaking out NOW? The truth is more explosive than you think… Uncover the full exposé that’s shaking the royals. 👉

In a palace where discretion is currency and silence is golden, one former employee’s voice has pierced the velvet curtains of Buckingham Palace like a sharp rebuke. Charlotte Briggs, a maid who served Prince Andrew in the mid-1990s, has reignited long-dormant allegations of the Duke of York’s tyrannical temperament, detailing in fresh interviews how his petulant demands and verbal lashings reduced her – and others – to tears. Coming amid the prince’s latest tumble from grace, including the recent surrender of his Duke of York title following renewed Epstein scrutiny, Briggs’ revelations paint a portrait of a royal who ruled his staff with an iron fist wrapped in entitlement.

Briggs, now 56 and living quietly in northern England, first aired her grievances in 2022 during the height of Andrew’s legal woes with Virginia Giuffre, the Epstein accuser whose posthumous memoir Nobody’s Girl dropped last week, stirring fresh calls for accountability. But in a series of new sit-downs with outlets like the Daily Mail and ITV News, she doubles down, insisting her story deserves retelling as the monarchy grapples with its tarnished branches. “I signed the Official Secrets Act, but enough is enough,” Briggs told reporters this week, her voice steady but eyes flashing with unresolved anger. “He treated us like we were invisible until he needed something – then we were targets for his moods.”

It was 1996 when Briggs, a wide-eyed 27-year-old fresh from domestic service training, was assigned to Andrew’s quarters at Buckingham Palace. The role, she recalls, was the palace’s “poisoned chalice” – a job no one wanted, passed around like a hot potato among the housemaids. “Six months in, they asked for volunteers,” she recounted. “Silence. Then someone nudged me. I thought, how bad could it be? Famous mistake.” What followed was six months of what she describes as psychological warfare: a prince in his mid-30s, fresh from his divorce from Sarah Ferguson and reveling in his “Randy Andy” playboy persona, who micromanaged with the ferocity of a drill sergeant and the whimsy of a child denied a toy.

The teddy bear saga stands out as exhibit A. Andrew, then 36, maintained a collection of over 50 stuffed animals on his four-poster bed – relics from his childhood, arranged just so by height and type, with specific ones facing the door as “sentinels.” Maids received laminated diagrams to ensure precision, but one misplaced grizzly or floppy-eared rabbit could unleash a tirade. “He’d scream, ‘Do you know what this means? You’re ruining my sanctuary!'” Briggs said, mimicking his booming baritone. On one occasion, she entered his suite to find him red-faced, hurling a toy across the room because a housekeeper had “dared” to dust without permission. “I was left in tears, hiding in the linen closet,” she admitted. “This man fought in the Falklands, but he couldn’t handle a soft toy out of line.”

Such episodes weren’t isolated. Briggs described Andrew as a “horrible, nasty man” who reveled in his status, summoning staff from distant wings of the palace for trivial tasks – closing curtains he could reach himself, fetching newspapers already delivered, or polishing already gleaming silverware. “He’d ring the bell for a cup of tea, then send it back because it was ‘too hot’ or ‘not hot enough,'” she said. “Hours wasted, all because he could.” One infamous standoff involved the prince commandeering Prince Charles’ (now King Charles III) private bathroom, plunking his monogrammed toiletry bag on the marble vanity and refusing to budge. Only the intervention of Queen Elizabeth II herself – a rare direct order from the sovereign – prompted relocation. Former maid Janette McGowan, who witnessed the “bizarre” scene, called it emblematic of Andrew’s boundary-blind arrogance: “The bathrooms were identical. It was pure power play.”

Briggs’ tenure ended abruptly when she requested a transfer, citing the emotional toll. “I loved the palace – the history, the grace – but not that suite,” she reflected. Assigned briefly to another royal household, she found solace in the comparative calm. Yet, her silence lingered under the weight of the Official Secrets Act, a nondisclosure agreement binding ex-staff to lifelong discretion. It was Andrew’s infamous 2019 BBC Newsnight interview – and its bizarre teddy bear mention – that cracked her resolve. “When I heard him defend that collection on TV, like it was normal, I thought, ‘Now’s the time,'” she said. Her 2022 disclosures, amplified by the Giuffre lawsuit, drew backlash from Andrew’s camp but vindication from fellow ex-staffers. Paul Page, a former palace protection officer, corroborated the toy obsession in Amazon Prime’s 2022 docuseries Ghislaine, Prince Andrew and the Paedophile, estimating 150 plushies in total at Royal Lodge.

These anecdotes, while petty on the surface, underscore a deeper pattern of entitlement that biographers and insiders say defined Andrew’s adult life. Andrew Lownie’s 2025 unauthorized biography Entitled: The Rise and Fall of the House of York – released amid the prince’s title forfeiture – catalogs similar bullying from schoolboy days onward. Classmates at Lakefield College School in Ontario recalled a “slimy, arrogant bully” who lorded over peers, while Lakefield staff whispered of his “appalling manners” toward underlings. As a young naval officer, Andrew’s charm masked a hair-trigger temper; one bodyguard quit after being berated for a perceived slight. “He humiliated people for sport,” Lownie writes, citing aides reduced to tears by dawn phone rants over press clippings.

The book delves darker, alleging Andrew’s “twin obsessions” with women and money fueled a predatory streak. Masseuse Emma Gruenbaum, who worked at Royal Lodge in the early 2000s, branded him a “constant sex pest,” recounting sessions where professional boundaries blurred into discomfort. “Hands wandered; compliments turned creepy,” she told Lownie. “That’s not therapy – that’s entitlement unchecked.” Palace whispers warned female staff to “steer clear,” with one aide reassigned for wearing a “nylon tie” Andrew disliked, another for a facial mole. In 2021, a family summit – convened by the late Queen – reportedly deemed Andrew irredeemable, with Charles declaring, “No way back.”

Briggs insists she never witnessed Andrew’s Epstein-linked improprieties firsthand – no young women shuttled through back doors, no hushed phone calls to the financier’s Palm Beach estate. But the undercurrent of misogyny was palpable. “He eyed us up and down, like we were part of the furniture he could rearrange,” she said. Her account aligns with Giuffre’s Nobody’s Girl, excerpted in The Guardian on October 15, where the author describes Andrew as “entitled… as if sex was his birthright.” Giuffre, who settled with Andrew for an undisclosed sum in 2022 before her April death from cancer, alleged three encounters trafficked by Ghislaine Maxwell, Epstein’s convicted procurer. The memoir’s release, coupled with unearthed 2011 emails showing Andrew querying Epstein post-cutoff, prompted King Charles’ decisive axe: On October 12, Buckingham Palace announced Andrew’s relinquishment of the Duke title, Order of the Garter, and military affiliations – a “voluntary” but total exile.

Public reaction has been swift and unforgiving. A YouGov poll post-announcement found 68% of Britons supportive of the stripping, with many citing staff mistreatment as “the last straw.” Social media buzzes with #MaidGate, where users share Briggs’ clips alongside memes of Andrew’s sweatless denials. “If he bullies maids over teddies, what wouldn’t he do?” one viral X post quipped, garnering 50,000 likes. Feminists and labor advocates hail Briggs as a whistleblower, her story fueling documentaries like Netflix’s upcoming Untidy Royals, slated for 2026.

Andrew, 65, remains holed up at Royal Lodge, his Windsor estate funded by a £3 million annual Duchy allowance – taxpayer ire notwithstanding. Insiders say he’s “furious but fatalistic,” penning a memoir tentatively titled A Prince’s Progress to counter the narrative. Daughters Beatrice and Eugenie, navigating their own low-profile lives, have distanced themselves; Beatrice, mother to two, reportedly vetoed Andrew meeting her infant Athena amid the furor. Ferguson, ever the loyal ex, issued a bland statement: “The family supports healing.”

For Briggs, the catharsis is bittersweet. Retired from service, she now volunteers with domestic worker charities, mentoring those silenced by NDAs. “I don’t hate him – pity, maybe,” she mused. “But power without kindness corrupts absolutely.” As the Windsors slim down under Charles’ pragmatic reign – health permitting – Andrew’s saga serves as cautionary lore: Even blue blood runs dry when diluted by disdain.

Critics argue the palace’s slow reckoning – decades of complaints ignored until Epstein’s shadow loomed – exposes systemic rot. Labour MP Jess Phillips tweeted: “Maids aren’t serfs; royals aren’t gods. Time for real reform.” Yet defenders, including some conservative commentators, decry Briggs as a “disgruntled ex-employee” cashing in. Andrew’s lawyers, prepping a potential countersuit, maintain: “All claims are baseless; His Royal Highness denies any wrongdoing.”

In the end, Briggs’ words echo beyond the palace walls, a reminder that thrones rest on unseen labor – and unseen scars. As autumn fog rolls over the Thames, the Duke’s true behavior stands exposed: not monstrous in isolation, but cumulatively cruel, a spoiled scion whose fall from favor feels both inevitable and overdue.