A pathetic attempt at a fire had begun in my bedroom but it still felt icy after the intoxicating warmth of the princess’s sitting room. Queenie had my trunk open and items of clothing strewn over the bed.

“I can’t find your slippers,” she said, looking up at me. “I know I put them in here somewhere.”

“Never mind the slippers now,” I said. “I’m going out to dinner. I need my smartest evening gown, my black pumps and my jewel case.”

She sighed. “You would, wouldn’t you, right after I stuffed them shoes with newspaper and all, right at the bottom.” She flung out items of clothing with gay abandon.

“I think the burgundy velvet is the best we can do,” I said. “And the rubies to go with it.”

“Bob’s yer uncle,” she said. “Here you are.” And a dark red missile was hurled in my direction. I took it and stared at it in horror. It was obvious it had been crammed into a trunk any which way and was now awfully creased.

“It will need ironing, Queenie,” I said. “But remember it’s velvet. You iron it on the wrong side, with a cool iron or you will melt it.”

“I know,” she said, huffily. “I’ll have to see if there’s still an ironing board in the place.”

I was going to ask her to run a bath but Queenie didn’t handle multiple commands well. Instead I went down the hall and turned on the taps myself.

Feeling quite revived after my bath I waited for her to return, half in dread about what she might have done to my dress. She had certainly ruined enough items of clothing. But miraculously she returned with the dress looking quite respectable, then helped me into it. It wasn’t exactly fashionable but it was presentable. I nodded as I looked at myself.

“And the evening shoes, Queenie?”

I sat down at the dressing table and held out my feet.

“Here’s the right one,” she said and put it on.

“And the left?” I asked as a sinking feeling formed in my stomach.

“I can’t seem to find the left one,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I put both of them in the trunk, but it ain’t here now.”

“Queenie, I can’t go to dinner with one shoe on,” I said.

“You’ve got other shoes,” she said.

“Daytime shoes, not evening pumps. I can’t go to a dinner in brogues!”

“It’s a long dress. Bend yer knees a bit and no one will see.”

If I hadn’t been so angry it would have been funny. “I took them both off in this room, Queenie. Keep looking until you find it. Go on.”

“I already looked once,” she said.

“Try under the bed,” I suggested.

She sighed and got down on her hands and knees. “Only a chamber pot under there,” she said.