“Try the wardrobe.”

“I already looked there,” she said, opening the door defiantly. She disappeared inside, leaving only a large rear end facing me. Then she said, “Well, blow me down. Here it is, in the back corner.” She produced my pump. “My old dad said I’d forget my head if it wasn’t on my shoulders.” She laughed and slipped the shoe onto my other foot.

“You can thank your lucky stars that I had to go out to dinner tonight,” I said. “Otherwise we’d have been miles away and never found it. And I’d have to buy a new pair of shoes out of your wages.”

She chuckled at this. “Go on. You don’t pay me enough to buy a pair of good shoes.”

This, of course, was true and the only reason that I kept her on. I had no money. She took almost no wages while supposedly I was training her. The training had been going on for two years now and she was no nearer to being employable. She would probably never be employable, which meant I was stuck with her. I sighed.

“My jewel case and my fox fur stole, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to keep the princess waiting.”

“Dining with a princess, are we?” she said, as she fastened the rubies around my neck. “Coming up in the world since you took on this job at the palace.”

“Actually she is a friend of Mr. Darcy’s,” I said and wished I hadn’t uttered the words out loud. The phrase “we are just good friends” flashed through my mind. I wrapped the stole around me.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, Queenie,” I said. “You don’t have to wait up. Just make sure my nightclothes are laid out. You know—nightclothes, not my bathing suit and my ski jumper.”

“I know. I ain’t completely daft,” she said. “And I’ll tell them in the kitchen that you ain’t taking your dinner here, okay?”

“Yes, please do.” I started down the hallway.

“One more thing,” she called after me. “Can I have your helping of stew, then?”

I sighed again as I walked down the stairs.

Chapter 6

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 30

Chez Princess Zamanska. Dreading this! Why did I agree to it? Because she is not the sort of person one says no to, I suppose.

I heard the sound of laughter as the maid admitted me to 16 Eaton Square.

“The company is in the sitting room,” she said unnecessarily. Then she opened the door and said, in dramatic fashion, “Lady Georgiana Rannoch, Your Highness.”

Heads turned in my direction. Princess Zamanska had been standing with her back to me, wearing a black backless evening gown. Her hair was now piled in curls on her head, held in place with a black ostrich feather. There were diamonds at her throat. The cigarette holder was still in her hand.