Binky, to my amazement, continued. “Come off it, Fig, you have to admit that your sister and brother-in-law are about as boring as they come, and yet I, being an easygoing kind of chap, have agreed to spend a whole winter cooped up with them. So if you want us to go to France, you’d bally well better learn to be a bit more civil to my sister, or there will be no more trips.”

There was a stunned silence. I had to refrain from applauding. Binky’s face was now bright red, but he flashed me a triumphant grin. I rather suspect it was the first time he had ever stood up to her.

“Well!” Fig said, her own face ashen white. “Well!” There was another long pause. “I’ll be going to the morning room if you need me.” And she stalked off, her grand exit spoiled only by the banging of her bony hip into the corner of a side table. She pretended it didn’t hurt.

Binky and I stared at each other. “Well done, old bean,” I said.

He looked sheepish. “There will probably be hell to pay later, but I must say it was worth it.”

“You should have put your foot down long ago,” I said. “If she tries to start bossing you around, just put her over your knee and give her a spanking with the hairbrush.”

He let out a delighted chuckle. “You know, I think I will. Damned good idea.”

The fog had melted away to be replaced by drizzle as I came down the steps into Belgrave Square. I hailed a taxicab and was taken to Euston Station to catch the Irish Mail. But when I went up to the ticket counter I found out that the Irish Mail train did not leave until eight forty-five at night. How stupid of me not to have checked first. I certainly didn’t want to return to Rannoch House. But I didn’t want to sit in a station all that time either. I supposed I could deposit my suitcase at the left luggage and explore London a little, but I was in no mood to go exploring, and the weather certainly wasn’t inviting. I wanted to get the journey over and done with.

“That is the only train to Ireland?” I asked. “I’m in an awful hurry to get there.”

“It’s the only through train that goes right to the ferry,” the man at the ticket counter said. “But you can take a train to Chester and then change to the North Wales line that will take you to Holyhead, where you may be able to find an earlier ferry. I’m not sure how often they run in winter.”

“I think I’ll try it anyway,” I said. “Better than waiting around here.”

“That’s as may be.” He didn’t look convinced.

“How long does the journey take?” I asked.