‘I did,’ said Daisy. ‘But it frightens me to be so far underground with all them buildings on top of us.’

They got out at Holborn Station. The snow, which had eased a little when they left the office, had returned in all its ferocity. By the time they reached the hostel, they were cold and their clothes were soaked.

Rose searched in her purse. ‘I have no pennies left. What about you?’

‘No, but I’ve found a way to fix it.’ Daisy crouched over the meter with an army knife bristling with gadgets and fiddled about with a thin blade until a penny rattled down and then another.

‘Oh, Daisy, that’s robbery.’

‘That’s warmth,’ said Daisy cheerfully, dropping the coins back in, turning the dial and then lighting the small gas fire. They took off their wet clothes. Rose still felt self-conscious at disrobing in front of Daisy, but Daisy had no such qualms. She stripped naked and then wrapped herself in a wool dressing-gown and began to hang her clothes in front of the fire. Rose followed suit.

‘Have we anything to eat?’ she asked.

‘’Fraid not,’ said Daisy gloomily.

There was a knock at the door. Rose opened it a crack. Miss Harringey stood there. ‘A gentleman has called,’ she said, her voice heavy with disapproval.

‘Did he give a name?’

‘A Mr Jarvis.’

‘Tell him to wait and I will be down directly.’

Rose scrambled into dry clothes, leaving off the misery of stays, and hurried down the stairs.

Mr Jarvis stood in the hallway carrying a basket. ‘Mr Jarvis! How on earth did you get here in this dreadful weather?’ asked Rose.

‘I rode one of the big horses, one of the ones that pull the fourgon. Here are some things for you’ – he proffered the basket – ‘and here is a letter. Please do not say anything. I think the lady of the house is listening. Good evening.’

He opened the street door and mounted the large shire-horse which was tethered outside, by dint of scraping snow off the low wall outside the house and using it as a mounting block.

Rose hurried upstairs. In the room, she opened the letter. It was from her mother, Lady Polly, to say that they had returned from Nice and would Rose please stop all this nonsense and come home.

‘What’s in the basket?’ asked Daisy.

Rose lifted the cloth cover and gave a delighted cry. ‘Food! Oh, do look, Daisy. Game pie and wine and biscuits, cake, tea, coffee, and he’s even put in a bottle of milk. And there are other things.’

Daisy laid two plates and two cups on the table along with the cheap knives and forks they had purchased. ‘We’ll need to drink the wine out of teacups.’

‘We haven’t a corkscrew.’

‘I have,’ said Daisy, producing the knife again and twisting a corkscrew out from among the many implements.