Miss Jubbles hesitated, but the thought of going back to her mother made her shudder. So she followed him as he led the way to a little parlour on the first floor.

They sat in awkward silence until George arrived with the tea and buns. Mr Jones went to a sideboard and took out a bottle of brandy. He put a slug of brandy into Miss Jubbles’s tea. ‘No, don’t protest,’ he said. ‘You look as if you need it. Begin at the beginning.’

He was a good listener. Miss Jubbles poured it all out, stopping occasionally to sip brandy-laced tea and nibble on a warm sugary Chelsea bun.

‘It’s all that Lady Rose’s fault,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my revenge. Tomorrow, I’m going to the Daily Mail and tell them how she was masquerading as a common working girl.’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Mr Jones. ‘See here, they’ll print the story all right . . . Then what happens? Never get on the wrong side of the aristocracy or you’ll be finished.’

‘But they’ll never know it was me.’

‘That captain’s a detective. He’ll find out. He’ll remember telling you. What’ll he think of you? Now – here, forget the tea, have some more brandy to strengthen you – did he ever, and think carefully, show any signs of being attracted to you in any way?’

‘He was very kind.’

‘Kind doesn’t amount to anything. I was kind to your ma and do you know what happened? She thought I was keen on her and became all twisted and bitter when she found I wasn’t.’

Miss Jubbles blinked. ‘She said nothing of it to me.’

‘Well, she wouldn’t. So let’s think about this here captain, now. Did he ever press your hand, gaze into your eyes, anything like that?’

A slow blush crept up Miss Jubbles’s checks. ‘Do you mean I imagined the whole thing?’

‘Easy done. See here, know why your ma was so furious?’

Miss Jubbles shook her head.

‘I told her I was keen on you. Look, see, I imagined you felt warm towards me because that’s what I wanted to think. We all get carried away some time or another.’

Miss Jubbles stared at him. Something warmer than the brandy began to course through her veins. She could feel her self-worth gradually being rebuilt in that cosy little parlour, brick by brick.

‘Why, Mr Jones! I never dreamt, never imagined . . .’

He took her hand in his. ‘You’re quite the little heart-breaker . . . Dora.’

A few days later, Lady Glensheil sent out invitations to a house party at her Surrey residence, Farthings.