“Yes, miss. I expect so.”

“And don’t fall asleep or you’ll wake up in Dover.”

“I can’t help it, miss. I always get that sleepy on a train.” She stopped, mouth open, as her brain digested something. “’Ere. What about that typewriting machine of yours? You can’t expect me to carry that. It weighs a bloomin’ ton.”

“Oh, golly.” I’d quite forgotten it myself, sitting forlorn in the study downstairs. “I certainly don’t want to abandon it. Maybe the duchess can find a place for it in the boot.”

I was just on my way down to examine the typewriter when there was a thunderous knock at the front door. I opened it and Belinda stood there, dressed up to the nines in a startling, floor-length black opera cape, a black, feathered cap over one eye and a long, black cigarette holder.

“Come on, darling. Buck up and get changed,” she said. “We’re going on the town.”

“Belinda, I’ve just packed all my belongings,” I said. “I’m going to the country tomorrow.”

“You can unpack them again, can’t you? Come on, Georgie. It’s going to be fun. An American businessman is taking me to dinner and dancing at the Savoy. And he said he had a friend in town and did I have a friend. So naturally I thought of you. They are dripping in dollars, darling. We’ll have a fabulous time.”

“It is tempting,” I said. “I haven’t eaten properly in a week. But I simply can’t leave Queenie to finish my packing.”

“Of course you can. When are you departing?”

“Tomorrow morning. A dowager duchess is coming for me in her motorcar. I couldn’t be late.”

“A dowager duchess? Darling, you’re not really going to be a companion, are you?”

“Not exactly.”

She came into the hall and took my arm. “Come on. Upstairs. You can tell me all about it as you get dressed.”

“Belinda,” I said hesitantly. “This evening—it does just involve dinner and dancing, doesn’t it? These American businessmen will not be expecting more than that?”

“Darling, they are always the soul of propriety. Especially since I told them that you were the king’s cousin. They’ll treat you with kid gloves and we’ll get a slap-up meal. And you never know—one of them may be the sugar daddy that I’m looking for.”

“Belinda, you’re wicked,” I said, laughing.

“So you’ll come then?”

“Why not?”

I extracted my good evening dress and shoes, much to Queenie’s annoyance. “I got all them things laid in there nice and proper,” she said, “and now you go and muck the whole lot up again.”

“That maid of yours is becoming too big for her boots,” Belinda said as we left in a taxicab. “Familiarity breeds contempt. She’ll have to go.”

“The trouble is, I can’t afford to replace her,” I said. “Essentially she works for her keep. I’d never find another maid who’d do that.”

Belinda slipped her arm through mine. “Forget about maids. We’re going to have a glorious time.”