“I’m sure it is,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do to help while I’m here.”

“You’re most kind, my lady,” he said and gave me a very nice smile.

As I came into the hallway, I saw Huxstep sorting the post, which had just arrived.

“Did you have a good walk, my lady?” he asked. “A brisk morning. I hope you were not too cold without your overcoat.”

“I come from Scotland. This is considered a balmy day,” I said.

He managed a polite twitch of the mouth as he carried the tray of letters through to a study. I went upstairs and changed into a kilt and white blouse, which, while not fashionable, were at least clean and presentable. I had just finished dressing when a gong sounded. We were being summoned to luncheon. I gave my hair a final brush then set off down the hallway. As I approached the staircase, two elderly ladies were coming toward me, arm in arm, from the other direction. They looked at me in surprise.

“I say, we’ve got a visitor. How jolly,” one of them said. My mother’s phrase “mutton dressed as lamb” came to mind. The one who had spoken was wearing clothes that would have been risqué ten years ago—a flapper dress that showed too much leg, long strings of beads and far too much makeup. “Did you come down from town with Edwina?”

“Er—yes,” I said.

“You see, what did I tell you? The spirits never lie,” the other one said. She was still dressed in the fashion of the good old days, such as my grandmother would have worn—a long, black dress with a high collar, an impossibly small waist and several rows of good pearls around her neck. Her luxurious, gray hair was piled high on her head in coils and held in place with tortoiseshell combs. She was looking at me with interest. “They said a stranger was coming into our midst, didn’t they?”

“We thought that meant the boy from Australia, didn’t we?” the painted one said. “Didn’t the spirits say the stranger in our midst meant danger?”

“Oh dear, yes. The cuckoo coming into the nest. How worrying.” She peered at me. “But this young lady doesn’t look at all dangerous, does she? Quite charming, in fact. What is your name, my dear?”

“Georgiana Rannoch.”

“You see, I knew. The spirits said something about being reunited with an old friend, and I used to know her grandfather, the old duke. What a terrifying fellow he was. There was some talk of my marrying him, but then the queen snapped him up for her daughter. I was rather relieved, actually. Much happier with poor Orlovski.” She held out her hand to me. It was shrunken and wrinkled like a claw, and absolutely dripping with rings. “How do you do. I am Princess Orlovski, Edwina’s sister.”

“How do you do, Your Highness,” I said, not quite sure if I was supposed to curtsy.