She well knew that the Prince would want Maria’s advice. What was more, if she was not there, he might be inclined to do something hasty that was foolish and would do harm to his cause.

She ran upstairs and, when she reached the landing outside Maria’s bedchamber, she knocked very softly on the door. There was, as she expected, no answer and turning the handle she went in.

The room was in darkness and she groped her way to the dressing table and lit one of the candles.

Maria was sleeping and breathing deeply. It was obvious that the laudanum had taken effect. Gretna hesitated for a moment then called her name.

“Maria! Maria!”

There was no reply. Maria just went on breathing evenly and deeply. Gretna touched her shoulder. It was soft and warm, but there was no response, not even a flicker of the long eyelashes that swept Maria’s pale cheeks.

‘I shall never waken her,’ Gretna thought desperately ‘and even if I do she will be in no state to go to the Pavilion.’

There was only one thing to be done, she reflected, and that was to write a letter to the Prince explaining what had happened and begging him to excuse Maria from attending him, however important it might be.

Leaving the candle burning in case Maria did awake before she could send the letter, Gretna went downstairs to the drawing room.

It was only when she reached the elegant writing desk with its inlaid, cut and embossed legs that she remembered that in the morning Maria had exclaimed in vexation that the writing paper had not yet come from the stationers. They had ordered some to be embossed with the name of the Villa the very day they had arrived, choosing pale grey paper of superfine texture that Gretna had thought exceedingly elegant.

No writing paper! What was she to do? She looked hopefully in the little pigeonholes of the desk and even opened one or two of the drawers, but, while there were seals, sand, wafers and long quills, there was not a sign of a piece of paper.

It was then that Gretna remembered the box that Maria had always kept in her bedchamber. It was quite a large one of polished wood with her initials on it in gold and Maria had said more than once that it contained all her papers and was of the greatest importance. It had travelled down with them in the post-chaise while the rest of the baggage had gone with the servants.

Perhaps there was some paper in the box that she could write on, Gretna thought, and she sped upstairs again. She could see at a glance that Maria had not changed her position and, taking a candle in her hand, she moved it onto the table by the window where she could see Maria’s box had been put.