I shot her an exasperated look. “Queenie, since we’ve been here you’ve left one evening dress behind and soaked another one. Since we’ve been together you have burned, ironed, singed or shrunk almost everything I own. You really aren’t suited to any kind of work, but you have a good heart. You mean well and actually I’ve grown quite fond of you. The way one does with a dog that pees on the carpet.”

“I don’t pee on the carpet,” she said indignantly and yanked my dress over my head.

I think I was smiling as I fell asleep.

The next day it was strange not to be rushing about worrying. I had posted my letter to Mummy, but I went over to Belinda’s house, stocked it with some food for her and some flowers to cheer her up before she came back to London. And when I returned to the palace that afternoon I learned that I was invited to luncheon with Marina’s parents at the Dorchester the next day. So was Irmtraut, who appeared at breakfast the next morning wearing some sort of hideous national costume with silver buttons down the front. I was thankful she had chosen to dress like this, as it made my outfit look normal and even quite smart. I was a little apprehensive about meeting European royals, even if they had been deposed and exiled. But they turned out to be charming. Marina’s Danish-Greek father and her Russian-born mother both had a good sense of humor and spoke perfect English, and we had a pleasant luncheon together. I was even becoming accustomed to frequenting places like the Dorchester!

Marina told her mother about our shopping expeditions, as a result of which her mother declared she didn’t want to miss out on all the fun and we should all go to Bond Street before the shops closed. Her father said that wild horses couldn’t drag him to go shopping with a gaggle of women and retired to the bar. But we piled into a taxicab and had a spiffing time hunting down odd trousseau items like a blue garter, white silk stockings and a deliciously sinful negligee that made Irmtraut so upset in the shop that an assistant had to bring her a glass of water.

Marina’s mother came back to Kensington Palace with us for tea. Marina took her mama up to show her her suite. I followed, and we were halfway up the stairs when I spotted Queenie coming down. She was carrying an empty tea plate and cup and her mouth was liberally decorated with jam. What’s more, there were crumbs down the front of her black dress.

“Whatcher, miss,” she said, not batting an eyelid that she was passing two royal ladies.

“Queenie,” I hissed.

To my horror, Marina’s mother turned around. Oh golly. She thought I had been calling her.