A particularly violent gust of wind made the window frame rattle. I pulled the blankets up and curled into a little ball, enjoying the knowledge that I was safe and warm. The money that Mummy had given me wouldn’t last forever, but I hoped at least I could stretch it out until after Christmas. If only I could find some kind of job, I could go on living here until Belinda came home—and who knew when that would be if she became a successful costume designer in Hollywood. But jobs didn’t seem to exist for young women like me, trained only to snare a husband. I was even toying with the idea of applying for a temporary Christmas job at one of the department stores, if I didn’t think that the news might leak back to my relatives and cause a stink.

And in case you’re wondering why my relatives should care if I worked behind the counter in Selfridges or Gamages I should point out that they were not exactly your run-of-the-mill, ordinary people—they were the king and queen. My great-grandmother was Queen Victoria so I was half royal, expected to behave in a way that befitted my station without being given the means to do so. Jolly unfair, actually.

I pushed worrying thoughts aside. For the moment all was well. It had been remarkably peaceful, since my maid, Queenie, had been absent for the last few weeks. She had gone home to look after her mother, who had been hit by a tram while crossing Walthamtow High Street and broken her leg. But the leg had healed and Queenie was due to return to me any day now. I was anticipating it with mixed emotions since Queenie was the most utterly hopeless maid in the history of the universe. In fact I rather suspected that her family was urging her to hurry back to me, not because of any sense of duty but because they couldn’t wait to get rid of her. I sighed, settled down and let my mind drift to more pleasant subjects. I was half asleep when I heard a noise that jerked me instantly awake again.