The fifth day of January and, at last, the snow across Berkeley Square was starting to retreat. As soon as she was dressed, she hurried to the kitchenette where Rosa, Ruth and all the other girls were kneading the sleep out of their eyes. ‘Another day, another duchess’s sheets to change, eh, Nance?’ Rosa joked as, linking arms, they gazed from the window across the rooftops of Mayfair. It was the start of a new year, a fresh beginning, and London was waking up . . .

But the work of the Buckingham Hotel, from upstairs to downstairs, from on high to low, still carried on.

Mrs Moffatt was waiting for them in the housekeeping lounge. As Ruth dished out the tea and the girls listened to Mrs Whitehead reading out the tasks ahead, Nancy tried not to crease up with laughter at the way Rosa, with the simplest crinkle of her features, could mimic Mrs Moffatt exquisitely. There was, she knew, a new spirit in the girls since New Year – and not only because of what they’d learned of her secret friendship with Raymond de Guise. It seemed to Nancy that the discovery of her secret had meant so much more. The girls knew her now. She’d told them about Raymond, yes, but she’d told them about other things too: her mother, her father, the brother she’d left behind and hoped one day to bring to London. And they, too, had shared stories of their own. Nancy had even spent enough time in the little kitchenette that she’d been victorious in her very first game of backgammon. ‘And that’s a sign.’ Rosa had grinned. ‘You’re one of us now.’

After breakfast was done, Nancy tried not to show how anxious she was when Mrs Moffatt beckoned her over. I wonder what she knows? Of New Year and everything that happened. Of Raymond de Guise . . .

‘I’ve an extra job for you, Nancy.’ Nancy must have looked startled, because, before she carried on, Mrs Moffatt looked at her gravely. ‘Is something wrong, Nancy?’

‘No, Mrs Moffatt,’ she breathed in relief, ‘nothing at all. What . . . what kind of job, Mrs Moffatt?’

‘It’s a little unorthodox, and of course you’ll have to complete your other jobs today as well, but there’s been a personal request. From Miss Vivienne Edgerton.’

Nancy’s heart stilled. It seemed to take an age for it to start beating again. And when it did . . .

‘It seems Miss Edgerton has made a request of management, and Mr Charles has asked me to relay it to you. Miss Edgerton has made it known that she wants no other chambermaid, nor even one of the housekeeping mistresses – not even me, you understand – to be responsible for her suite.’

There was silence in the housekeeping lounge as Nancy tried to process what was being said.