Nancy’s hand was still shaking as she wrote. She looked up, at the open wardrobe doors, and saw the dress she had worn still hanging there. Only when she’d got up and slammed the doors so she did not have to look at it any more could she bring herself to write again. How could you be so foolish, Nancy Nettleton? To think that something you patched together with your mother’s old needle and thread could ever compare to the silk and chiffon and embroidered lace of the Buckingham’s best ball gowns? You’re a country mouse, that’s all you are, and now . . . She tried to set it down, explain it to Frank, and this helped a little. On the morning she’d left the village, bound for London and her dream of a better life, Frank had beamed at her and said, ‘You’ll wind up too big for your boots, Nance, you mark my words. We’ll ’ave to start calling you ma’am.’ It was a thing he did sometimes, poking fun at her because he found it so difficult to say what he actually meant. Frank would have roared with laughter if he’d seen her that night. And, she supposed, it was funny – but if it hadn’t been for Raymond de Guise stepping in like that, she might have lost her job.

I don’t know if I can do this. I thought I could. Oh Frank, I’ve been so reckless. All I wanted was an adventure. To work hard so that, one day, you can join me here – and maybe, who knows, to have a little fun along the way. We have had precious little fun in our lives, haven’t we, Frank? But I wish you were here now. You always keep my feet on the ground. You’d tell me to pull myself together and . . .

She’d been in the Grand Ballroom mere moments. The music and the lights, the dancers as they came together and came apart again – all of it had been everything she’d ever dreamed about. But then everything had changed. She could still feel the sharp tips of Miss Edgerton’s fingers as they gouged into her arms. She could still see the look of horror on her face. It was as if, in those moments, the idea she’d had of herself had imploded.

I suppose I ought to be thankful. Miss Edgerton caused such a scene that I am scarcely to be remembered. But even so, when we arrived at Mrs Moffatt’s register the next morning to learn our tasks for the week ahead, there were whispers. Chambermaids know everything! Somehow they knew all about Miss Edgerton’s disgrace. And somehow they knew about the strange girl in the homespun dress as well.