How long it was before the Rolls drove between massive open iron gates Ruby wasn’t sure; she was feeling so befuddled it could have been minutes or hours. The car scrunched onto a gravel drive that could easily accommodate several cars abreast, and this was bordered on both sides by ornamental privet hedges that were low enough to display the beautifully kept gardens beyond. These were a panorama of green lawns, bright flower beds and sculptured trees, but it was the enormous grey stone house in the distance that drew the eye. It was three-storey, its two large wings curving round a huge forecourt. Ruby gaped – she couldn’t help it – and then snapped her lips shut, hoping Clarissa hadn’t noticed.

The Rolls stopped in front of semicircular steps leading to a stone terrace and the entrance to the house, and as Pearson came round and opened Clarissa’s door, she turned to Ruby with a beaming smile.

‘Here we are,’ she said as casually as if they hadn’t just arrived at a residence that in Ruby’s fevered mind resembled the pictures she had seen of Buckingham Palace. ‘Let’s have tea.’

Chapter Nine

It was two hours later. Ruby had had tea with Clarissa, sitting on a decorative terrace at the rear of the house that overlooked the gardens and a lake in the distance, and then her new friend – as Clarissa herself insisted she was – had escorted her round most of the vast establishment arm in arm, pointing out this and that as though she was a curator at a museum. Ruby by this time felt so comfortable with Clarissa that she had said exactly that, to which Clarissa had answered, ‘But most certainly. Godfrey, my husband, was born in one of the rooms upstairs, as was his father and his father before him, but even he feels he’s merely a glorified caretaker here. I mean, the house demands our service and we’re obliged to give it, but truthfully it’s never felt like home to me. It’s beautiful but I much prefer our London residence. My childhood home in Sevenoaks is half the size of Foreburn and much more cosy.’

Ruby had nodded but said nothing. Even a house half the size of Foreburn would be a mansion outside most people’s comprehension and could hardly be called cosy.

Now, as an ornate marble clock chimed six o’clock in the drawing room in which they were sitting, Clarissa said regretfully, ‘Oh, I so wish I didn’t have to attend this wretched dinner Lord Rochdale is giving for Lady Russell tonight. I would have much preferred for us to dine together.’