In the evening, Harry and Becket walked up and down outside the front of the hotel, watching the passers-by, looking all the while for anyone sinister. One evening a young man in a tweed jacket, knickerbockers and goggles cycled slowly past, staring at the hotel. Harry and Becket gave chase, halting the cyclist and demanding to know who he was.

He told them rudely to mind their own business. He was English. Harry summoned a policeman and the unfortunate young man was dragged off for interrogation. He turned out to be an Oxford student, with impeccable credentials, on a cycling holiday.

Lemonier suggested curtly to Harry that he should leave investigating to the French police in future.

As soon as Rose was fully recovered, Harry said they must leave for London. He turned down Madame Bailloux’s suggestion that they should wait a further few days until Rose had ordered a Paris gown. The bags, trunks, and hatboxes were all packed. The French lady’s maid who had been hired by the duchess had disappeared as soon as the duchess had left.

They took the train to Calais and then embarked on the steamer. Daisy was relieved that the Channel was calm. Then at Dover, another train and carriages to the Earl of Hadshire’s town house.

Fortunately, Matthew Jarvis was in residence, along with the housekeeper and staff; Brum, the butler, had gone abroad with the earl and countess. A guest room was prepared for Madame Bailloux.

The first thing Daisy did as soon as she was settled was to go upstairs to Miss Friendly’s workroom. It was empty of work basket and material. Only the sewing machine remained.

She rushed to Miss Friendly’s bedroom to find it bare, with the bed stripped. Alarmed, Daisy sought out Matthew and demanded to know what had happened to Miss Friendly.

‘Miss Friendly resigned while you were away,’ said Matthew. ‘She came into an inheritance and has left to set up a dress salon with Mr Marshall, who worked for the captain.’

Daisy felt her dreams collapse. What on earth were she and Becket to do now? But there was worse to come.

‘I feel we should call a doctor for Miss Levine,’ said Rose to Madame Bailloux. ‘She was very sick this morning.’

Madame Bailloux was crocheting a collar, the crochet hook flashing in and out as she worked steadily.

‘That will be because of her pregnancy,’ she said.

‘Nonsense! She can’t be pregnant.’

‘Miss Levine is showing all the signs. Young ladies when they lose their virginity have a certain air about them. The expression in the eyes is never the same.’

At that moment, Daisy walked in. She looked white-faced and tired.

‘Do sit down, Daisy,’ said Rose. ‘I have something of great importance to ask you.’

Daisy sank wearily into a chair. ‘Go on.’

‘Are you pregnant?’

Daisy’s slightly protuberant green eyes opened to their widest in shock. ‘Of course not.’

‘You are being sick in the mornings, are you not?’ asked Madame Bailloux. ‘I noticed you have a certain tendre for Becket.’