Madame Bailloux had recovered her spirits. The fire in the dining room was no longer lit in the evenings, and all her gowns had been sponged and hung out in the fresh air. She chatted away about her beloved Paris and about her late husband, a colonel in the French army, and Rose walked beside her barely listening, thinking of Harry.

At last, the day of Harry’s arrival dawned. Rose climbed up to one of the turrets of the castle and looked across the moors, waiting for the fist sign of Harry’s car. And there it came at last, mounting a rise in the distance and then heading towards the great iron gates which guarded the estate. The lodge keeper ran out to open the gates.

Rose ran down the stairs and out to the front of the castle. Daisy was the first out of the car, running towards Rose, throwing herself into her arms and crying, ‘I have missed you.’

Rose looked across Daisy’s head to Harry. He smiled at her, that rare smile of his which lit up his face, and she felt a surge of gladness.

She extricated herself from Daisy and went up to him. ‘How are my parents?’ she asked.

‘At first furious and then resigned.’

‘Are they coming to join us?’

‘Your father says he may come here if you are still here in August. He says one only goes to Scotland to shoot.’

Rose’s happiness at seeing him was suddenly dimmed. Her parents were moving farther and farther away from her. She knew they now prayed for the day when she would marry someone – anyone – and be out of their care.

Footmen came out to collect the luggage and the housekeeper to take the new guests to their rooms. Rose had had to explain to Aunt Elizabeth that as Daisy had been her former companion, neither she nor her husband could quite be classed as servants and should be accommodated in the guest rooms.

Later, Madame Bailloux went to join Rose in her room but retreated when she heard Rose laughing and chatting with Daisy. She went instead in search of Harry. ‘I feel now would be a good time for me to return to France,’ she said. ‘Lady Rose has plenty of company.’

‘Must you? Things have changed now that Daisy is married to my servant. Lady Rose still needs a chaperone.’

‘But she has her aunt and I would really like to return.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as possible.’

At dinner that evening, Harry told the company that Madame Bailloux would be leaving them.

‘Oh, don’t go, Celine,’ exclaimed Rose.

Daisy flashed a jealous look at Madame Bailloux.

‘I must go,’ said Madame Bailloux. ‘I am, how you say, homesick. But I will write to you. Now, Captain Harry, is there any further news?’

‘There might be something,’ said Harry. ‘The French police traced an early photograph of Dolores when she was still working at the farm. It was taken by a Saint Malo photographer who was struck by her beauty. Kerridge is getting copies sent to all the newspapers for publication.’