Belinda got up and went across to a gilt-trimmed white wardrobe. “I suppose I can spare you a dress,” she said and opened it. There must have been at least ten dresses hanging there.

“Belinda—how long did you expect to be here?” I asked in amazement.

“One never knows how long one will be abroad,” she said. “One meets somebody and suddenly there’s an invitation to the south of France or a château on the Loire, so it’s always best to be prepared.”

I examined the dresses one by one and chose what I thought was the least flamboyant—pale turquoise, straight and simple.

“Good choice,” she said, smiling at me. “Not really my style at all, but I keep it in case I need to look virginal for somebody’s parents.”

“You must be a better actress than my mother,” I quipped back.

“It’s about time you tried it yourself and then you’d know what you were missing,” she called after me as I carried the dress from her room. “And don’t let your maid anywhere near it with an iron.”

As I came out into the hallway there was no sound coming from behind the next door. I realized with a shock that this must be Matty’s room. So who was in there with her? A man with whom she spoke French? And yet I knew she spoke German when she was with Nicholas. Her father maybe? Her mother was French, after all, so perhaps that was the language used at home, and yet Siegfried also preferred to speak German. I was tempted to go and peek through the keyhole. I crept toward the door, bent down and put my eye to it. But I could see nothing. Obviously the key was still in it.

Suddenly I heard the tap of brisk footsteps behind me. Two of the older countess chaperons were coming toward me. They looked at me with interest, on my knees in a strange hallway.

“I—uh—dropped my ring,” I said. “It falls off sometimes when my hands get too cold.”

“Then let us help you look for it,” one of them said.

“Oh, no, thank you. I have already found it again,” I said, scrambling hastily to my feet. “Most kind.”

I heard a muttered exchange in German as I hurried on my way, my cheeks flaming.

I made it safely back to my room and shut the door with a sigh of relief. Still no sign of Queenie. Really this was now too much. Not that she was any use in dressing me, but one expected a maid to appear occasionally. I left the dress on my bed and made my way resolutely toward the kitchen. On my way down I passed one of the servants coming up. She curtsied.

“Is my maid down there?” I asked. Then I repeated in French, “I am looking for my maid.”