“Precisely. But I have to come up with a maid somehow, don’t I? I may have to sell some of the family jewels. Perhaps you can send down a diamond or two with the tiara.” I was just joking but Fig shot me a daggers look.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The family jewels have to stay in the family. You know that.”

“Then what do you suggest?” I demanded. “I can’t refuse to go. It would be an ultimate insult to Princess Maria Theresa and Her Majesty.”

Fig looked at Binky again. “I can’t think of anyone we know who might be willing to lend her a maid for such an exotic adventure, can you, Binky?”

“Don’t know much about maids, old bean. Sorry,” he said. “You women better sort it out. Georgie has to go, that’s clear, so if necessary we’ll have to come up with the money.”

“You want us to come up with the money?” Fig demanded, her voice rising. “How are we going to do that? Sell the family jewels, as Georgiana suggests? Deny little Podge a tutor? It’s too much, Binky. She’s over twenty-one, isn’t she? She’s not our responsibility anymore.”

Binky went over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself, my dear. You know the doctor said you should try to remain calm and think peaceful thoughts.”

“How can I think peaceful thoughts when we won’t even have the money to pay doctors’ bills or for the clinic?” Her voice was rising dangerously.

And without warning she did something I had never seen Fig, nor anyone in my immediate circle, do before. She burst into tears and rushed upstairs. Ladies are brought up never to show emotion, even in the direst of circumstances.

I stared after her openmouthed. I realized that a doctor’s visit for Fig had been mentioned, but it hadn’t occurred to me until now that it might be a psychiatrist. Was her permanent bad temper due to something darker, like insanity in the family? How delicious. Too good to miss.

“She’s a little upset today,” Binky said in embarrassment. “Not at her best.”

“Fig went to a doctor for her nerves?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he said.

He looked up the stairs after her, weighed up if the wrath of God might fall, then leaned confidentially close. “If you want to know, Georgie, Fig is expecting again. A second little Rannoch. Isn’t that good news?”

It was amazing news. That they had done it successfully once, to produce an heir, was mind-boggling enough. That they had done it a second time took some getting used to. I tried to picture anybody actually making love to Fig from choice. But then I suppose it is cold in bed in Scotland. That had to be the explanation.

“Congratulations,” I said. “You’ll have the heir and the spare.”