“That was one of the reasons for deciding to spend the winter in London this year,” Binky said. “Fig hasn’t been having an easy time of it and the doctor recommends feet up and nothing to upset her. And she’s got a bit of a thing about our lack of money, I’m afraid. I feel like an awful failure, if you want to know the truth.”

I felt sorry for Binky. “It’s not your fault that Father shot himself and saddled you with crippling death duties on the estate.”

“I know, but I should be able to do more. I’m not the brightest sort of chap and unfortunately I’m not equipped for any kind of work, apart from mooching around the estate and that sort of thing.”

I put my hand on his arm. “Look, don’t worry about the maid,” I said. “I’ll find one somehow. I’ll go and see Belinda. She knows everybody. She travels to the Continent all the time. And you better go up to Fig.”

He sighed and plodded up the stairs. I didn’t like to go out again, in case Darcy telephoned or turned up in person only to be met by the hostility of my sister-in-law. But as I had no way of contacting him and I had learned from experience that Darcy was, to say the least, unpredictable, I decided I needed to get to work on the maid situation immediately. Perhaps Belinda had returned to London now that the fog had lifted. I decided it would probably not be wise to upset Fig even further by using her telephone so I walked through the rain to Belinda’s mews cottage.

To my delight the door was opened immediately by Belinda’s maid. “Oh, your ladyship,” she said, “I’m awful sorry, but she’s taking a rest. She’s going out tonight and she said she wasn’t to be disturbed.”

I had trudged all this way in a bitter rain and wasn’t about to go back empty-handed.

“Oh, what a pity,” I said in ringing tones, projecting as we were taught to in elocution class. “She will be sorry that she missed me, especially when I came to tell her about the royal wedding I’m to attend.”

I waited and sure enough there was the sound of shuffling upstairs and a bleary-eyed Belinda appeared, satin sleep mask pushed up on her forehead and wearing a feather-trimmed robe. She made her way gingerly down the stairs toward me.

“Georgie, how lovely to see you. I didn’t realize you were back in London. Don’t keep Lady Georgiana standing on the doorstep, Florrie,” she said. “Ask her in and make us some tea.”

She staggered down the last of the stairs and embraced me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said. “I came by a couple of days ago and the place was all shut up.”