We spent a rather fraught morning as I stopped her from wrapping my boots with my velvet dinner gown, but eventually all was ready. Tickets, passports and letters of introduction were delivered from the palace. My tiara arrived by courier from Castle Rannoch and Binky had generously slipped a few sovereigns into the package with a note saying I expect you’ll need some expenses for the journey. Sorry it can’t be more.

He was a sweet man, useless but sweet.

The money at least allowed us to take a taxi to Victoria Station on the morning of Tuesday, November 15. As I followed a porter to the platform where the boat train departed, I felt a sudden surge of excitement. I was really going abroad. I was going to be part of a royal wedding, even if it was Moony Matty’s. My compartment was found and the porter set off for the baggage car with my trunks, leaving me with my personal luggage. I knew that in normal circumstances I would have entrusted my jewel case to my maid but I thought that Queenie might try dressing up in my tiara or let the rubies slip down the sink in the lavatory.

“You should go and find your own seat now, Queenie,” I said. “Here is your ticket.”

“My own seat?” A look of panic crossed her face. “You mean I’m not traveling with you?”

“This is first class. Servants always travel third class,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll meet you on the platform with our luggage when we reach Dover. And I expect my chaperon’s maid will be sitting with you so you’ll have someone to talk to. Oh, and Queenie, please don’t let the other maids know that you’ve only been in my employ for a day or that you set fire to your last employer’s dress.”

“Right you are, miss,” she said, then put her hand to her mouth, giggling. “I still can’t get the hang of saying ‘my lady.’ I always was a bit thick. My old dad says I was dropped on my head as a baby.”

Oh, brilliant. Now she told me. She probably had fainting spells or fits. I was beginning to wish I’d taken up Belinda’s offer after all. I had gone to see her to tell her the funny story of my new maid, but neither Belinda nor her maid was at home. It had to mean that she had probably fled somewhere warm again. I couldn’t blame her.