“Splendid. Thank you, Chantal.” Lady Middlesex leaned closer to me. “An absolute treasure. Couldn’t travel without her. Completely devoted, of course. Worships me. Doesn’t mind where we go or what hardships she has to endure. We’re on our way to Baghdad now, y’know. Dashed awful place, baking in summer, freezing in winter, but m’ husband has been posted there as British attaché. They always post him to a spot where they expect trouble. Damned strong man is Lord Middlesex. Doesn’t allow the natives to get away with any kind of nonsense.”

I wondered how Chantal and Queenie would get along. Our door was slammed shut and a whistle sounded.

“Ah, we’re off. Right on time. Jolly good show. I do like punctuality. Absolutely insist upon it at home. We dine at eight on the dot. If ever a guest dares to show up late, he finds we have started without him.”

I almost reminded her that she had nearly missed the train herself, but I consoled myself that she would not be coming to the wedding with me. I’d disembark and she would travel on to Baghdad where she would boss around the natives. We started to move, first slowly past dingy gray buildings, then over the Thames and picking up speed until the backyards became a blur and merged into bigger gardens and then to real countryside. It was a splendid autumn day, the sort of day that made me think of hunting. Clouds raced across a clear blue sky. There were sheep in meadows. Lady M kept up a nonstop commentary about the places to which Lord Middlesex had brought British law and order and she herself had taught the native women proper British hygiene. “They worshipped me, of course,” she said. “But I have to say that living abroad is a sacrifice I make for my husband. Haven’t had a decent hunt in years. We rode with the hunt in Shanghai, but it was only over the peasants’ fields and that’s not as jolly as good open countryside, is it? And all those silly little people shouting at us and waving their fists and scaring the horses.”

It was going to be a very long journey.

At Dover we alighted from the train and found Queenie and Chantal.

“Dear God in heaven, what is that?” Lady Middlesex demanded on seeing Queenie, who was wearing the spiky fur coat and red hat again.

“My maid,” I said.

“You let her look like that?”

“It’s all she has.”