The company behaved exactly as one would have expected of those who were brought up to be royal. A few eyebrows were raised and then guests went back to their meal and their conversation as if nothing had happened, while Dragomir fussed around, directing the servants to lift the unconscious man and carry him through to a couch in the anteroom. Nicholas had also risen to his feet.

“Please excuse me, I should see if there’s anything I can do for him,” he said quietly.

At the far end of the table Lady Middlesex had also risen. “I don’t suppose there’s a doctor in the house. Let me take a look at him. I was a nurse in the Great War, you know.” And she strode down the room after them. I noticed that Miss Deer-Harte followed in her wake.

I could hear the murmurs of conversation.

“He was drinking far too much,” Siegfried said. He had been sitting on the other side of Field Marshal Pirin. “Every time the servers came past he had them refill his wineglass.”

“The man drinks like a fish,” Anton agreed, “but I’ve never seen him pass out before.”

“He was disgusting,” Hannelore muttered to me. “The way he eats. No manners. And the wrong forks.”

I noticed that Darcy had also excused himself from the table and was making his way toward the anteroom. Ice cream was served, then the cheese board was brought around and still neither Nicholas or Darcy reappeared.

When the meal was almost over, Nicholas came back to the table, leaned across and muttered something to Anton in German. I looked to Anton for a translation. He had a strange expression on his face. Before he could say anything Nicholas spoke in a loud, clear voice to the dinner guests.

“I regret to inform you that Field Marshal Pirin has been taken seriously ill,” Nicholas said carefully. “May I suggest that, given the circumstances, we ask you all to leave the table and retire to the withdrawing room. I’m sure our hosts, Prince Siegfried and Princess Maria Theresa, will be good enough to arrange for coffee and drinks to be served there.”

The only sound was that of the scraping of chairs as the dinner guests rose to their feet.

“Please follow me,” Matty said with regal composure that I had to admire.

Anton pulled out my chair for me and I stood with the rest, feeling rather sick and shaky that the event had taken place so close to me. Anton was staring into that anteroom with a strange expression on his face—a mixture of horror and delight.

“Was it his heart, did your brother say?” I asked.

He took my arm and drew me close to him. “Don’t say anything to the others, but old Pirin has kicked the bucket,” Anton muttered into my ear.

“He’s dead, you mean?”