“Oh no. I’d never do anything violent,” he said, fluttering his hands in distress. “You know I abhor violence.”

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll let it go, just this once, but if I catch you spying on us again, then I will have no qualms about turning you over to our constable.”

“I don’t suppose there is any chance, is there, that I might just be allowed to greet your divine mama? I’ve worshipped her from afar for so long now.” He gazed at me hopefully, like a dog begging to be taken on a walk.

I looked over at the rugs where my mother was still holding court. “Why not?” I said. I took him by the hand and led him across to our group.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet one of your biggest fans,” I said. She deserved a little punishment for the way she ignored her only daughter.

Godfrey Beverley stepped forward, bowing like a medieval vassal. “Such an honor, Your Grace—well, I know it’s not really ‘Your Grace’ any longer, but I still think of you as nobility, you know.”

“Indeed.” Mother’s mouth was set in a firm line. “How do you do? Mr. Beverley, isn’t it?”

“You remembered. How flattering.”

“How could I forget? All those witty little columns . . .”

I moved off, leaving them to it. A few moments later Mummy showed up at my side again, looking absolutely furious. “How could you desert me and leave me with that odious little man?” she demanded.

“Oh, Mummy, I’m sure he’s harmless. He said he was completely infatuated with you. So I thought I’d make his day and bring him to meet you.”

“Oh, you’ve made his day, all right,” she said. “And as for harmless, he’s one of the most vicious little serpents I’ve ever come across. He just loves to unearth nasty snippets of gossip about me to put in his column. And you know what the next one will be, don’t you?”

When I didn’t respond she went on. “He had somehow found out that we were staying at Balmoral and he said wasn’t it amazing how broad-minded and modern the royal couple had become, allowing us to live in sin under their roof, as it were? Insufferable little smarmy prig. I could kill him.”

I should point out that under moments of extreme stress my mother reverts to type, and she did have a grandmother who sold fish in the market.

“He’s probably watching from the bushes,” I said, trying not to smile. “Don’t let him see that he’s upset you.”

“That’s probably what he does for sexual thrills—watches from the bushes,” she snapped. “He’s certainly never been near a woman in his life, or a man either. I bet he does nee dlepoint in his spare time.”