“Franny, I’m . . . I’m not sure what has just happened,” Rose said.

“What happened is you came in the nick of time and Mrs. Belson thinks you’re fit to serve for the upstairs. You got yourself a fine job in the princess’s apartments, even if it’s temporary.”

“Okay. . . .” Franny looked at her blankly, as she had a couple of times earlier. Rose suddenly realized that her speech must sound very American. The word “okay” was completely foreign to Franny. “I mean, yes, I suppose I did arrive in the nick of time, Franny. Thanks so much. Wish me luck.”

“Oh, you’ll do fine. You don’t need any luck. I know it. Now I need to hurry along before Mrs. Dobkins comes round. So you wait here.”

“All right. Thank you again.”

Rose didn’t turn around as Franny walked away, but she felt Franny’s eyes on her, looking back. She’s trying to figure me out. And so am I!

“Who is she?” Franny whispered to herself. There was something about Rose Ashley that stirred a memory. She had a headful of copper curls. Her complexion was tawny, and her eyes were very dark brown but had glints of bright amber. She was odd. That was for sure. It was almost as if she had never heard of Princess Elizabeth, or King Henry for that matter. She looked rather blank at their mention. But she was plenty clever. Knew her letters and scriving, and best of all she said she could teach Franny! Those words that Rose had said still rang in her ears: I’ll be your friend. And Franny thought how she really did need a friend.

Her younger sister, Ellen, had died two years before when the pox came through. Franny had somehow been spared. She heard her mum mutter to her father the night that Ellen died, “Surely, Alfred, we can’t be struck twice. I pray not Franny.”

“Thrice that would be,” her father had added. “If you count Franny’s leg.”

“But she didn’t die, Alfred.”