‘The child . . .’ she breathed, desperately attempting to speak. She reached up for Orléans’s arm. ‘Oh, Philippe, it is too soon!’ she cried. ‘It is too soon!’ Then she groaned in pain.

By then the breakfast room was crowded with servants. Near to fifteen sets of eyes looked on, awaiting Orléans’s command. He appeared stricken, almost dumbfounded. ‘Put her to bed! Now!’ he barked suddenly, before muttering, ‘Oh, dear God, what has this come to?’

I do not believe anyone heard him, but for me. I looked up to see his bright gem-like eyes full of trepidation.

‘Henriette,’ he said, almost inaudibly, and rested his hand upon my shoulder.

As we looked on, three footmen slowly raised the breakfast chair in which she languished and spirited her as hastily as they could manage through antechambers and drawing rooms and salons to her apartments. A great flustered procession of Orléans’s household followed closely behind. Once through the doors of her rooms we were met by a winded Monsieur Seiffert, who assisted in laying his patient upon the bed. Orléans lingered at the edge of the bedchamber, shifting his weight from foot to foot, folding his arms and then pacing about, while servants spun around like wasps, circling the bed, moving in and out of the room. They came with bowls and water and wadding for the childbed. I attempted to go to La Buffon in the midst of this confusion, but found myself shunted away by Rosalie, who tutted and fretted as she tended to her mistress, waving her arms about and pecking hen-like at anyone who ventured too near. I found myself pushed backward into the tangle of spectators, and then into a corner beside a window.

My heart ached for my friend, for no one had suffered as had she. To have so nearly reached her natural time of lying-in, only to find herself tripped by the tips of Fortuna’s wings was cruel. Indeed, from all I had learned of late, it struck me that the goddess’s favourite trick was to inspire hope before snatching it away. How furious I became at this, at the whimsy of life. I uttered a silent prayer. I willed that this infant should be spared and Madame might live to see it thrive. I shut my eyes as I did so, for the noise and disorder inside seemed to twist seamlessly into the commotion beyond the Petits Appartements. Upon completing my private communion, I turned contemplatively to the window.

My eyes did not fall upon anything at first. I swept a weary gaze across the figures gathering in the gardens and colonnades, before it stuck fast. I spied something. I drew in my breath. I placed my hand against the glass in shock.

It was Allenham.