‘Thank you. It seems so much warmer down here than I am used to in Dunfermline.’

Alah was lifting two silver domes on the supper tray. ‘Cold pork. Trifle to follow. There is hot cocoa in the flask. Will that do you?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘This is your corridor, Miss Crawford. There is a bathroom opposite for your use and a couple of boxrooms further down. We keep luggage, etc, stored there.’

‘I see.’

‘Then there is the Princesses’ bedroom, a sitting room, and a small kitchen. Bobo, the young nurserymaid, and I sleep on that side to be close to the girls, but you are welcome to use the kitchen and sitting room.’

Marion tried to stifle a yawn. Alah noticed and patted her arm.

‘You are tired, of course. I will say goodnight and let you get some rest. The Princesses are busy little bees, always up early, so make sure you get enough sleep. I will bring them to you at 9.00 a.m. They will wear you out if you let them.’ She smiled. ‘Fortunately, you have the benefit of youth.’

‘I shall certainly sleep well. Goodnight, Alah, and thank you.’

Alone at last, Marion took in her room. It was much larger than her bedroom at home and decorated so prettily – not so grand that she was scared to touch anything, but grander than anything she had ever known before. The bed was most inviting, piled high with pillows, blankets and a plush eiderdown.

She turned to look for her luggage. She couldn’t see it, though she was certain the footman had carried it up here. She checked around the corners and underneath the bed and finally found it, empty, in the wardrobe where her clothes were hanging with precision on their wooden hangers, her nightdresses and underwear folded neatly in a generous George III mahogany chest of drawers. Marion was horrified. Who had unpacked her clothes? Her outer and underclothes were very plain and simple but none the less intimate for that. She was so terribly embarrassed. Perhaps the nurserymaid had done it? That would be less bad. Maybe in grand houses like this it was normal for men or women to unpack someone’s personal wear. She would have to ask Alah in the morning.

A rush of exhaustion and hunger overtook her. She kicked off her shoes and relaxed into the comfortable armchair. She would write to her mother tomorrow and tell her all about it.

The cold pork was served with pickle and slender slices of bread and butter, all the more delicious because she’d expected nothing, and the trifle was like no trifle she had ever tasted before.

Full and contented, Marion sat back in the chair and closed her eyes. Immediately there was a gentle knock at the door. Expecting Alah, she said, ‘Come in.’

A small and pretty woman wearing a hyacinth-blue evening gown popped her head around the door. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

It wasn’t Alah; it was the Duchess of York. Her sweet smile and the sparkle of her blue eyes and the twinkling of her diamond tiara made Marion jump in shock.