Alah introduced her. ‘Miss Crawford, this is Bobo. Say hello to our governess, Bobo.’

Marion wondered what her real name was.

Bobo smiled broadly. ‘Hello, Miss Crawford and welcome to our little kingdom on the top floor. We have been ever so excited to meet you, haven’t we, girls?’

Margaret hopped on one foot and wriggled into her cardigan. ‘Yeeees.’

‘Margaret, keep still,’ Lilibet told her. ‘Bobo can’t put your cardigan on if you are hopping.’

Margaret stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry in reply.

Togged up and clinging on to Marion’s hands, the three of them finally made it out into the garden. The sun was watery but the air held a promise of warmth. The sound of a mower came from somewhere and the smell of freshly cut grass hung over the garden.

Margaret began to sing: ‘Neigh neighs, la la la, neigh neighs.’

‘No, Margaret.’ Elizabeth took her sister’s other hand. ‘No horses today. Remember you have a sore knee.’

Margaret stopped singing and pulled her hand from Marion’s. Bending down, she unfolded her sock and pointed at a fresh graze on her shin. ‘Ouchy,’ she said. Marion could tell from the freshness of the wound that this was the result of the game she had witnessed earlier.

Lilibet became very matter of fact. ‘Don’t be silly, it’s just a scratch. Mummy says you might get a bruise but that’s all. You can still skip, can’t you?’

Margaret grinned and immediately began to skip across the grass, Lilibet and Marion following behind.

The lawn led down to a gravel path lined with forsythia and sweet-smelling Daphnes. The last daffodils shook their golden heads as the girls skipped by.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Marion laughed. ‘Fairyland?’

‘Wait and see,’ Lilibet replied breathlessly. ‘We are nearly there.’

The three of them skipped round the last corner of the path and Marion saw a miniature cottage sitting in a clearing, with its own little garden surrounded with white picket fencing.

‘What’s this?’ Marion asked.

‘It’s our Little House,’ shrieked Lilibet. ‘Come and see.’

Built of brick and whitewashed, with a thatched roof, the two-storey cottage was about a third of the size of a real house.

‘Goodness!’ Marion stood open-mouthed. ‘Is this your playhouse?’

‘Yes.’ Lilibet reached the front door and turned the handle. ‘Come in and see.’

‘Will I fit?’

‘You’ll have to bend down a bit.’

Marion crouched, squeezing herself into a tiny hallway. She saw one room to the left and one to the right with a staircase in front of her.

‘Come into the kitchen,’ Lilibet said. ‘Look, the taps work, and the lights. And we’ve got the wireless, too. I would make you a cup of tea but we didn’t bring the milk.’

Marion marvelled. ‘It’s wonderful. Better than fairyland.’

Margaret pulled her skirt and ran to the room next door.

‘Margaret wants to show you our sitting room,’ said Lilibet.

Marion shuffled backwards then forwards, finally managing to fit in the sitting room. It was furnished beautifully, with two little sofas, a miniature armchair in the bay window and a portrait of the Duchess hanging over the real fireplace. ‘It’s so beautiful.’