Miss Brown slowly nodded. ‘Never apologize for passion.’ Her shrewd eyes scanned Marion’s face. ‘Would you be willing to work with any child, no matter their background? Just for the summer? To help a family at the other end of the social scale?’

Marion gave a small smile. ‘One whose parents want to keep their privileged offspring busy and out of their hair during the holidays?’

Miss Brown acquiesced. ‘It would be a temporary job. It would give you experience – and a nice financial benefit.’

‘Who are they?’

She was passed a sheet of paper with an embossed letterhead and an elegantly written letter beneath.

The few travellers on the London-bound platform stamped their feet against the chill and began turning up their coat collars. One or two lifted their eyes to the end of the platform, where a colony of shiny jackdaws were chattering in the bare trees.

The sound of a woman’s shoes clipped onto the platform opposite.

Marion recognized her, Lorna – an acquaintance of her mother’s, and a gossip. Marion pulled her muffler over her chin to disguise herself, but she was too slow.

‘Maggie, Marion!’ the woman called, her voice ringing over the wide divide of rails and stone chipping. ‘Marion, is it today you’re leaving us for London?’

Marion pulled her face from her scarf. ‘Good morning. Yes, indeed.’

‘You’ll have had to pack a whole new wardrobe, I suppose. Your poor mother.’

With nothing else to distract them, the bystanders trained their eyes and ears on the conversation.

Marion’s mother called back, unnecessarily loudly, ‘Off to London, aye!’ She seemed delighted to have captured an audience. ‘Everything in her case is new. I made two skirts and three blouses just this last week. Kept me busy, Lorna.’

‘You must be so proud of her, Maggie.’

Marion wanted to clamp her gloved hand over her mother’s mouth, but she was too late.

‘I’ve always been proud of her, Lorna – even when she was all moonfaced over the Prince of Wales. She’s still got those scrapbooks she made of him – hundreds of pictures cut from the papers and magazines.’

‘Mum!’ Marion felt tortured, but her mother carried on.

‘And even though I am not a Royalist, the Duke and Duchess seem decent enough people.’

The waiting travellers were hooked.

Lorna shouted back, ‘And those two bonny wee Princesses! To think that your Marion will be looking after them! She might even bump into the Prince of Wales himself. Who would have imagined that? I wouldn’t come back if I were her.’

Maggie shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no, no. She has her place at Glasgow. Nothing will stop her coming back.’

The rails began to hum and twang, bringing a warning that the London train was approaching.

Marion bent down to pick up her case and whispered, ‘Mother, everyone is listening. Please stop.’

Lorna shouted back, ‘Marion, make sure you write to your mother every week and let us all know how it is going.’