Marion shot her mother a pleading look, which Maggie ignored. ‘I will let you know, Lorna, as soon as Marion can write.’

Marion turned to her mother and whispered wretchedly, ‘Mother, for God’s sake, shut up.’

Her last words were drowned by the incoming whoosh, hiss and squealing brakes of the train.

‘Now, Marion Crawford, there’s no need for attitude from you. Here, let me get the porter to help you.’

‘Mother, please. I can do it myself.’

‘You stop your snappiness, madam. I am trying to help you.’

‘I know, Mother.’ Marion sounded whiny and hated herself for it. ‘I am grateful, really, but please.’ She took the handle of her case and heaved it onto the train.

‘This is the way it’s going to be, is it?’ Maggie whispered furiously. ‘Just because you’ve got a job with royalty, doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us.’

Marion kept her head down, focusing on her case, in fear of letting slip the tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Mum, it’s just a temporary job.’

Her mother reached for her hanky, her anger subsiding. ‘I will miss you so much.’

‘I’ll miss you too.’

The guard’s whistle blew shrill, making both women jump.

‘All aboard please, ladies.’

Marion lifted her bag and stepped up into the carriage. Her mother reached up for a last hug. ‘I love you and I am very proud of you. You know that.’

‘I love you too, Mum.’

The stationmaster blew his whistle again and slammed Marion’s door.

Then the train began to move.

‘Now don’t be shy with them!’ Maggie called up through the open window. ‘Let me know you arrived safely – and please, grow your hair back again!’

Marion blew a kiss. Walking along the narrow corridor, she peered inside each compartment until she found an empty one. Her mother had walked along the platform to follow her and was now standing below the window, wiping her tears, waving. Marion knew it was cruel, but she forbade herself to look at her. Right now she needed to calm herself. She arranged her case on the rack and folded her coat neatly on its top. The train jolted and began to move forward. Outside, Maggie moved too, knocking on the window. Marion now acknowledged her and waved back guiltily.

‘Bye, Mother,’ she mouthed. The train was picking up speed and Maggie was running out of platform. The last sight Marion had was of Maggie fluttering her hanky and crying.

She sat down with a sigh of relief. At last, she was free to concentrate on all that had happened since Miss Brown had slid the letter across her desk to her.

The older woman had watched as Marion read the letter quickly, then a second time, more slowly, taking in all it offered. It was from Lady Elgin of Broomhall. She wanted a history teacher for her seven-year-old son, Andrew, Lord Bruce. There were three younger children – Lady Martha, Lady Jean and the Honourable Jamie – who would wish to join in more suitable lessons, as and when.