‘The Duke and I would very much like you to come to London and start the girls’ education. They need someone young and fun,’ she had said.

‘I am very flattered.’ Marion really was. ‘But I have a place at Glasgow University to study child psychology, so I am sorry, but I shall have to say no. Thank you.’

The Duchess put her hands together as if in prayer, ‘That will work perfectly. We can have you back in Glasgow ready for the start of term.’

Once her mother came round to the idea, she was in a state of high excitement and condemnation. ‘Why would they want you?’ she had asked. ‘A girl from a good, working-class family? What do you know about how these people live?’ She had stared at Marion, almost in reverence. ‘Working for the royal family … They must have seen something in you. My daughter.’

On arrival at King’s Cross Marion took the underground to Paddington. She found the right platform for the Windsor train and, as she had a little time to wait, ordered a cup of tea, a scone and a magazine from the station café.

She tried to imagine what her mother and stepfather were doing right now. They’d have eaten their tea and have the wireless on, tuned to the news, most likely. Her mother would have her mending basket by her side, telling her husband all about Marion’s send-off and how rude she had been to Lorna. She imagined her mother rambling on as the fire in the grate hissed and burned.

The train was quite full, but Marion found a seat and settled down to flick through her magazine. However, her mind couldn’t focus. Through the dusk she watched the alien landscape and houses spool out beside her. Rows of neat red brick houses, blackened with soot, giving way to fields and small villages – not a granite tenement to be seen.

Dear God, what was she doing here, so far away from family and home? What was she walking into?

When the conductor walked through the carriage announcing that Windsor would be the next stop, she began to breathe deeply and calmly, as she had been taught to do before her exams. She took from her bag, for the umpteenth time, the letter from her new employers. The instructions were clear: she was to leave the station and look for a uniformed driver with a dark car.

She gazed out of the window as the train began to slow. She took a deep breath, stood up and collected her case and coat. Come on, Marion. It’s only for a few months. You can do this.

Chapter Two

Windsor, March 1932

‘Good evening, Miss Crawford.’

A smart young man in uniform was waiting on the platform when she stepped off the train.

She was startled. ‘Aye. That’s me. How did you know?’

‘Easy.’ He smiled. ‘There aren’t that many young ladies travelling alone on the train from King’s Cross and wearing a tartan scarf.’