Outside the gates, they pushed their way through the growing crowd of mourners. They were clustered in groups around the gates, looking up at the royal standard that hung limply against the January sky.

‘I don’t know what they hope to see,’ murmured Tommy as he carved a path to the right. ‘The Queen isn’t going to come out for a chat, is she?’

Marion was surprised by his lack of heart, but thinking this might be another a test of her loyalty, she said nothing.

‘How is everyone at 145?’ he asked, striding out so that she had to increase her pace to keep up with him.

‘We are all pulling together. Of course we feel deep sorrow for the whole family.’

‘And the Duchess? The Duke tells me she is beginning to feel a lot better after her nasty flu.’

‘I believe so, sir.’

‘And the girls?’

‘Bearing up, sir.’

‘Good.’ As they crossed the road heading for Birdcage Walk, Tommy wondered why the old King had spoken so highly of the young woman by his side. He had said that she was intelligent, thoughtful and brought a breath of fresh air into the fusty old schoolroom – nothing like the expressionless, monosyllabic and rather dour Scottish woman now presenting herself.

He tried again. ‘How long have you been with us now, Miss Crawford?’

‘Four years, sir.’

‘Ah, four years. Goodness.’

‘Yes.’

He gave up further conversation, but was pleased to notice she could walk as fast as him and with little effort. That showed good Scottish stock of which he approved. She was tall; Tommy was over six foot himself but she wasn’t much under that.

They carried on in silence down to Parliament Square and to the gates of Parliament itself.

A uniformed police officer held his hand up to stop them.

‘Good afternoon, Sir Alan, madam.’ He smiled, touching the brim of his police helmet. ‘The lady is with you, sir?’

‘Yes, I can vouch for her. She works in the household.’

‘Very good, sir, madam.’

‘Is it busy, constable?’ Tommy asked.

‘Yes sir, but fortunately the queue is a little shorter than it was this morning.’

‘Ah yes, the after-luncheon pause.’ He turned to Marion. ‘Come along, Miss Crawford, while we can still visit in relative calm.’

Together they crossed New Palace Yard, heading right towards the imposing steps of the great Westminster Hall.

Marion was immediately aware of the darkness within. The lofty beamed roof soared above an enormous catafalque on which the King’s coffin rested. A long and quiet queue was winding slowly past the departed monarch.

Tommy whispered something to another policeman who was keeping the queue orderly, and in moments he and Marion were escorted past the waiting people to the funerary casket itself.

The crowd made way for them, respecting the wing-collared, frock-coated Tommy and his companion.

Marion was overawed by the devotion of the mourners: men holding their hats to their chest, some with unstopped tears, the women pale and shocked by the incontrovertible truth that their King was gone. The echo of hushed voices and the overpowering scent of lilies, incense and melting candlewax clung to everything and everyone.