‘Thank you.’ She was in awe. ‘I am pleased to be here. Do call me Marion.’

Peter returned with her case. ‘Delivered safe and sound, Mr Ainslie.’

‘Thank you, Jackson. You may take the car round to the stables. It won’t be needed again tonight.’

‘Right ho, Mr Ainslie.’

From nowhere a young man, dressed in what Marion assumed was footman attire, arrived to lift her bags.

Ainslie closed the door against the dark. ‘The Duke and Duchess send their apologies,’ he said. ‘They are detained in Town but will be back later. I have been instructed to take you straight to the nursery, where the Princesses have delayed their bedtime until your arrival.’

‘Oh, dear. I hope I won’t have upset their routine.’

‘Alah, the Princesses’ nurse, will have made sure all is well. Follow me, please.’

She followed him across the elegant hall with its black and white chequered tiles. The walls were covered in eau-de-nil watered silk, and the polished side tables were awash with extravagantly scented flower arrangements in each corner.

‘Top floor,’ Ainslie told her. ‘You are young – you will not feel it.’

Marion followed him upstairs. She stopped counting the steps when she got to forty-five. Each floor absorbed her, as she spotted corridor after corridor of beautiful paintings and objets d’art.

At last, the stairs finished, and she found herself standing on an airy landing with large windows, giving a double aspect to each side of the house. Leading off the landing were two corridors, one to the left, the other to the right. A table with four chairs sat in the middle and there was a bookcase filled with children’s books, an abacus, two teddy bears and a jam jar stuffed with paintbrushes.

‘The Princesses play up here in inclement weather.’ Ainslie smiled. ‘The nursery suite is to the left, Miss Crawford.’ He stopped and knocked on the nearest door.

‘Come in,’ a woman’s voice answered.

Ainslie stood back to allow Marion to pass.

The room was dimly lit and decorated in soft pink and beige, furnished as a child’s bedroom. A woman stood close to a small fire with a guard around it, little vests and pants hanging from it to air. Tall and noble, she was the epitome of infallible calm and kindness. She took a step towards Marion, her hand outstretched. ‘Good evening, Miss Crawford. I am Clara Knight, the Princesses’ nurse. But everyone calls me Alah.’

‘Hello, Miss Crawford,’ piped a little voice from one of the two small beds. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. My name is Lilibet and that’ – she pointed at the second bed where a small shape was sleeping soundly – ‘is my sister Margaret Rose. She’s very tired. You are just in time for a trot round the park. Come on, Alah. Pass me the reins.’

Alah took a dressing gown cord and began to wind it around the bottom bedposts, handing the ends to the little Princess. ‘Just a quick one, please, Lilibet. Miss Crawford will be tired from her journey.’