Having come to a decision I found my current maid (a willing village girl called Maisie who had taken over the position from Queenie and was proving a remarkably quick learner—not having lost, scorched, or torn a single item yet) and told her to pack an overnight bag as I was going up to town. I must say it was a relief to know that I would open my suitcase and actually find a matching pair of shoes and enough underclothes after years of Queenie’s packing for me. I felt quite excited as I sat in the first-class compartment of the train and we sped past fields of startled cows toward the City. It was an absolutely sparkling day. Instead of being engulfed in fog the outline of the parliament buildings was etched against the purest of blue skies. My spirits soared. A few days of good food with Zou Zou and then taking my grandfather back to Eynsleigh. What could be better? And Darcy would be home before I knew it.

I splurged on a taxi to Eaton Square, where Zou Zou, known to the world as the Princess Zamanska of Poland, lived. I went up the front steps and gave the door a sharp knock. I waited. Nothing happened. This was odd as Zou Zou’s French maid, Clotilde, was normally in residence even when her mistress was away. It occurred to me that perhaps I should have telephoned first, but Zou Zou was an impetuous type of person who didn’t at all mind one dropping in without warning. I gave the knocker a second, louder, rap.

“The lady’s not here, miss,” a voice said and I noticed a maid, down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the front step of the next-door house. “She went off in a taxi only yesterday. She had ever so many bags and her maid with her and I heard her tell the taxi driver Victoria Station.”

Oh rats, I thought. Zou Zou had gone off to the Continent again. And with ever so many bags it was hardly likely to be a flying visit. I came down the steps feeling rather foolish.