Ahead, she saw Henry emerge through the doorway with a tray, looking more flustered than she had seen before, even when dealing with Margaux. He did a double take as he saw her and looked distinctly shocked – the new dark hair, no doubt – but his feet didn’t stop and he disappeared in the next moment, down the spiral staircase that would take him to the servants’ passage.

Effie took a deep breath and moved forward into the fray. She stepped through the doorway, to be greeted by a scene that took her breath away. She had never seen so many people in one space before. Bodies were pressed together, mouths wide and eyes bright as everyone talked and laughed, all at once. Life seemed concentrated into its most dazzling form in this one room – colours were brighter, sounds louder.

She stood there for several moments, taking it all in, until the woman in the creamy dress dashed past her again, knocking against her, still screaming with laughter. The man with the funny walk wasn’t far behind.

Effie jumped out of his way before he ran into her too, only to jump another foot to the right as something cold wriggled down her bare spine. She whirled around to find a man, sucking on an ice cube as he held his drink. Had he . . .? He was staring straight at her and there was a look in his eyes she didn’t like. And why was he dressed as Winston Churchill? He wasn’t Winston Churchill, she knew that, but . . . It was creepy.

She moved into the crowd to escape him, to escape his stare. She hid herself among the people revelling, the swarming mass of strangers. She needed to find Sibyl and her friends. She moved towards the centre of the room, heading for the fireplace at the far end. Sibyl had said she would be there, waiting for her.

It was so hot, the noise disorienting. She felt hands on her bare arms and shoulders as she passed, as though these people knew her, or were claiming her. There was a man in front of her. He was wearing a red ceremonial costume, with a blue sash.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, trying to get past.

The man turned and she found herself face to face with the king.

‘Your Royal Highness,’ she breathed.

The king stared back at her sternly for several moments. Had she said the wrong thing? Should she do something?

But then he laughed. He threw his head back and laughed and she saw the elastic holding on his beard around his ears. She saw his eyes were brown, not blue.

‘And who have you come as, my dear?’ he asked, clutching a hand onto her elbow and stepping back to fully appraise her. ‘Wait. Let me guess.’

Who had she . . .? She looked around the room, seeing suddenly not clothes but costumes.

‘Oh my goodness, I’ve got it!’ he cried, eyes bright. ‘—’