They reached the station in the evening darkness. Beneath the dull yellow glow of gas lamps, its cavernous interior was a hive of deafening activity. Porters dashed hither and thither with trolleys loaded high with luggage; departing passengers thronged the concourse; cloth-capped men hustled wives and children in the direction of third-class carriages; top-hatted men accompanied by elegantly dressed wives heading unerringly for first-class carriages. News-boys were hollering that they had papers for sale. A shawl-wrapped, toothless woman was selling flowers. A man was shouting that he had roasted chestnuts for sale.

To May’s vast relief they didn’t have to attempt to thread their way through the throng, for the station manager, wearing the gold-braided uniform he always wore when greeting arriving or departing royalty, was waiting to meet them. Within seconds a clutch of railway personnel had cleared a pathway towards the carriage reserved permanently for royal use.

‘Be sure you remember to wrap up warm all the time you are there, May,’ their mother said anxiously, as the door to May and Dolly’s carriage was closed. ‘Dolly, make quite sure she does so. It’s so easy to catch pneumonia at Balmoral. I’ve only been a guest there once and I thought I was going to die of the cold. Even in the depths of winter, Aunt Queen insists on windows being left open. She believes it to be healthy, and maybe it is, for her. It certainly isn’t for anyone else.’

A whistle blew. As the train began moving slowly out of the station and final goodbyes were waved and kisses blown, she called out in last-minute agitation, ‘And don’t forget both to be on your very best behaviour! The next few days could be so important. So very, very important.’

‘Poor Ma,’ Dolly said, when they were finally so far out of the station that they were able to close the window and make themselves comfortable. ‘If her hopes – and we both know what her hopes are – don’t come to fruition in a satisfactory way, are you still set on scandalizing everyone by making a life for yourself in Florence?’

‘Yes.’ May’s ankle-length mauve coat had a fur collar that had been dyed to match, as had the fur hat she was wearing and the muff she was carrying. She laid the muff down on the seat beside her. ‘What is the worst thing that can happen to me, if I do?’

‘Well, for starters, Aunt Queen will never see or speak to you again.’

‘Which is something I will be sad about, but not so sad I’m going to change my mind.’

‘Ma will miss you.’

‘And I will miss her – but she adores Florence, and I’m sure she’ll begin visiting it for months on end once I am living there.’

‘Maybe, but how can you afford it?’ he persisted. ‘Frank’s latest gambling debts have got Pa and Ma strapped for cash again.’