‘Th-thank you for the t-tea, D-Duchess,’ she said, standing up in a rustling of crêpe and bombazine.

‘My dear, you can’t leave yet,’ the duchess said. ‘Our guest hasn’t arrived. That was the entire purpose of bringing you here today.’

Beatrice’s skin seemed to shrink even tighter around her bones, like a pair of wet gloves.

‘G-Guest?’ she managed.

‘A doctor. It was Eustace’s idea. A surprise for you before the wedding.’ The duchess glanced at the carriage clock ticking upon the mantelpiece. ‘He’ll be here any moment. It’s a great honour that he’s made time for us today. He’s a specialist in his field, you know. You will be quite delighted.’

A bubble of irritation swelled larger and larger in Beatrice’s chest, threatening to pop. Must people be forever telling her how she was going to feel? You will be delighted with this, you will be grateful for that, you will be shocked, you will be bored, you will be overawed, you will not understand such complicated matters, you must do as you are told. It was intolerable.

‘W-Why would a d-d-doctor c-come here?’ she asked.

‘Your stammer, of course,’ the duchess replied impatiently. ‘Eustace has consulted various physicians and they all agree that the inability to control one’s own tongue is caused by a weakness of the nerves, or of character.’ Her mouth pinched in distaste once again. ‘It hardly matters which. Either way, this physician has promised he can cure you. He simply requires an initial consultation to determine which course of treatment is most suitable.’

Suddenly Beatrice was a child once again, back at the London hospital her father had sent her to in the hope of having her stammering surgically corrected. She’d been made to sit with her head leaning back against the chest of an assistant, whose job it was to hold her still. Her mouth was forced wide open with a metal clamp. Her tongue was pulled so far from her mouth that she feared they would rip it out by the root. The grip of the forceps on the tip was bruising and cold, but that was far from the worst part. That came when the doctor reached into her mouth and began to cut away part of her tongue with a small, sharp surgical knife.

She recalled the agony of trying to scream whilst blood poured down her throat; the arms of the assistant were a steel vice, pinning her like a butterfly. But this time she was not a child and she would not submit to such treatment again, not for anyone.