I follow the sound of heated conversation and find a group gathered, frozen before me like the denouement of a play. My uncle sits beside Hero who looks miserably down at her hands. Frances and Sir Hugh are there too, and Filomena, so still she seems carved from stone.

Ursula stands in the middle of the room, Klaus at her shoulder. Her jaw is set and her eyes are cold. “I have said all I have to,” she says quietly. “And I think now Klaus and I will get our things together and leave.”

“Leave!” I exclaim, making my way towards her. All seven sets of eyes snap in my direction. “Whatever for?” I catch Ursula by the arm. “What has happened?” She turns away from me and I follow. “Can I help?” I ask in a low voice.

“No, darling,” she says softly, and her hand covers mine in a most un-Ursula way as her eyes flicker away again. “It’s clear that my sort are not welcome here,” she says in a louder voice.

“Not welcome?” I frown.

“Now that’s not—” my uncle starts up, his cheeks turning red.

“Oh, really.” Frances’s languorous tone cuts across his bluster, her voice a savage chip of ice. “All I said was that Herr Hitler’s theories about racial and cultural purity were interesting. I, personally, have nothing against the Jews – but one can rather see his point when it comes to protecting certain values.”

“You are an ignorant woman. You do not know the first thing about what you’re saying,” Ursula flares.

“Ursula,” Filomena murmurs, holding out her hand, though whether it’s to stop her from talking or to offer support it’s not exactly clear.

“I think things are getting a little heated,” Leo says, clearly flustered. “As Lady Bowling said, this isn’t a personal issue. There’s no need for you to take such offence.”

“I assure you that it is very personal to us.” Ursula’s voice is needle-sharp. “This is how it works, don’t you see?” She looks around at us all. “The bigotry and the hatred… It doesn’t come in like a hammer and hit you over the head. It’s insidious.” Her contemptuous gaze lingers on Frances. “It’s a well-dressed lady in a drawing room, drinking tea and talking about ‘certain values’. That’s how they get you, that’s how they worm their way in, rotting the apple from the inside. And you don’t see – none of you will see until it is too late.”

She’s magnificent in her anger, ten-feet tall, and her words are a call to arms. It feels like we should all be on our feet applauding.

“How very … dramatic,” Frances says instead.