"Precisely."

"I shouldn't think the position would be hard to fill. You'd have girls lining up to work for a toff like you. Why don't you just put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the newspapers?"

"There are some complications," I said, realizing as he said it that an advertis.e.m.e.nt might be a jolly good idea. Why hadn't I thought of it before? "Firstly, it's only a temporary position. I want a girl to accompany me to a royal wedding in Europe."

"In Europe?"

"Romania, to be exact."

"Blimey" was all Granddad could find to say to that.

"And I can't pay her much. I'm hoping I'll be able to pay her something when I return."

Granddad shook his head, making tut-tutting sounds. "You are in a bit of a pickle, aren't you? What about your brother and his snooty wife, can't they spare you a servant?"

"n.o.body at Castle Rannoch wants to travel to London, let alone abroad. I'm looking for an adventurous girl, but I can't afford to pay her much."

"Seems to me," Granddad said slowly, "that a girl might want to take up this position so that she could use you as a reference. Former maid to royalty. That might be worth a darned sight more than money."

"You know, you're right, Granddad. You're brilliant."

He beamed.

"My niece Doreen's girl is looking for work, as it happens," Mrs. Huggins said quickly. It was clear that her brain had been ticking as he made that suggestion. "Nice quiet little thing. Not the brightest, but it might help her land a good position if she had a reference from a toff like you. Why don't I speak to her about it and send her up to you if she's willing to give it a try."

"Brilliant," I said. "I knew I was doing the right thing coming to you two. You always have an answer for me."

"So you're going to a royal wedding, are you, your ladyship?" Mrs. Huggins asked.

"Yes. I'm going to be in the bridal party, but I have to leave next week, so that doesn't give me much time to hire a maid to travel with me. This girl you mentioned-she has had some domestic service training, has she?"

"Oh, yes. She's had several jobs. Not anything like as grand as your house, of course. This will be a step up in the world for her. But like I said, she's a quiet, willing little thing. And you wouldn't have to worry about her having an eye for the boys. She don't have an ounce of what they refer to these days as s.e.x appeal. Face like the back end of a bus, poor little thing. But you'd find her keen enough to learn."

My grandfather chuckled. "If she was in the theater, I wouldn't hire you as her manager, 'ettie."

"Well, I have to tell it straight for her ladyship, don't I?"

"I won't be judging her on her looks, and at the moment I feel it really is a case of beggars not being choosers."

"So I'll tell her she can call on you at yer house, shall I?"

"By all means. I look forward to meeting her." I finished my stew and started to stand up. "I really should be getting back to London, although I can't say I'm looking forward to it. I have my brother and sister-in-law at the house."

"You're welcome to the spare bedroom," Granddad said. "It's a nasty night out there."

I was tempted. The safety and security of Granddad's little house versus the doubly frigid atmosphere of Rannoch House occupied by Fig. But I had a wedding to plan for, and I didn't want Fig suspecting that I'd spent the night with Darcy.

"No, I really should get back, I'm afraid," I said. "It was so good to see you."

"We'll want to hear all about it when you come back from wherever it was," Granddad said. "You take care of yourself, traveling in foreign parts."

"I wish I were a man, then I could take you as my valet," I said wistfully, thinking how much nicer it would be traveling across a continent with him at my side.

"You wouldn't catch me going to heathen parts like that," Granddad said. "I've been to Scotland now, and that was quite foreign enough to last my lifetime, thank you kindly."

I laughed as I walked up the front path.

Chapter 8.

I arrived home, cold and wet, to be told by an almost gloating Fig that Mr. O'Mara had called and been told that Lady Georgiana would be attending a royal wedding in Europe, at the request of Their Majesties, and should be left in peace to make her preparations. She also hinted that she'd admonished him for preying on innocent girls and suggested that he should not stand in the way of my making a suitable match.

This made me furious, of course, but it was too late. The damage had been done. All I could do was console myself with the thought that Darcy would probably have found Fig's lecture highly amusing.

The next morning they left, abandoning me for the warmth and luxury of Claridge's for their last night in London. I breathed a long sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was to pack for my trip to Europe and hope that the promised maid materialized. A telephone call from the palace informed me that my chaperon had had to put forward her traveling date, so it was hoped that I could be ready by Tuesday next. Tickets and pa.s.sports would be delivered to me and, yes, tiaras would be worn. I had to telephone Binky at Claridges and I imagined Fig was gnashing her teeth at the expense of sending a servant down from Scotland with my tiara. But one couldn't exactly have put it in the post, even if we had the time. Then I realized that I would now not have time to place an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the Morning Post Morning Post or the or the Times Times. It would have to be Mrs. Huggins's relative or nothing.

For a while it looked as if it was going to be nothing and I was just about to rush to Belinda and confess that I had changed my mind when there was a timid tap at my tradesman's entrance. Luckily I was in the kitchen at the time or I would never have heard it. I opened the door and standing outside in the dim and damp November twilight was an apparition that looked like a giant Beatrix Potter hedgehog, but not as adorable. It then revealed itself to be wearing an old, moth-eaten and rather spiky fur coat, topped with a bright red pudding basin hat. Underneath was a round, red face with cheeks almost matching the color of the hat. When she saw me a big smile spread ear to ear.

"Whatcher, love. I'm 'ere to see the toff what lives here about the maid's position, so 'ere I am. So nip off and tell her, all right?"

I tried not to let her know that I found this amusing. I said in my most superior voice, "I happen to be the toff that lives here. I am Lady Georgiana Rannoch."

"Blimey, strike me down with a feather," she said. "Begging your pardon, then, but you don't expect to find a lady like you opening the back door, do you?"

"No, you don't," I agreed. "You'd better come in."

"Awful sorry, miss," she said. "No hard feelings, I hope? I don't want to start off on the wrong foot. My mum's aunt 'ettie knows your granddad and she told me you was looking for a personal maid and she said why didn't I give it a try."

"I am looking for a personal maid, that's correct," I said. "Why don't you take off your coat and I'll interview you here. It's the warmest place in the house at the moment."

"Right you are, miss," she said and took off the fur coat, which was now steaming and smelling rather like wet sheep. Underneath the coat she was wearing a rather too tight mustard yellow home-knitted jumper and a purple skirt. Color coordination was not her strong point, clearly. I indicated a chair at the kitchen table and she sat. She was a large, big-boned cart horse of a girl with a perpetually surprised and vacant expression. The thought pa.s.sed through my mind that she'd be expensive to feed.

"Now, I've told you my name. What is yours?"

"It's Queenie, miss," she said. "Queenie 'epplewhite."

Why did the lower cla.s.ses seem to have all these surnames starting with H H when it was a letter they simply ignored or couldn't p.r.o.nounce? And as for her Christian name . . . when it was a letter they simply ignored or couldn't p.r.o.nounce? And as for her Christian name . . .

"Queenie?" I said cautiously. "That's your Christian name? Not a nickname?"

"No, miss. It's the only name I got."

I could see that a maid called Queenie might present problems for one about to attend a royal wedding, where there would be several real queens, but I told myself that most of them wouldn't speak English and would probably never run into my maid.

"So tell me, Queenie," I said, taking a seat opposite her, "you have been in domestic service, I understand?"

"Oh, yes, miss. I've already been employed in three households so far, but nothing like as grand as this one, of course."

"And did you serve in the capacity of a lady's maid?"

"Not exactly, miss. Sort of general dogsbody, more like it."

"So how long were you with your former employers?"

"About three weeks," she said.

"Three weeks? Which employer were you only with for three weeks?"

"All of 'em, miss," she said.

"Why such a short time, may I ask?"

"Well, the last one was her at the butcher's, and she only wanted help during her confinement, so as soon as the baby came she told me to push off."

"And the other two?"

She chewed on her lip before saying, "Well, the first one got pretty upset when I knocked over her bottle of perfume when I was dusting. It went all over the mahogany dressing table and took the surface off, but that wasn't what really upset her. It was a really expensive bottle of perfume, apparently. She'd brought it back from Paris. Oh, miss, you should have heard the words she used. You don't hear words like that from a fishmonger down the Old Kent Road."

"And the third employer?" I hardly dared to ask.

"Well, I couldn't very well stay there," she said. "Not after I set her evening dress on fire."

"How did you do that?"

"I dropped a match on the skirt by accident when I was lighting the candles," she said. "It wouldn't have been too bad, but she was wearing it at the time. She made a terrible fuss too, although she was hardly burned at all."

I swallowed hard and wondered what to say next. "Queenie, it appears that you are an absolute disaster," I said. "But it so happens that I'm desperate at the moment. I expect your aunt told you that I am due to go abroad to a very important wedding and I leave next Tuesday. It is essential that I take a maid with me to look after my clothes, help me dress and do my hair. Do you think you could do that?"

"I could give it a b.l.o.o.d.y good try, miss," she said.

"Then let us get a couple of things straight-one, there will be no swearing or any kind of bad language, and two, I am Lady Georgiana so you are expected to call me 'my lady' and not 'miss.' Do you understand?"

"Right you are, miss. I mean, my lady."

"And you do understand that this job means going abroad with me, to a foreign country?"

"Oh, yes, miss. I mean, my lady. I'm game for anything. It will be a bit of a lark, and wait till I see Nellie 'uxtable down the Three Bells, her what's always boasting that she took a day trip to Boulogne."

At least one had to admire her pluck, or maybe she was just completely clueless.

"And as to money-I do not intend to pay you any money at first. You will travel with me and receive your uniform and of course all your meals. If you prove satisfactory I will pay you what you are worth on our return and what's more I shall write you a letter of reference that will guarantee you a good job anywhere. So it's up to you, Queenie. This is your chance to make something of yourself. What do you say? Will you accept my terms?"

"Bob's yer uncle, miss," she said and thrust a big meaty hand in my direction.

I arranged for her to come to Rannoch House on Monday. She plonked the shapeless hat on her head and turned back to me at the door. "You won't regret this, miss," she said. "I'll be the best ruddy chambermaid you've ever had."

So I was due to undertake a journey fraught with avalanches, brigands and wolves with possibly the world's worst chambermaid who was likely to set fire to my dress. It would be interesting to see if I came out of it alive.

Chapter 9.

Rannoch House Monday, November 14 Due to leave for Continent tomorrow. Still no maid. Still haven't heard from Darcy. Still raining.

How tiresome life can be.

By Monday morning I had still not heard from Darcy. Now I would be going abroad without letting him know. Really he was a most infuriating man. I simply didn't know what to make of him. Sometimes I thought he was really keen on me, and then other times he'd disappear for ages. Anyway, there was nothing I could do about him now. If he hadn't chosen to give me his address or even come to see that I had survived the visit from Binky and Fig, then too bad.

Queenie turned up a little after nine. It took some time rummaging through the housekeeper's closet to find a uniform that fitted and looked suitable, because she was a hefty girl, but eventually we poured her into a black dress, white cap and ap.r.o.n. She looked very pleased with herself as she stared in the mirror.

"Stone me. I look just like a real maid now, don't I, miss, I mean, me lady?"

"Let's hope you learn to act like one, Queenie," I said. "I take it you have brought your case with you with the items you'll need to travel. You can now come up to my room and pack the clothes I shall need. Bring that tissue paper with you so that they don't become creased."

We spent a rather fraught morning as I stopped her from wrapping my boots with my velvet dinner gown, but eventually all was ready. Tickets, pa.s.sports and letters of introduction were delivered from the palace. My tiara arrived by courier from Castle Rannoch and Binky had generously slipped a few sovereigns into the package with a note saying I expect you'll need some expenses for the journey. Sorry it can't be more. I expect you'll need some expenses for the journey. Sorry it can't be more.

He was a sweet man, useless but sweet.

The money at least allowed us to take a taxi to Victoria Station on the morning of Tuesday, November 15. As I followed a porter to the platform where the boat train departed, I felt a sudden surge of excitement. I was really going abroad. I was going to be part of a royal wedding, even if it was Moony Matty's. My compartment was found and the porter set off for the baggage car with my trunks, leaving me with my personal luggage. I knew that in normal circ.u.mstances I would have entrusted my jewel case to my maid but I thought that Queenie might try dressing up in my tiara or let the rubies slip down the sink in the lavatory.

"You should go and find your own seat now, Queenie," I said. "Here is your ticket."

"My own seat?" A look of panic crossed her face. "You mean I'm not traveling with you?"

"This is first cla.s.s. Servants always travel third cla.s.s," I said. "Don't worry. I'll meet you on the platform with our luggage when we reach Dover. And I expect my chaperon's maid will be sitting with you so you'll have someone to talk to. Oh, and Queenie, please don't let the other maids know that you've only been in my employ for a day or that you set fire to your last employer's dress."

"Right you are, miss," she said, then put her hand to her mouth, giggling. "I still can't get the hang of saying 'my lady.' I always was a bit thick. My old dad says I was dropped on my head as a baby."

Oh, brilliant. Now she told me. She probably had fainting spells or fits. I was beginning to wish I'd taken up Belinda's offer after all. I had gone to see her to tell her the funny story of my new maid, but neither Belinda nor her maid was at home. It had to mean that she had probably fled somewhere warm again. I couldn't blame her.

A very nervous Queenie made her way down the platform to find the third-cla.s.s carriages. As I watched her go I pondered on the irony that my maid was wearing a fur coat, whereas I only had good Scottish Harris tweed. Some girls were given a fur coat for their twenty-first birthday. I had been tempted to buy one with the check from Sir Hubert, the one of Mother's many husbands and lovers of whom I had been the most fond, but luckily I had banked it instead. It kept me in funds for over a year but had finally run out. The thought of Sir Hubert sparked an exciting memory. He was still in Switzerland, recuperating from a horrible accident (or was it attempted murder?-now we'd never know). I could visit him on the way home. I'd jot him a line as soon as I reached my destination.

As I stood there alone in the carriage I realized two things. One was that my chaperon had not appeared and the other was that I had no idea of the actual destination to which we were going. If she didn't turn up I didn't even know at which station we were to alight. Oh, dear, more things to worry about.

The hour for departure neared and I paced nervously. I was just double-checking that my jewel case was securely on the rack when the compartment door was flung open and a voice behind me said, "You, girl, what are you doing in here? Maids belong in third cla.s.s. And where is your mistress?"

I turned to face a gaunt, horsey-looking woman wearing a long Persian lamb cape. Standing behind her was a most superior-looking creature in black, laden with various hatboxes and train cases. Both were staring at me as if I were something they had just discovered on the sole of their shoe.