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was the very large Dining-Hall in which he had last eaten at Richard’s twenty-first-birthday party.
    Beside it was a smaller private Dining-Room which had been designed by William Kent, where the family ate when they were alone.
    To the left, where he was moving now, was the Library with its first editions of Shakespeare and books that had been collected for centuries, making it one of the finest and most valuable Libraries in the country.
    Successively on that side of the house were the Rubens Room, the Library, the Red Drawing-Room, the Green Drawing-Room, and the Blue Drawing-Room.
    The Duke’s eyes darkened with the thought of the last as he remembered that that was where the miniatures were.
    He wondered why the place was so quiet, with no-one about.
    He came to the first door, which opened into the Rubens Room, and found that the furniture was covered in Hollands, the shutters were closed, and the darkness smelt musty.
    He closed the door and moved to the next one, which was the door to the Library.
    Here there was a light because the windows were not shuttered, and as he walked into the room he had the impression, but he could not be certain, that everything looked shabby and, although it seemed incredible, somewhat dusty.
    It was then that he was aware of another human being.
    It was a servant, and she had her back to him and was dusting somewhat ineffectively with a feather brush the books on one of the higher shelves.
    He watched her for a moment and realised that the feather brush, light though it was, was dislodging a great deal of dust.
    He suddenly felt he needed an explanation and asked sharply:
    “Where is everybody? Why is there no-one in attendance in the Hall?”
    Although he had not intended it, his voice sounded in the room almost unnaturally harsh and loud, and the woman at the far end of it jumped as if she was startled and turned round.
    She had a duster over her hair and was wearing an apron.
    The Duke, walking towards her, said:
    “Is Lady Alvina at home? I wish to speak to her.”
    It was then, as two very blue eyes stared up at him, he had a sudden idea, although it seemed most improbable, that this was not a servant.
    When she did not speak, he felt he should introduce himself and said:
    “I am the Duke of Harlington.”
    The woman facing him gave a little gasp and then said in a voice that was barely audible:
    “I thought ... you were ... in France.”
    The Duke smiled.
    “On the contrary. I have arrived back today.”
    There was silence, and the woman stared at him as if she could hardly believe what she had heard.
    Then at last, finding her voice with difficulty, she said:
    “Why did you not let us ... know, and how ... could you have ... stayed away so ... long?”
    It was then that the Duke realised to whom he was speaking, and he said:
    “I think perhaps we should introduce ourselves properly. I am sure you are my cousin Alvina.”
    “Yes, I am,” the woman answered, “and I have waited and waited for you until I had given up ... hope that you would ... ever return.”
    There was a desperate note in her voice that the Duke did not miss, and after a moment, and because he knew it was expected of him, he said:
    “I must apologise if I have seemed somewhat remiss, but I had urgent duties in France, and the Duke of Wellington would not release me.”
    He almost despised himself for making apologies, and yet he had the feeling they were necessary.
    As if he was determined not to remain on the defensive, he said:
    “If you wanted me back urgently, why did you not write to me?”
    “I did write to you when Papa died, but there was no answer.”
    “ I never received your letter.”
    “I did not ... think that was the ... explanation.”
    “Then what did you think?”
    “I did not know. I thought ... perhaps you were not ... interested. It was ... stupid of me ... not to write ... again.”
    “I apologise not only for not receiving your letter but also because I should have