Emily swallowed. “Yes, my love, we do. Don't you remember that our grandfather is the Earl of Westerham? That is why mother is known as Lady Althea Gibson, not Mrs Gibson.”

“But Mama does not speak to him. How can he be here?” Millie's voice was shrill.

“Calm yourself, Amelia, and I'll explain.” Emily waited for her sisters to be quiet. “I wrote to grandfather explaining that Mama was unwell and asked him if he could help in any way.” Never would she admit to her sisters, or her mother, the true contents of her letter.

“And he has come himself? Do you think he's in the coach?” Serena piped.

“No, darling, I'm sure he is not. He must be well over eighty now. I'm certain he would never travel so far.”

“Then who is it? Why's the coach coming here?”

“Amelia, don't be so impatient. I have no more idea than you do. Now run along and tell Edwards; she will wish to prepare Mama.” She took Serena's hand. “You stay with me; we will go and wait in the morning room together.”

Scarcely ten minutes later a loud knocking was heard on the front door. The one remaining maid-servant, Sally, hurried to answer the summons. Outside stood an impressive array of people. A black garbed gentleman headed the queue.

“Is Lady Althea Gibson, at home?”

The girl dropped a nervous curtsy. “Yes, sir, that she is. Will you come in, please? Who will I tell her is waiting?”

“Mr Foster, the Earl of Westerham's man of business. I have a letter for Miss Emily Gibson and one for Lady Althea. Deliver them for me please.”

“Please to wait in the ante-room, sir. I will take the letters directly.” The frightened girl left Mr Foster in the small room next to the entrance hall. She hesitated, not sure if the waiting grooms and outriders should be directed elsewhere.

“My staff will wait outside.”