‘Well, the late Mrs Black wasn’t interested. Maybe it was because she was poorly. But even before she was really ill, she just gave lots of instructions. I did my best, though it wasn’t always good enough, I’m afraid. I’m a plain cook, not a fancy one. Towards the end it was easier for her to just let me do everything, and she stopped commenting on what I made. And afterwards I had even less time for all the cooking because I was doing so many other things as well.’ Isobel waved her arm as though to envelop the house in a bedsheet. ‘There is a lot to get done. I had to come up with a plan I could repeat because it was the only way I could manage it all. I’m very sorry. I’ve done my best and I don’t want to speak out of turn, but it was the only way. And Mr Black was sad for a long time, and the children couldn’t decide what they wanted, so I did it all for them. If you want to have a new maid, I can look for another position.’ Isobel was now talking to the floor, her head bowed.

Ursula looked at the tired young woman, who was wiping her hands on her apron over and over again, and shook her head. ‘It hasn’t been an easy time for anyone.’

‘Before I started here, I spoke to the maid from the Bruntsfield flat and she told me that Mrs Black had her ways.’

‘Ways?’ Ursula was flummoxed. Louise Black was an enigma. It was like having a sainted body in the house who could not be criticised or have her methods challenged. But from the little John had told her, Louise had not been the easiest of people to live with. There were a lot of rules, for a start. ‘Sit down with me, please.’

Isobel pulled one of the wooden chairs out from the table and waited.

Ursula sat down and tapped the dark green binding on the ledger with her fingers. ‘There are going to be some changes.’

Isobel looked at her miserably. She remained standing. ‘Yes, miss.’

‘First, I am now Mrs Black so there will be no more miss, if you don’t mind.’ She paused. ‘And secondly, there will be no more liver in this house. Or faggots. And while there might be a plan, we won’t be having the same thing every Tuesday as though we are in a regiment of the Cameron Highlanders. Tell me, do you like to cook?’

‘I don’t mind it. But I’m not sure I’m any good at it. My friends,’ Isobel waved her hands again to encompass the houses on either side, ‘well, they make all sorts and I’ve just never had the opportunity because—’