Phyllida’s jaw dropped, but she realized it immediately and closed it. She had never heard Bradford speak in such a cordial, almost cajoling manner. Nor had she seen such a warm, boyish smile on his countenance. She noticed with a bit of malice that there was another grease streak on his chin.

She took control of the conversation as soon as introductions had been made, which included a chambermaid named Louella who came into the kitchen just as they were sitting down at the table. The soup did smell delicious.

“Tell me, if you please, what happened with your mistress and Mr. Eugene, and what the doctor is saying,” Phyllida said, looking at both of the Whittlesbys’ servants.

Mrs. Dilly, whose appearance was quite the opposite of what one expected from someone whose life required her to constantly sample food, looked at Louella. The cook was skinny as a stick and had butter-yellow hair fashioned in a braid pinned around the crown of her head, but her hands appeared strong and capable. “Poor Mr. Eugene. God rest his soul,” she said, shaking her head. “You tell’em, Lou—you’ve got more information than me, bein’ all stuck over here in the kitchen and scullery.”

“Mrs. Alastair probably ain’t gonna die,” Louella said in a blunt manner that Phyllida appreciated. “But she’s bunged up good, and Dr. Bhatt wants to send her to hospital, but Mr. Alastair don’t want her to go and she don’t want to go neither.”

“Mr. Whittlesby is allowing Dr. Bhatt to treat his wife?” Phyllida asked, remembering that the man had called Dr. Bhatt a foreign quack. Of course, desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dr. Bhatt was the only physician in the village.

“I don’t see as how he had any choice, but he ain’t happy about it. Ask me, he should send her to hospital,” said Louella.

“But he won’t do that?” Phyllida was appalled.

“He don’t wanna listen to Dr. Bhatt’s advice, such as it is. Don’t know why. Dr. Bhatt’s such a nice man,” Louella said. Her cheeks had turned pink.

“Do you know why Mr. Eugene was in the motor with Mrs. Alastair?” Phyllida asked. “And why she was driving?” As much as Phyllida knew, members of her sex were quite capable of driving a motorcar—or in fact doing nearly everything a man could do—but the fact remained that when a man and woman were in a vehicle together, the man usually presumed to be the driver.