Maggie’s heart and mind were racing. She’d have to talk to strange, new people. What would she say? And she had nothing to wear, or at least, nothing that didn’t look like she was off to work. But unless she pretended to be ill, or hid under the bed, how on earth could she get out of it?

‘What’s the matter?’ Pam asked, suddenly noticing Maggie’s silence. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

They burst out laughing again. Pam finally stopped and cast her eyes around the room. ‘Where is that cat of yours, anyway? Don’t get any ideas about it sleeping in here, will you?’

‘Oh no,’ Nancy agreed. ‘Cat hair makes me sneeze something rotten.’

Maggie shook her head. ‘Course not. She’s outside.’

When they’d arrived at Snowden Hall and the others had gone with the butler on a tour of the ground floor, Maggie had followed the housekeeper into the vast kitchen. There was a strong smell of cabbage and gravy and her stomach had growled. She hoped that was a meal for them.

Two women in aprons and headscarves were bustling around, chopping veg at a large wooden table in the centre and filling pans with water at the double sink.

They turned in surprise when Maggie came in. Her arms were aching from clutching the carpet bag to her chest. She asked if she might have a bowl of water.

Mrs Mason frowned. ‘A bowl? This might not be fancy London town but we do have cups, you know.’

‘It’s for my cat,’ Maggie said. She put the bag down and braced herself for another ticking off, but Mrs Mason seemed unconcerned.

‘Got it in there, have you? Best let it out then.’

When Tabby emerged, stretching, and sat on the stone floor and cleaned herself, apparently quite unperturbed by her adventures, the housekeeper smiled for the first time. ‘Aw, it’s a poppet. Best put some butter on its paws, Cook, what d’you say? So’s it doesn’t stray too far.’

They had butter. Enough to put on a cat’s paws! Maggie’s heart lifted; perhaps it was going to be all right here, after all.

‘Is it a good mouser?’ Cook asked.

‘Ever so good,’ Maggie said. In truth, she’d never seen Tabby catch anything but her words had the desired effect.

‘Good. It can’t stay in the house – her Ladyship would have forty fits – but there’s plenty of mice around the stable yard and the barns. And there’s warm straw to bed down in.’

Maggie’s chest flooded with relief. Tabby was going to be allowed to stay. She’d be fine as long as she learned to catch her own food. Maggie would save her some scraps from her own plate at mealtimes, until the cat got the hang of it.