Philomena, tempted by the luxury of deep, hot water, smiled. “I’m afraid these clothes are past cleaning.” She brushed at the mud drying on Joseph’s best trousers and fingered a tear in the jacket.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Rivers, the housekeeper, poked her head into the kitchen, checking to see that all the servants were about their business. “We’ve known worse when the weather’s bad like this. You hand them over, after your bath, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Philomena opened her mouth to protest that she could perfectly well mend the tear herself. Just in time, she caught the words. She’d forgotten about her disguise. I’m a boy. Boys don’t sew. She’d nearly given the game away. She gulped and coughed. “No maids, mind,” she said, her voice as deep and gruff as she could manage. She headed for the scullery with long strides.

Mrs. Rivers laughed. “None of the girls will disturb you. I’ll get James, the footman, to bring the hot water in when Ivy finishes heating it up.”

Philomena shuddered. “No, I beg you.” Her voice squeaked, and she dropped an octave, hoping no one had noticed the slip. “I’ve no wish to be a trouble in the house. Indeed, I’ll take the water in now and be on my way as soon as I can.”

Mrs. Rivers and the cook shook their heads, eyebrows raised, and agreed there was no accounting for the strange ways of young men. “I’ll warrant you can use a good day’s sleep before you continue on your way. That’s if there’s a train today, after that dreadful accident. A pretty penny your journey must be costing you. On your way to Bristol, you said?”

Philomena hesitated. “I was on my way to make my living in Bristol.” She struggled to keep her voice deep and think at the same time.”My uncle lives there, and he wrote to say there’s plenty of work to be had, more pleasant than that to be found in London, where we live all on top of each other.” She ran out of steam. Surely, the story would convince no one. After all, most young men ran away towards London, not in the other direction. Philomena prayed for inspiration and took a slow breath. “I want to work with Mr. Brunel, building railways and bridges.” That’s better. She watched for the reaction.

Mrs. Rivers nodded. “I see you are looking to the future. The steam train is a wonderful invention, so I hear.”

Mrs. Bramble shuddered. “Oh, no, mercy me, just think of the noise and the danger. Look what happened last night. Why, who knows how many more poor souls will end up in the mud. Nasty, new-fangled things, trains. I won’t have no part in them. Give me a pony and trap, now, and I’m happy.” She fell to muttering under her breath, and Philomena’s breathing settled. The story had passed its first test. In any case, she would soon be gone, long before Joseph could track her down.