Thatcham Hall, despite its grandeur, was just a short stop on Philomena’s quest for independence. Soon, she would pick herself up, resume her travels, complete the journey to the other side of the country, and become a woman of business. For many years, she had cherished that dream. She would let nothing stop her.

She looked around the kitchen. The warmth made her toes tingle. Philomena drew a deep breath and drank in the savoury cooking smells that had seeped into the stone walls of the room, over years of use. She detected hints of roast mutton, spices, dried fruits, and honey. Of course, today was Christmas Eve. The activity in the kitchen must be preparations for the next day’s feast.

Philomena’s mouth watered despite her full stomach as she thought of tables, groaning with more food than she had ever seen in one place. She licked her lips.

The cook broke into her reverie and she jumped, guilty as a kitten. Short and square in build, Mrs. Bramble flopped heavily into her special chair by the range, wiping drops of sweat from her face with a large grey handkerchief. She poked strands of hair back under her cap with floury fingers.

She was breathing hard. “I’ll just put my feet up for a moment.” She rested swollen ankles on a small wooden stool. She placed a steaming china cup and saucer on the table and nodded to Philomena while keeping one eye on the kitchen staff. “Alice, you get that tray up to Master John in the nursery, and be quick about it,” she called.

Alice tossed her head. “How I’m supposed to finish tidying the dining room while I’m playing nursery maid, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Be off with you,” said Mrs. Bramble, “and stop complaining. Master John can’t eat breakfast all alone, not at his age, so you get along up there. You should think yourself lucky, my girl. You’ll have a chance to sit down while he eats.”

“Yes, and spend an hour cleaning up afterwards when Master John takes one of his tantrums and throws food all around the room.” Alice pouted.

“We’ll have a bit less cheek from you,” snapped Mrs. Bramble.

Alice flounced away, the starched white ribbons on her white cap flicking jauntily. Mrs. Bramble took a gulp of tea and sighed with pleasure. She raised her voice again, calling for James, the footman, to carry the tin bath into the scullery.

She spoke to the scullery maid. “Heat some more water and fill up the bath, Ivy. This young man could do with a nice long soak after all that scrambling about in the mud, I’ll be bound.”

She turned back to Philomena, satisfied that the lesser servants were attending to her instructions. “Now then, young man, let’s get those clothes off you and into the wash and find you something decent to wear. I’m sure some of the master’s old clothes will suit, though you’re naught but a willow-wand compared to him.”