Helen's lips twitched. “Obviously not.”

Ellie crossed the room to Mrs. Stubbs's side. “Let me have a look at that.”

“No, really, it's quite all right,” the housekeeper said quickly. “I don't need—”

But Ellie's fingers had already found the lump. It wasn't very large, but she was certain it must be painful. “Of course you do,” she said. She picked up a thin towel she saw on a worktable, wrapped it around the ice one of the maids was holding tentatively toward her, and pressed it against the lump on the housekeeper's head.

Mrs. Stubbs let out a grumble and muttered, “It's very cold.”

“Of course it is,” Ellie replied. “It's ice.” She turned to Helen with an exasperated look on her face, but her new cousin had her hand clamped over her mouth and looked as if she were trying very hard not to laugh. Ellie widened her eyes and jutted her chin forward in a silent appeal for cooperation.

Helen gave a little nod, took a couple of breaths to stem her giggles, and said, “Mrs. Stubbs, Lady Billington has come to the kitchen to inspect the ovens.”

The housekeeper's head turned slowly in Ellie's direction. “I beg your pardon.”

“I couldn't help noticing this morning that the toast was a bit black,” Ellie said.

“That is how Mrs. Pallister likes it.”

Helen cleared her throat and said, “Actually, Mrs. Stubbs, I do prefer my toast on the slightly less charred side.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“I did. You said it came out that way no matter how long you toasted it.”

“I can only conclude,” Ellie interjected, “that something is amiss with the oven. As I have a great deal of experiences with stoves and ovens, I thought I might give it a look.”

“You?” Mrs. Stubbs asked.

“You?” Kitchen maid #1 (as Ellie had taken to calling her in her mind) asked.

“You?” Kitchen maid #2 (by default, of course) asked.

All three were gaping visibly. Ellie rather thought that the only reason Helen hadn't let her mouth drop open and echo, “You?” was because Helen had already done so upstairs in the informal dining room.

Ellie scowled, planted her hands on her hips, and said, “Contrary to popular opinion, a countess may occasionally possess a useful talent or two. Perhaps even a skill.”

“I have always found embroidery quite useful,” Helen said. She eyed a blackened stovetop. “And it's quite a clean hobby.”

Ellie shot her a dirty look and hissed, “You are not helping.”

Helen shrugged, smiled, then said, “I think we should let the countess take a look at the oven.”

“Thank you,” Ellie said, with what she thought was great dignity and patience. She turned to Mrs. Stubbs and asked, “Which oven do you use for the toast?”

“That one,” the housekeeper replied, pointing a long finger at the filthiest of the lot. “Those other ones belong to the Frenchie. I wouldn't touch them if you paid me.”

“They were imported from France,” Helen explained.