I had just heaved a sigh of relief when I froze. Was I now oversensitive, or had I heard footsteps down below? I stood, holding my breath, until I heard the unmistakable creak of a stair or floorboard. Someone was definitely in the house with me. Nothing to get alarmed about, I told myself. It was broad daylight in a fashionable London square. I’d only have to open the window and shout for help and any number of maids, chauffeurs, and delivery boys would hear me. Remembering how Mrs. Bantry-Bynge and her friend Boy had arrived earlier than originally planned, I presumed it was a member of the Featherstonehaughs’ entourage. I just prayed it wasn’t Whiffy.

There was a big wardrobe in the bedroom and I was tempted to hide. Then the voice of reason won out. Since servants were supposed to be not seen and not heard, I decided I shouldn’t announce my presence. A servant would just go on with her work, no matter what was happening around her in the household.

The footsteps came closer. It was hard to keep making that bed without turning around. In the end I just had to peek.

I jumped a mile as Darcy O’Mara stepped in through the bedroom door. “Holy mother of God, what an impressive bed,” he said. “This certainly rivals the Princess and the Pea, doesn’t it?”

“Darcy, what are you doing here?” I demanded. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I thought I saw you crossing Belgrave Square earlier, looking rather furtive, so I decided to follow you. I watched you go in the tradesmen’s entrance of the Featherstonehaughs’ house when I knew they were still in the country. And I was intrigued. Being of a curious nature I wanted to know what the hell you were doing in someone else’s empty house. I waited. You didn’t reemerge, so I came to take a look for myself. You didn’t lock the door after you, naughty girl.”

“All right,” I said. “You’ve discovered my guilty secret.”

“Your secret pleasure is to go around making other people’s beds? Sigmund Freud would find that interesting.”

“No, silly. I’ve started a new career. I’m running a domestic service to get people’s houses ready for them when they want to come to London and save them the expense of sending staff in advance.”

“Brilliant notion,” he said. “Where is the rest of your team?”

“It’s just me so far,” I said.

He burst out laughing. “You’re doing the housecleaning yourself?”

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that.”

“And when have you ever cleaned a house? I bet you’ve been polishing the floors with the stuff they use to clean the silver.”

“I didn’t say I was doing the spring cleaning,” I retorted. “My service offers to air out and dust off a few rooms. Make ready the house, that’s all. I can run the carpet sweeper, put clean sheets on the beds, and do a good dust.”

“I’m impressed—but I bet your family wouldn’t be.”