Callie paused. His mother must have passed a difficult night, if he had sat up with her for all of it. As she closed the door, trying to keep it from squeaking, she resolved to find at least a maidservant and a cook by dinnertime, even if she had to gird herself to beg Dolly for the loan. The situation for hiring in Shelford was dire, with the opening of a large new pottery not four miles from the town. Even Shelford Hall had felt the pinch in trying to replace the increasing number of staff who had left since the new mistress had taken management of the house. But Dolly had only looked coldly uninterested when Callie suggested that wages might be increased to compete with the manufactory's lure. Callie was entreated to calm her anxiety about a pack of disloyal servants and concern herself with more refined topics.

It was still dark outside when she set the teakettle on the hob and arranged rashers of bacon in the skillet. She stared down at the sizzling meat, deep in thought as she considered where best to begin inquiries. The innkeeper, Mr. Rankin, might have news of a prospective cook, since he was on the post road and received all the intelligence first. And Miss Poole always had her finger on the pulse of the young girls available in the district, looking out for help in her mantua-shop. A girl too clumsy to do good needlework would be perfectly useful at Dove House.

"Good morning."

A husky voice made her look round quickly. She dropped the big fork and turned as Trev stepped down into the kitchen, his black hair tousled and his neck cloth hanging rumpled and loose.

"That smells delicious," he said. "And the cook is a charming sight too." He leaned against the wall wearily. "If there is coffee to be had, I believe I may be able to carry on to the next hill."

"Coffee," Callie said, f lustered to find him down so soon. "Oh yes. Let me look out some berries from the pantry. Good morning!"

He smiled. "What can I do to help you? I'll carry out a violent raid on the rosebush, if I can unearth it in that jungle of a garden."

"No, do sit down, if you don't mind to eat in the kitchen." She waved at the scarred old table. "There's bread and butter. I fear your mother passed an uneasy night?"

His brief smile evaporated. He stood straight and came to the table to sit. "She was better after midnight, I think. I don't know. Perhaps it's only a bad spell, and she'll be recovered presently." He looked up hopefully.