She stopped and a look of utter horror crossed her face. She put her hand up to her mouth. “Blimey. Oh, your ladyship. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you for a second there and them ruddy religious lot were here again yesterday. I don’t know what they want from the likes of me. I ain’t got no money to give them and that’s what they’re normally after, ain’t it?” She made a gesture to smooth back her hair, then remembered she was wearing curlers, which clearly embarrassed her even further. “Here to see your granddad, are you, then? He’s been a bit poorly the last few days, but I think he’s on the mend. I’m just making him a good Irish stew and dumplings to build him up.”

“Actually I believe Queenie is with you at the moment.”

“She is, your ladyship. Helping me out in the kitchen, and turning into a lovely little cook too. It was ever so good of you to spare her to look after her poor mum. I suppose you want her back now?” There was a note of hope in her voice.

“That’s right. If you think her mother is on the mend and you can spare her.”

“Well, we have to let her go, don’t we, your ladyship? After all, you are her proper employer and it wouldn’t be right to make you have to look after yourself for longer than absolutely necessary. I expect it’s been hard for you, trying to get on without her.”

“I’ve managed, Mrs. Huggins,” I said, “and if you really feel that her mother needs her longer, I’m sure I can survive—”

“Oh no, your ladyship,” she cut in. “Right is right. Queenie needs to go back up west to you. No doubt about it. Come on in, ducks—I mean, your ladyship.”

I could see where Queenie got it from. She had never learned to call me by my correct title. I stepped into a dingy hallway.

“Queenie!” Mrs. Huggins yelled in a voice that would do any sergeant major proud. “Come and see who’s turned up for you then. Come all the way out here for yer. Missing yer, she was.”

This was going a little far, but I didn’t say anything as the kitchen door opened and Queenie came out. She was wearing the same outfit as the first time she came to be interviewed—a purple hand-knitted jumper that hugged her generous curves a little too tightly and a bright red skirt. Her face broke into a big smile when she saw me.

“Whatcher, miss,” she said. “I ain’t half glad to see you. Can’t do without me no longer, eh?”

“Hello, Queenie,” I said. “Nice to see you too.”