I peeled off my gown, also caked with dirt and brick dust. I hoped it could be salvaged, as I had no spare money for more clothes. The mistress had given us fabric for new work frocks on Boxing Day, but as she’d spent little on the coarse material, I hadn’t done anything with mine.

I’d carried up a pitcher of hot water and now sloshed it into my basin. I contemplated the steam curling from the water and decided that a quick rinse of hands and face would not be enough.

I stripped all the way down for a sponge bath, loosening my hair from its pins so I could wipe the dirt out of it. As I watched the sponge move down my damp skin, my dark hair hanging to my hips, I wondered on a sudden if Daniel would like me thus.

My red face warmed, but the prickle of desire didn’t embarrass me as it ought. A natural thing, I told myself. Daniel was a handsome man, and kind, with a warm laugh and a fine pair of eyes.

He was also deceitful and as comfortable with trickery as his brother.

But at the same time, I knew Daniel wasn’t Mr. Fielding, as much as Mr. Fielding had tried to tell me they were birds of a feather. Mr. Fielding had shown me so far that he used deception for his own gain. Daniel used it to help others—to bring down criminals or find the lost.

Daniel had a gentleness in his eyes that Mr. Fielding lacked. One that made me stand in my room without a stitch, peering into the mirror and imagining Daniel smiling at me. He’d reach a hand to me and pull me close, showing me without words how he felt.

I tried to shove these errant thoughts away, but it was not easy. I’d not had passion in my life for a long time. Before I’d met Daniel I’d thought myself finished with it, too old, a mother and a matron.

Now I pictured Daniel, and desire touched every part of me.

I made myself finish my impromptu bath and dress again.

By the time I reached the kitchen, in clean gray work dress and freshly starched cap, I was restored to my practical self. If I gave way to passion with Daniel, I might end up with another child, and that would be a very silly thing to do.

That child would have Daniel’s eyes . . .

The sight of Mr. Davis, in his shirtsleeves, hunched at my table with the newspaper spread before him, cured me of any romantic thoughts. I pushed them aside and went back to work.

Tess was sorting the herbs, delight on her face. “These are ever so nice.” She shook out tendrils of dill. “Will make the mushroom sauce so tasty.”