Mr. Davis blocked my field of vision by leaning to pour more wine into Mr. Fielding’s glass. He moved to the other side of the table to pour for Mr. Thanos. When Mr. Davis straightened, his gaze went straight to mine.

He said nothing, did not betray me by any movement of his body. But he looked at me, his disapproval vast.

I withdrew and returned to the kitchen, easier in my mind. Mr. Fielding, a chameleon indeed, had chosen to mind his manners tonight, for whatever reason.

The next morning, after breakfast had been served, Cynthia strolled into the kitchen. It was Tess’s day out, she already gone, so I had a stretch of hard work ahead of me. As I rolled out crusts for meat pies I’d make of yesterday’s roast, Cynthia sat down at my table and smiled at me.

“I think last night went well,” she announced.

“Oh?” I pretended to know nothing about it. “The gentlemen behaved themselves?”

“Not really. At least, Thanos did, but he can’t help himself. Mr. Fielding, on the other hand, decided to twist my aunt around his finger.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked in some concern.

“Mr. Fielding has Auntie convinced he has the patronage of a wealthy man. Which he does, I suppose. He told the story of being taken in and raised by this august personage, Lord Alois Symington, the son of a marquess.” Cynthia looked pained. “Auntie is ever one to admire a title.”

Mr. Bywater’s sister, Cynthia’s mother, had married an earl. I wondered sometimes if that wasn’t what had made Mr. Bywater attractive to Mrs. Bywater. She seemed rather uninterested in him in day-to-day life, and they had no children, implying no intimate connection.

“I do believe Auntie has the notion that Mr. Fielding will propose to me,” Cynthia said.

I ceased rolling, stretched nearly the entire width of the table. “You will not let him.”

Cynthia’s eyes danced with merriment. “Hardly. Imagine me, a vicar’s wife in the East End. I don’t mind helping the downtrodden, but I would mind having to be the upright, straitlaced lady pandering to stuffy matrons so they might give a few bob to the said downtrodden. If ever I put on a pair of trousers, the entire parish would be disgraced.”

I straightened up and continued rolling the pastry. “I believe your aunt concludes that when you are married, you will be content to leave off the trousers.”

“Yes, when I have a husband and children to look after, I’ll forget about my silliness. That is the notion. Why on earth would I want the freedoms of a man if I could stay home and devote all my time to one instead?”

“A good marriage, to a good gentleman, would not be so bad,” I said.