As he often said this upon departing from me, I did not hold myself tight in anticipation as to when the later would be. He might come tonight, or I might not see him for days.

I enjoyed the ride to Cheapside with Grace, the two of us admiring houses and public gardens we passed, or counting church steeples. When we reached the Millburns’, I helped Joanna serve tea, and we had a fine time.

I returned home, ready to work again, but looking forward to Monday afternoon.

I described Miss Townsend’s pictures to Tess, in as much detail as I could. Miss Townsend had extended the invitation to Tess to visit her studio on her day out, and Tess expressed eagerness to see the paintings.

“Funny she did them all fuzzy,” Tess said. “I didn’t necessarily want to show me face, but what if people think the paints ran in the rain?”

“She works in the style of the French artists,” I said, suppressing my laughter. “Like Monsieur Renoir and Mary Cassatt, as Cynthia told us.”

“Ah well,” Tess said. “They’re a funny lot, ain’t they, painters?”

“I suppose,” I said. “So are cooks. Let us get on, shall we?”

*   *   *

Daniel did come that night as I sat alone in the quiet darkness in the kitchen, a single candle on the table for company. Dying coals hissed in the stove, the occasional droplet of water thudded from the pump in the sink, and boards creaked as the house settled.

The knock at the door roused me from my thoughts, and I hurried to open it to Daniel.

“I made tea,” I said as he sat down, brushing water out of his hair. A fine rain had begun to fall. “The last of Mr. Li’s.”

“You are good to share it with me, Kat.”

“Of course. It is better with a friend.”

I measured the tea into a pot and after it steeped, I poured out. We drank it without sugar or cream, the tea so smooth and fine it needed no embellishment. We sipped in contented silence for a moment, I thinking of Mr. Li and hoping he was well and happy in China with his family.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” Daniel set down his empty cup. “I’ve brought you a token.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope, a plain one, with no writing on it. I eyed it in curiosity.

“I know you are proud,” Daniel said, “and might throw it back in my face, but you helped me—and my brother, and many others—with your time you have so little of, and at your own expense. I came to you, and you did not turn me away.”

“Why should I?” I asked. “Children in peril are nothing to walk away from.”

Daniel placed the envelope in front of me. “Please keep this as a gesture of my appreciation.”