I wondered if she’d learned to sing over her task from kind Nurse Betts. “Truth to tell, I like you down here with me,” I said. “But there is no need for you to be a scullery maid forever. You might even become a housekeeper one day. Mrs. Redfern was a tweeny as a girl.”

“Was she?” Elsie looked doubtful. Tweenies were maids who looked after upper servants, such as the housekeeper and lady’s maid. “Bit haughty now, ain’t she?”

Elsie darted a fearful look behind me after the words slipped out, as though Mrs. Redfern might pop up from the slates and overhear, but the kitchen was empty of all but Tess.

“She remembers her origins,” I said. “That is why she is fair-minded.”

Elsie looked chagrined. “Sorry, Mrs. H.”

“Never you mind. We’ll keep our opinions between ourselves. Thank you, Elsie.”

Elsie gave me an answering curtsy. “Can I get back to my dishes now, ma’am?”

“Of course.” I sent her a smile and left her, not wanting to unnerve her any longer. Elsie was a sweet girl, but she could break crockery when agitated.

She’d given me much to think on, I reflected as I returned to my vegetables. Much indeed.

*   *   *

Miss Townsend came down with Lady Cynthia later that afternoon. As the evening before, Miss Townsend dressed modestly, in a trim dress buttoned to her throat, her hair in a simple knot, and wore no jewelry, not even a ring or brooch.

Cynthia introduced her to me and an avid Tess, who scanned Miss Townsend as though hoping she’d do something scandalous on the spot. Miss Townsend gave Tess a little smile, the amusement in her eyes telling me she knew full well how others viewed lady artists.

I led Miss Townsend to the corner, from which I’d moved the empty crates. “I’ve put a chair for you here, miss,” I said, giving it a dust off with my hand. “Not very comfortable, I am afraid.”

“Never mind.” Miss Townsend turned the smile to me and sat down regally, as though I’d offered her the best chair in a luxurious hotel. “This will do nicely. Thank you, Mrs. Holloway.”

She’d brought a satchel, which she set on the floor next to her after withdrawing a rather small sketchbook. I’d seen people of leisure sitting in parks with such books, sketching away at the scenery.

As she flipped to a clean page, I saw that part of the book had already been filled. Faces jumped out at me, one of them Cynthia’s, but the pages moved too fast for me to study the pictures. I saw large flowers skim past and ordinary things like chairs and windows, all very lifelike.

“Quite beautiful,” I said. “If you don’t mind my saying, miss. Very skilled.”

Miss Townsend acknowledged this with a small nod. “You are kind. Thank you.”