Tess and I had spent much of yesterday making a large layer cake with icing and spun sugar decorations. I entered the larder, where I’d stored it, and of course found the cake sagging in the middle, the icing and sugar half-melted and broken. My shriek brought Tess running. When she saw the wreck, she stared in dismay, her language burning the air.

I hadn’t the heart to admonish her for her curses. Many of the words she used were ones that leapt readily to my mind.

“Never mind,” I shouted over her. “We must send something. Help me.”

In the next half hour we worked a miracle of sorts. Into the dumbwaiter went a large apple charlotte thrown together from apples I’d cooked down earlier in the day along with ladyfingers left over in the larder. I surrounded this with plates of macaroons for those with daintier appetites and the rhubarb tart I’d made for the staff. It had been meant as a treat after our hard work, but needs must.

Once all the food was gone, Tess and I could not collapse, because the kitchen had to be thoroughly cleaned and organized for the morrow. I’d have to cook for the family and any guests all the next day, not to mention the servants.

James vanished somewhere in the process, but I didn’t begrudge him his escape.

As I scrubbed down the work table, removing every bit of flour, grease, grit, and meat juices so I’d have a clean surface tomorrow, one of the footmen bounded into the kitchen, out of breath.

He was new—footmen here tended to come and go. Mrs. Bywater had a penny-pinching nature, and an employer had to pay an extra tax on male servants of any kind, as they were considered a luxury. Therefore, she encouraged the lads to seek employment in other houses once they had a bit of experience, while the maids took on the extra work. Of the footmen who’d been here when I’d first arrived, only Paul remained.

This footman, who went by the name of Hector, ran headlong into the kitchen then stopped short, no doubt remembering my admonishments not to blunder through my territory.

“They’re asking for you, Mrs. Holloway,” he said, eyes wide. “The upstairs.”

I continued to scrub, seeing no reason for excitability. “To do what, precisely? If they wish me to send up more dishes, they will have to wait a few minutes. I’m behindhand.”

Hector stared in confusion. I did not think this young man would last long under the firm hand of Mr. Davis, our butler, nor the keen eye of the new housekeeper, Mrs. Redfern.

“I mean they’re asking you to come up. Mr. Davis sent me to fetch you.”

“Ooh.” Tess, her temper restored, looked up from scraping out a bowl that had held pureed potatoes. “I wager they want you to take your bow, Mrs. H.”