“This evening,” she said. “Come to the back door. I’ll be there.” She tried to resume her brisk tones. “Now be off with you, unless you want to chop more herbs. A neat job, that.”

“Keeps the cut leaves from turning black too fast. Works a dream with basil and mint especially.”

Mrs. Compton gave me a nod, more respectful now. “I’ll remember that.”

“Beg pardon for disturbing you.” I backed from the table, Mrs. Compton and her assistants staring at me, and made my careful way out of the kitchen.

When I entered the servants’ hall, I saw that Grace had stretched a sock over a darning egg, and was busily stitching it, assisting the lady who’d greeted us.

I announced that we had to depart, but I allowed Grace to finish her part of the task before taking her away. Those at the table were reluctant to see her go—I could not help but be proud of Grace’s good manners and natural friendliness.

“You come and visit anytime, Grace,” the lady said as we went. “Such a lovely child.” This last was directed at me.

The woman smiled as I thanked her, but I saw sadness in her eyes, sharp and profound. She took the sock back from Grace, admired her work, and said good-bye as I led Grace away.

Outside, the wind took our breaths away, and we hurried along, heads down. When I looked up again, I found we’d emerged into Great Coram Street, named for the founder of the Hospital. A little way along was a tea shop, and I pulled Grace inside, out of the cold.

The shop was mostly empty, as the midday meal had not yet commenced, but a thin young woman brought us tea and a few slices of indifferent bread.

“That was excellently done, Grace,” I said as we warmed our hands on the teacups. “Very kind of you to assist. You do Mrs. Millburn credit.”

“I always like to help.” Grace glanced behind her at the rest of the shop as though not wishing to be overheard. Two women spoke together over a table in the far corner, and the young waitress had retreated to her kitchen.

“Mrs. Shaw—that was the lady who spoke to me—she’s an under-housekeeper,” Grace said in a near whisper. “She seems very worried about something. Asked me many times why you’d come. I said I supposed to ask about cookery.”

I lifted my teacup and sipped the hot drink. “Did she? I hope she did not frighten you.”

“Not much frightens me,” Grace said with disarming frankness. “When I am anxious, I simply think about what you would do, and I’m not afraid anymore. Do you know what they were worried by?”

I set down my cup, emotion making my fingers weak. I wanted to sweep her into a hug, revel in the compliment she’d tendered me without a second thought.