“I saw the distress Mrs. Holloway’s departure caused the rest of the staff.” Miss Townsend addressed me directly, her brown eyes full of sympathy. “I related to Mrs. Bywater a few anecdotes of the turmoil I’d witnessed in my own family’s house when a good cook gave notice or retired. How very difficult it was to replace said cook, and the horrors we suffered until a decent one could be found. It gave her pause, I think.” Her small smile told me she’d amused herself with Mrs. Bywater.

“That was kind of you,” I said, my heart warming. The stiff unhappiness I’d been wrapped in since last night relaxed.

“Not at all. We will pretend I was simply annoyed she’d deprived me of a subject to paint. I have not finished with my sketches of you.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t certain which was the truth—was she an artist worried about her work, or a young woman who’d seen my anguish and Tess’s, and decided to help?

“You worked your charm on Auntie on my behalf as well, didn’t you?” Cynthia accused her.

Miss Townsend shrugged. “I might have told her more tales, this time of poorly conceived matches—how a gentleman who professes to be wealthy is revealed to be penniless, after he’s married the niece and comes knocking on the well-meaning relative’s door. How young ladies pushed too hard at respectable gentlemen often flee with unrespectable ones. A great scandal so easily avoided.”

Cynthia began to grin. “You touched her with the right words. Decent of you to stick your neck out.”

“You are Bobby’s greatest friend.” Miss Townsend turned to a decanter of brandy near the window, poured herself a small goblet, and took a ladylike sip. “Naturally, I do not wish to see you unhappy. I can do this small thing and feel benevolent.”

She spoke offhandedly, but to me, it had been no small thing, likewise to Cynthia.

“Thank you,” I said, gushing a little in my relief. Because of her intervention, I could remain at the Mount Street house, sleep in my solitary bed in the attics, cook what I pleased, and not have to leave Tess and Mr. Davis and dear Elsie. Miss Townsend was a kind young woman, indeed.

Miss Townsend took another sip of brandy. “Not at all. You must admit, Cynthia, it would be a bit crowded here with four.”

“I intended to look for lodgings of my own,” Cynthia said. “Something modest, obviously.”

“Not too many such places for a young lady living alone,” Miss Townsend answered with a wry smile. “Dreary boardinghouses, perhaps, and it would be frocks all the time for you, I’m afraid, my dear. No visitors after eight in the evening, and no male visitors at all. Oh, the horror.”