She lifted Cynthia’s not-quite-spent cheroot and took a pull, the end glowing orange. She stubbed it out more completely as she exhaled smoke.

Cynthia shivered and rubbed her arms. “You’re a wise woman, Judith, but blast you, you’ve brought all my ideas tumbling down. You couldn’t see your way to convincing Rankin to bestow a large trust on me, for my sister’s sake, so I can set up my own household, could you? I’ll bring Mrs. H. to cook for me and be utterly respectable all the time. So long as I can do what I damn well please.”

Miss Townsend shook her head. “I wish I could advise you. Having a quantity of money would solve many of your problems, but there is the question of finding the quantity of money.”

“We’ll work on that,” Bobby said, her tone sincere. “Meanwhile, I’m going to try to find the poor kids missing from the Foundling Hospital.”

“Are you?” Miss Townsend gave Bobby a look of surprise. “Excellent. Do let me help.”

*   *   *

Cynthia and I returned to Mount Street in another hansom. When I entered the kitchen, my step much lighter than when I’d gone out, Tess flung herself at me, sobbing.

“There now.” I patted her as she clung. “I’ll not leave you, Tess.”

“Never.” Tess hugged me more tightly then pulled herself away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t do without you, Mrs. Holloway, and that’s the truth of it.”

“I’m going nowhere for now.” I gave her shoulders a squeeze. “One day you’ll do so fine without me, you’ll be happy to see the back of me.”

“Not blooming likely,” Tess muttered.

I told her to return to preparing the evening meal while I went upstairs, changed into my gray work frock, and moved back to the kitchen to tie on my apron.

Tess had made a start on some capons in white sauce, an easy enough meal to prepare without help. The carrots were cut in a neat dice, for which I praised her.

“Elsie peeled them.” Tess could be generous about sharing approval. “She’s getting to be a dab hand.”

“Thank you, Elsie,” I called out to her, and Elsie ducked her head, pleased.

I moved to the larder, surprised how happy I was to see it again. I’d arranged the shelves to my convenience, and knew exactly where to put my hands on ingredients I’d need to make anything I wished.

I filled a basket with fragrant greens and the last of the lemons and returned to the kitchen.

“I’ll do a salad. A bit of lemon will go into the dressing, and the rest will do for a lemon tart. The fruit is not pretty enough to display in a bowl but will make good eating. Shriveled, but still sweet.”