Miss Townsend, I was coming to understand, was talented at getting people to do whatever she wished, all without issuing a harsh command. She’d told me to go home, and I’d done it. Even Cynthia and Bobby had obeyed her without question. I had to admire her skill.

“She is a kind lady, is Miss Townsend,” I said. “She may sit in my kitchen and sketch to her heart’s content.”

“That’s how she knew about the row,” Tess said. “When she came in this morning to do her art, she asked about you, and I told her. She had me spilling all of it. She was most put out. Upstairs she went, and next thing I know, Mrs. Bywater is telling me we have to do a special tea, and she’ll have it with Miss Townsend. I’m afraid they et your walnut tart, Mrs. H.”

“I made it for eating,” I said, my heart light. “No harm done.”

Miss Townsend had worked magic, wrapping Mrs. Bywater around her finger. She was welcome to my walnut tart for the good she’d done me.

Why had she? I wondered again. I wanted to know more about Miss Townsend.

“I’m pleased Mrs. Bywater sent for you to come home,” Mr. Davis said to me. “I’d miss our chats over the newspaper. As well as your cooking, of course.”

Fine words from Mr. Davis. He took up his bottle and marched away, coattails swinging.

“Bet he’s sweet on you,” Tess said with a grin.

I remembered what our previous housekeeper had hinted about Mr. Davis and doubted it. But I was happy he considered me a friend.

Tess and I finished the meal—I added dried dill to the chicken to give it a bit heartier flavor. We sent it up and were rewarded with plates scraped clean when they came back down, as well as a message from Mr. Bywater, via Mr. Davis, that the meal had been excellent.

I wondered, as we finished up, whether Mrs. Bywater had dared tell her husband she’d tried to sack me.

I sent Tess to bed early, taking over the preparations for the morrow. She’d worked very hard today, entirely my fault for sailing out in a bad temper, and I could help her as she’d aided me.

*   *   *

The next morning was a busy one, but every morning is so for a cook in a large house. I shopped at the markets and prepared the meals, testing out a new recipe for a soubise—an onion sauce. I served it with pork for luncheon, when Mr. Bywater returned from working half a day in the City, and again the praise came downstairs with Mr. Davis.