The next day was Sunday. Mrs. Bywater had once again invited a slew of guests for tea, including, it turned out, Miss Townsend. Mrs. Bywater sent word down with Mrs. Redfern that I was to create a fine meal to serve twelve.

Mrs. Redfern delivered the news with apology and stood by while I ranted.

“She has no idea at all what it takes to produce such a feast.” I snatched a copper pot from the rack and slammed it to the stove. “It is Sunday. The markets are closed. If she had told me yesterday, I could have spent the afternoon shopping for what I need.”

“The tea was a last-minute idea,” Mrs. Redfern said. Her hands rested quietly on her abdomen, but her ever-present keys clinked. “The mistress wishes to introduce Miss Townsend to her friends, and also to her friends’ sons, hoping for Miss Townsend’s opinion on the young men, and whether they will suit for Lady Cynthia.”

“Oh, good heavens,” I snapped. “I thought she’d left off all that.”

“Mrs. Bywater wishes to consult Miss Townsend before she resumes her matchmaking schemes. Lady Cynthia will not be joining them, in any case.”

Indeed, no. Lady Cynthia would put on a frock and go out and do charitable work today, to which Mrs. Bywater had readily agreed. Mr. Thanos had answered my note, again via James, that he would be pleased to escort her.

I banged down another pot. “Even so, she must realize she will drive Lady Cynthia mad, or at least goad her to take some foolish step.”

“That’s not for us to say.” Mrs. Redfern sent me a superior look, but I knew she had plenty of opinions on the subject. I’d heard her tell them to Mr. Davis when she thought no one could hear.

Mrs. Redfern left me and Tess to get on with things. I was studying my notebook, trying to decide what I could toss together with the ingredients I had on hand, when Lady Cynthia came down to the kitchen to inform me she was going. She’d dressed herself in a slim blue walking dress and a matching jacket trimmed with dark fur. A black hat tip-tilted forward on her head, its brim tastefully small.

“Very fetching,” I said in approval. “The blue brings out your eyes.”

“Impossible to walk in this dratted skirt.” Cynthia kicked, her foot traveling about eight inches before the tight front of the gown arrested it. I saw that she’d donned her man’s boots beneath. “I tore the veil from the hat. Could see nothing but spots.”

“It is lovely, all the same,” I said, speaking the truth.

“Yes, well, I’m off to view the foundlings. Mr. Thanos will join me there. I will tell you all, later.”

“There might be little to tell,” I said. “Abductors would be mad to try to coerce the children away in the dining hall, under the matrons’ sharp eyes.”