Well I knew. I gave the young woman another shilling to thank her and went on my way. “Ta ever so much,” she called after me in a whisper.

I lifted my skirts from whatever filth might be coating the alley and hurried toward the light. It was a lantern, hanging from yet another public house, swinging back and forth in the wind that struck me as I emerged from the narrow walk.

Queen Street led to King, as the barmaid had said, and not long later, I was in Oxford Street, hailing a hansom. I could ill spare the money for a cab, but I was finished with the roads of London and the brutes I might encounter in them.

*   *   *

I went almost eagerly to my warm kitchen that night, and even more eagerly to my bed at the top of the house. I took a long time to drop off, while I studied the ceiling and tried to convince myself I was safe.

The next morning everything was as usual, and I enjoyed slipping back into my routine. Elsie took her half day at noon, hurrying over the dishes so she could depart as soon as they were done.

Tess and I started the pies and bread for the evening meal after Elsie had gone, keeping ourselves warm near the stove with hot cups of tea. Mr. Davis came stalking down the stairs and into the kitchen not long later.

“A vicar’s come to call,” he said. “And he’s asking to speak to you, Mrs. Holloway.”

“A vicar?” I repeated, though the next instant I realized he must mean Mr. Fielding.

“He said he’d come to you below stairs, with the mistress’s permission, but Mrs. Bywater says you may speak to him in the small sitting room on the ground floor.” Mr. Davis dropped his imperious tones and took on a look of disbelief. “The mistress has been gotten ’round by that Miss Townsend, no mistake. She’d never have let you have a visitor, not even a vicar, otherwise.”

As he spoke I busily peeled off my apron then hurried to the scullery and dashed water over my floury hands.

“Off you go,” Tess said, her interest acute. “You’ll tell me all about it, won’t ya?” she added in a whisper.

Mr. Davis led me upstairs to the smaller of two parlors on the ground floor, where Mrs. Bywater received visitors neither important nor intimate—more prominent guests were taken to the grander sitting room on the first floor. This was a polite room, with restrained furniture in a salmon color, the paneled walls painted white, fitting for a guest of lesser status.

Mrs. Bywater herself sat on a small sofa, looking utterly charmed by Mr. Fielding, who inhabited the wing chair next to it.

Mr. Fielding rose smoothly to his feet as Mr. Davis opened the door and announced, “Mrs. Holloway.”