Miss Townsend had appeared with her sketchbook this morning and started in, as unobtrusive as ever. Once I’d sent up luncheon to Mrs. Bywater and the friends she’d invited to take it with her, I went to Miss Townsend and told her what Elsie had related to me.

“Perhaps you could speak to Mrs. Compton,” I suggested. “I do not know if I will be able to leave the house today.”

Miss Townsend glanced about the quiet kitchen, at Tess across the hall taking her meal, at my work table scrubbed clean in anticipation of preparing the evening meal.

She closed her sketchbook. “I will tell Mrs. Bywater I am stealing you for a time,” she said. “To show me the markets. I might paint those too.”

I considered, hardly daring to hope Mrs. Bywater would let me go so easily. “I do need fresh herbs,” I said. “Though the best will have already gone.”

“Excellent. Meet me outside in twenty minutes.”

When I reached the street in my coat and hat, basket over my arm, I gained an understanding of why Daniel had been happy to work with Miss Townsend during their mission in Paris. Miss Townsend arrived at the scullery steps exactly twenty minutes to the second in a closed landau driven by a coachman with a feather in his hat.

“I borrow him from my brother from time to time,” Miss Townsend said as I climbed into the opulent vehicle. “Dunstan is happy to drive me about, and he’s nicely discreet.”

“I should not be riding inside,” I said in hesitation, even as the coach jerked forward.

“Please do not distress yourself.” The corners of Miss Townsend’s mouth creased. “I am a young lady alone—I need a chaperone.”

This landau was even finer than the vehicles Lord Rankin had left for Cynthia’s family’s use. I sank into a plush seat, carpeting soft under my plain boots. Golden wood inlaid with darker flowers and leaves twined along the walls, which had been polished to a sheen.

Miss Townsend looked amused at my discomfort. I decided to enjoy the treat—the landau kept the wind out, and a coal box heated our feet.

“Will you try to speak to the director?” I asked as we rolled along. “While I talk to the cook?”

“Not a bit of it.” Miss Townsend studied the passing shops of Oxford Street. “Dunstan will let you off at the Foundling Hospital, and I will proceed to the markets to do my sketching. What sort of herbs do you need?”

While I appreciated Miss Townsend’s help, I drew the line at her shopping for produce for me. That took a knack.

“I did not make a list,” I explained. “At this time of day, I browse the market and decide what I will cook depending on what I can find that is fresh and appealing. One never knows what special thing a vendor is holding back.”