Miss Townsend gave me a conceding nod. “I do that myself, choosing colors or deciding on the composition depending on what I have to hand. Inspiration needs to be allowed to strike. You are an artist yourself, Mrs. Holloway.”

“Not at all,” I said in surprise. “I can’t draw a stroke.”

“I’ve eaten your meals, you know. What you do is high art, nothing less than what any celebrated chef can concoct.”

My face warmed, though I was secretly pleased. “Nonsense. It’s nothing but a bit of plain cooking.”

Miss Townsend laughed at me, and then we journeyed the rest of the way in silence.

Dunstan let me off around the corner from the Foundling Hospital, near the lane that led to the back door. The landau rumbled quietly off, and I went down the stairs and admitted myself to the kitchens.

The halls were as busy as they had been on my last visit. I pressed my basket to my chest to keep from bashing it into the hurrying maids.

I spied Bessie, though she did not see me. She was currently shrieking at another maid, who apparently had made her drop a pile of laundry.

“It’s ruined, innit? If I have to wash it all over again, you’re doing it, don’t no matter what.”

The other maid dashed away as Bessie began gathering up the linens. I stooped to help.

“Leave it,” Bessie growled.

I got a good look at her face as she snarled at me and saw that her eyes were red-lined and puffy. She’d been weeping.

“What is it, Bessie?” I asked as gently as I could.

For my pains, I received a belligerent glare. “I said, leave off.” Bessie snatched up the sheets, balling them in her arms, and scuttled down the corridor.

I watched her go, wondering very much. A maid who could go anywhere in the building would be well-placed to assist anyone wanting to spirit children out of the Hospital.

Mrs. Compton stood at her stove when I reached the kitchen, her face red and sweating as she alternately stirred a pot of potatoes and added pinches of salt to a pan of frying meat.

I rescued a box of mushrooms a kitchen maid had nearly dumped on the floor and carried it to Mrs. Compton. “A scattering of these with the pork will flavor it nicely.”

“Oh, Mrs. Holloway.” Mrs. Compton pressed a greasy hand to her bosom. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

“Elsie told me you were upset.” I did not want to mention the missing children here in the midst of the chaos.