“Queenie says she’s awful sorry, your ladyship,” Emily said, “but she don’t have much in the way of cake at the moment. She said she couldn’t whip cakes out of thin air.” She blushed crimson as she repeated the words.

I looked at the tray that contained cucumber sandwiches, a few chocolate biscuits, some of which were broken, and a rather sad little slice of fruit cake.

This was the part of being lady of the manor that I hated. I wasn’t very good at being stern and terrifying. “Would you ask Queenie to come here right away, Emily,” I said, trying to keep my face calm and composed.

Belinda shot me an amused look. “Quite a good cook, you said?”

After a few minutes we heard thumping in the corridor outside and Queenie appeared, red-faced as if she’d been running. She adjusted her cap which had fallen over one ear, brushed down a dirty apron and said, “Wotcher, miss. We thought you’d gone off gallivanting in London or I’d have had something for your tea.”

“Queenie, what happened to yesterday’s sponge cake?” I asked. “I seem to remember there was a big piece left.”

Queenie had the grace to blush. “Oh well, seeing as how you’d gone off for a while, we finished it.”

“You mean you finished it, I suspect.”

She gave an embarrassed little smirk.

I took a deep breath. “Queenie, this isn’t good enough,” I said. “A house like this should always have a good supply of homemade biscuits, not those odds and ends of chocolate fingers from the village shop. And there should always be some sort of cake in case visitors call unexpectedly. I’m afraid you are becoming rather lazy. Now that you only have one person to cook for apart from the staff let’s see a little more effort in the cake department, shall we?”

“Right you are, miss,” she said.

“Oh, and, Queenie, Miss Warburton-Stoke will be staying to dinner. I do hope you can rustle up something more appealing than a stodge of some sort.”

“I’ve already made a meat pie,” she said.

“That will do splendidly. Your pastry is very good,” I said. “Perhaps with a cauliflower au gratin?”

She didn’t look too pleased. “Well, miss, you see that pie was supposed to be for our dinner. I’m not sure there’s enough to go around.”

“Then you’ll have to be creative and come up with something else for the staff, won’t you?”

“I don’t know what,” she said, aggressively now. “I ain’t some ruddy magician, you know. I can’t wave me wand and rustle meals out of thin air. We don’t keep a lot of meat in the house when you’re not here.”

“Then it will have to be bread and dripping, won’t it?” I said, giving her a sweet smile. “You’ll think of something.”