He glared at her suspiciously. ‘You don’t mean it. You’re making fun of me.’

‘No, on my honour I meant every word I said. Please come.’

He grunted and shuffled off in the direction of the stairs. Kate was about to follow him when the street door opened and Perry strolled in. Spears shot upstairs as if the devil himself were after him.

‘Who was that strange fellow?’ Perry took off his top hat and laid it on the table together with his cane. He peeled off his gloves, taking in his surroundings with a critical gaze.

‘That was the caretaker,’ Kate said hastily. ‘But what are you doing here, Perry? Is this a social call? Because if you’re hungry we aren’t nearly ready to serve up luncheon.’

‘I’m sure the soup will be delicious, but this is purely a social call. I wanted to see where you had set up your charity.’

Kate encompassed the premises with a wave of her hands. ‘This is where we serve the food. The kitchen is through that door. Take a look, by all means.’

She followed him into the back room where Jenny had begun peeling a mountain of vegetables.

‘You seem well organised, but have you had many customers?’ Perry retrieved a potato that had rolled onto the floor and handed it back to Jenny.

‘Not really,’ Kate admitted reluctantly. ‘That’s why I stuck the notice in the window.’ She turned her head at the now familiar sound of Annie’s cane tap-tapping on the bare floorboards. ‘We’re in the kitchen, Annie.’

‘I hope she’s brought her concertina,’ Jenny said in a whisper. ‘I love a bit of music.’

‘I never go anywhere without it.’ Annie stood in the doorway, a smile hovering on her lips. ‘I thought if I stood outside and played some lively tunes it might attract attention to your soup kitchen.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ Kate said enthusiastically. ‘This is Annie Blythe, Perry. She’s a brilliant musician.’

‘Perry?’ Annie turned to him as if she sensed his presence.

‘I’m an old friend of Kate’s,’ Perry said hastily. ‘Peregrine Harte, but my friends call me Perry.’

Annie moved a step closer to him. ‘You work with dusty old books and papers. Are you a lawyer?’

He stared at her in amazement. ‘How did you know that?’

‘You speak like a lawyer. I can tell by the tone of your voice, and the smell of old books clings to your clothes. I suppose you could be a law writer or a clerk, but your voice gives you away. You are used to making yourself heard across a courtroom.’

‘Amazing,’ Perry said softly. ‘You should work for the police, Annie. You would make a good detective.’