‘Look after each other,’ Kate said, smiling as she closed the door after them. She did not hold out much hope that they would bring in the hordes of hungry people, but even a few would be a start.

She moved swiftly to the door that led to the stairs and opened it. ‘Mr Spears, we need the other table and benches. Right away, if you please.’ She was answered by a muffled grunt and she returned to the kitchen to help Jenny with the soup.

When Kate arrived home late that afternoon, after a moderately successful lunchtime service, she was met in the hallway by her mother.

Arabella wrinkled her nose. ‘Kate, you smell of onions and you look like a skivvy. For heaven’s sake go upstairs, take a bath and change out of those stained clothes.’

‘Why? What’s the fuss about, Mama?’

‘I am not fussing, and don’t take that tone with me, my girl. As a matter of fact we have a guest for dinner tonight and I want you to make a good impression.’

‘Who’s coming?’

‘The new curate from All Saints’ church. He’s the son of a baronet and very well thought of.’

‘You’re matchmaking, Mama.’

‘Don’t say it like that, Kate. Your papa and I are trying to make sure that you don’t end up an old maid. There, I’ve said it before, but I fear that’s the way you’re heading.’

‘There’s no shame in being an unmarried woman, Mama. Miss Nightingale is unmarried and is very well respected.’

‘She has done something in the world, Kate. You are a judge’s daughter with a good education and you are quite presentable. Don’t allow a foolish romance to cloud your judgement. We are back in England now and you have a duty to respect the wishes of your parents. Now, please go upstairs and change. I’ve instructed the maids to fill a bath with hot water.’

Kate could see that it was useless to argue. Life was easier if she humoured her mother and obeyed her father, or at least made it appear that she was compliant with all his dictates. It was one evening out of her life; she would be nice to the curate, and maybe he could send some of his poorer parishioners to her soup kitchen.

Bathed, scented and wearing her smartest dinner dress, Kate made her way to the drawing room.

Sir Bartholomew was standing with his back to the fire, chatting apparently amicably with a tall, thin young man. Arabella was seated primly on the sofa, clutching a glass of sherry.

‘Kate come and meet Mr Haroldson, our new curate from All Saints’ church.’ Sir Bartholomew beamed at her, although Kate knew by his fixed smile that she was expected to behave with the utmost propriety.

‘How do you do, Mr Haroldson?’ she said dutifully, holding out her hand.