“Yes.” She turned around and walked to Liza, not daring to look back at him, since, unlike Sam, she was quite familiar with social protocol and fairly certain that leaping into a man’s arms and kissing him until he had no choice but to take you on the spot was not acceptable behavior in a train depot.

“Mrs. Webster,” Liza said, straightening from her position leaning against a wall and shooing her companion away with a look.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Alva said, forcing herself to concentrate and not to notice Liza’s knowing and extremely impertinent smirk. “Did everything go well in my absence?”

“Oh, it’s been fine, ma’am, just fine,” Liza said, taking Alva’s bag and leading her to a waiting carriage. “Only Maisie’s gone and ended it with Fred—the butcher’s boy, ma’am, you remember—and now the butcher’s been mysteriously out of the best cuts for the last two days, which means Cook’s in a right stew about what she’s supposed to cook tonight, and shouting at Maisie to go make it right with Fred, even if she is casting her eye on the new farmhand out at Foster’s farm, because Cook says what’s a farmhand got to do with supper? Which there ain’t much of an answer to, it has to be said, except that he has a lot less to do with it than a butcher’s boy does, only Maisie said love was more important than food, and Cook screamed and threw a pan at her, which missed but upset the cat, and then the cat tore up onto the counter and knocked off the sauce Cook’d just finished, and so they were all in a right fuss when I left, ma’am.”

Liza took a deep breath, and Alva eyed her with respect. She’d only counted three stops in the entire monologue, which might be a new record.

“Will Cook be able to provide supper tonight?”

“Don’t see why not, ma’am,” Liza said, her eyes wide. “It’s nothing unusual.”

Alva tilted her head to one side and tried, very hard, not to laugh. “Good,” she said. “I hope the cat has recovered from her shock.”

“She was faking, if you ask me,” Liza said darkly. “Lickin’ her paws when I left, ma’am, lickin’ the sauce right off her paws.”

The carriage pulled up in front of the house, and as Alva descended she noticed another carriage stopped across the street. Sighing to herself, she straightened her hat, smoothed her skirts, and hoped the caller wasn’t for her.

The door opened as they approached, revealing Maisie, the scullery maid of recent fame, looking very nervous. “Ma’am,” she whispered, looking fearfully at Liza. “There’s a man inside who wants to see you.”