‘I’ll do owt for you, Mrs Bainwright.’

Betsy smiled. At fifteen, the lad was feeling his manhood coming on and she’d often caught him looking at her, his eyes fixed firmly on her breasts. She’d cuffed his ear and told him to learn respect for women, and not ogle them in such a way. But he was a nice lad really, and was always willing.

With Cyril on his way, Betsy breathed a sigh of relief, though she still had her fingers crossed that Janet and her sister would soon be on their way here. I’ve been an idiot. Mr Bighead Barnard is reet, of course. I should have made sure we had extra staff. One of the dailies could have come in and done what Millie is doing, then Millie could have been on hand for the guests, and to do any other requests that came up.

Realizing this, Betsy questioned if Mr Barnard wasn’t right in saying she wasn’t up to the job. And yet she’d put her heart into seeing that tonight went well – at least she’d thought she had.

A ringing bell caught her attention. Looking up, she felt trepidation gripping her. It came from Mr Roford’s rooms.

Since his marriage to Mags, Mr Roford had reorganized so much. And one of the changes was that he had wanted his own rooms. Mr Witherbrook had accommodated this by moving to the top rooms, from the suite he used to occupy with his wife. A nice arrangement for him as he had had his privacy, though Betsy doubted the wisdom of him climbing so many stairs to get to his rooms.

But to her, it was strange that man and wife didn’t share the same space. Oh, it was well gossiped about that Mr Roford visited Mags most nights and often only crept back to his own rooms in the early hours, so she felt happy for Mags on that score. But other gossip worried her, as this arrangement gave Mr Roford so much freedom to come and go as he pleased; and it was said that he slipped out many a late night – no doubt to one of the gambling houses or . . . but no, surely he wouldn’t have any need to go to ladies of ill repute?

Betsy had been in a quandary as to whether to mention anything to Mags about Mr Roford’s supposed escapades, but had decided against it. She was sure it was just gossip, and she wouldn’t risk hurting Mags on account of hearsay.

Taking a deep breath, she mounted the stairs. Her hand shook as she knocked on the door, then entered at Mr Roford’s bidding.

‘Ah, if it isn’t Betsy. Well, well, I wondered how long it would be before you sought me out.’

‘I – I ain’t, sir. A member of staff hasn’t turned up, and so I’ve no choice but to take on the role of seeing to your own and the guests’ needs.’