May was late taking up Mrs Freeman’s breakfast and she had rung for it twice, which earned her a reprimand from the mistress and another from Cook. It was not until she had swept out and dusted all the rooms that it occurred to her that she had had no breakfast herself, but lunch was more watery soup and dry bread. Supper was bread and cheese again and that night May was too hungry and weary even to cry.

Over the next weeks she slowly came to terms with the work and developed a routine that enabled her to get most of it done on time, but she was always tired. Her meagre diet did not vary and her hip bones and ribs began to stick out sharply under her shift. When she caught sight of herself as she dusted the big looking glass in the drawing room she was shocked to see how hollow her cheeks were and how sunken her eyes. One morning she was carrying in Mr Freeman’s breakfast tray when she was suddenly seized by a fit of dizziness. She staggered forward and managed to set the tray down on the table and then her legs gave way under her and she collapsed onto a chair.

Mr Freeman looked up from his newspaper with a start and May felt a strong arm round her shoulders in support.

‘May? What’s wrong? Are you ill?’

May forced herself to sit up. ‘No, no sir. I’m sorry, really I am. I just came over dizzy. I’ll be all right in a moment.’

‘Look at me!’

May timidly raised her eyes. She had been taught never to make direct eye contact with her superiors.

‘Are you getting enough to eat? No, foolish question. It’s obvious you are not. Here, drink this.’

A cup was held to her lips and she took a sip. It was milk, fresh and sweet. She swallowed eagerly and drained the cup.

‘Now eat this.’

A piece of buttered toast was put into her hands. Nothing had ever tasted so good, but even as she chewed it she was thinking fearfully of the consequences. She was eating her master’s breakfast. She would pay for it when Mrs Wilkins found out.

When she had finished the toast she glanced anxiously up at Mr Freeman. He was frowning.

‘What have you had to eat this morning?’

‘Tea, sir, and a bit of bread.’

‘And last night for supper?’

‘Bread, sir, and some cheese.’

‘And for your dinner?’

‘Soup and bread, sir.’

‘And is this your usual diet?’

‘Yes, sir. Please, sir, don’t say anything to Mrs Wilkins.

It’s very kind of you to ask, but I’m not complaining, really!’