“I don’t see what’s so hard about that.” Darcy patted my shoulder as he walked past me. “Tell her you already have a satisfactory maid and she’s welcome to stay on in the kitchen or find employment elsewhere.”

  “But that’s the trouble,” I said. “Who would want to employ her? I know she’s not a bad cook, but she does have more than her fair share of mishaps.”

  “We can send her back to my aunt,” Darcy said. “They actually liked her.”

  “I suppose so.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and reached for my teacup. “I’m just not sure I want to get rid of her. She saved my life once, you know.”

  “I know. Never mind. You’ll figure it out. You are mistress of a great house now. You have to step into the role.”

  I took a gulp of tea. “I suppose so,” I repeated.

  “I’m off, then,” he said.

  “May one ask where?” With Darcy it could be anywhere—France, South America…He didn’t officially work for the British government, but he did a lot of undercover, hush-hush and dangerous sort of stuff, which he enjoyed and I worried about.

  “To see a man about a dog,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. So annoying.

  “Darcy! That’s what you always say!” I glared at him.

  “Oh, all right. To see a man about a dog in London.”

  “London?”

  He gave me a cheeky smile. “Would you rather if I said I was visiting my mistress in Mayfair?”

  I smiled too. “I know for a fact you don’t have a mistress in Mayfair. She’d be too expensive to keep.” I paused, hoping for more. “Is this for your work? Government stuff?”

  “Georgie, you know I can’t tell you that.”

  Alarm bells jangled in my head. “They won’t be sending you anywhere far away, will they? You promised you’d be home for the birth.”

  “I won’t be going far away, I promise.” He bent to give me a peck on the cheek. “Be back for dinner, unless anything comes up.” He paused. “If there is any dinner, that is. The new chef won’t know how anything works and Queenie will have stormed out.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said. “I’m absolutely dreading it.”

  “Just teasing, old thing. I’m sure it will all be fine.”

  Which shows you just how clueless men can be.

  * * *

  I dressed, taking a deep breath before I came out of my bedroom. As I opened the door I heard the patter of tiny feet on the floor. No, not those tiny feet and actually no longer so tiny, as the two puppies came bounding toward me, tongues lolling out, tails wagging madly. I intercepted them before they knocked me over—they were getting quite big but still thought they were adorable balls of fluff.

  “Naughty,” I said. “You know you’re not allowed upstairs!” This was because they chewed anything they could get their mouths on, especially shoes.

  They stared up at me with adoring eyes. “But you know how much we love you, and when we heard you moving around we had to come and greet you,” those eyes seemed to say. As usual I couldn’t be cross for long, and they danced beside me as I made my way down the stairs.

  No appetizing smells greeted me as I entered the dining room. The sideboard was bare. No bacon. No kidneys. No eggs. Nothing. I rang the bell. Phipps, our footman, appeared carrying a toast rack filled with toast.

  “Sorry, my lady,” he said, “but Queenie said she ain’t cook no more. Mrs. Holbrook is boiling you an egg right now, and I’ll bring the coffee up.”

  “Oh dear. Thank you, Phipps.”

  He didn’t return my smile. In fact there was a hostile look in his eyes. “If you don’t mind me speaking my mind, your lady, I think it was downright mean of you.”

  “What? Bringing in a French chef?”

  “No, not that. Of course you needed a proper cook. I meant the way you’re tossing out poor Maisie. I know she’s not wanted to travel with you on account of her sick mother, but that’s not a reason to give her the sack like that when she’s been a good worker.”

  “Give her the sack?” I frowned.

  “That’s right. She’s upstairs right now packing her things and crying her eyes out.”

  “But I never said anything. She seemed quite cheerful when she brought my morning tea.”

  “That was before Queenie came to her and said that you wanted her to be your maid again now so Maisie could clear off. She said the mistress was chucking her out on account of the fact that she wouldn’t travel with the family like a proper lady’s maid.”

  “Queenie’s got a nerve!” I put down the piece of toast I had selected. “I never said anything of the sort and I have no intention of sacking Maisie. I’d better go and find her right away, and have a word with Queenie. She’s become really difficult. Thank you for telling me, Phipps.”

  I hurried up the main staircase and then along the hall and up a second stair that led to the servants’ bedrooms. I climbed this one a little more slowly on account of the extra weight I was carrying. I now had an impressive bump in front. I wasn’t sure which room was Maisie’s, but it was easy enough to find as I could hear the sound of crying coming from it. The door was half open. I tapped and walked in.

  She had a small suitcase open on her bed and was in the process of emptying drawers. I put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump with alarm.

  “Maisie, my dear,” I said. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She looked up at me with tear-stained cheeks. “But Queenie said you didn’t need me anymore. She said I was never going to be a proper lady’s maid if I didn’t go wherever my mistress wanted. She said she’d been all sorts of wicked, foreign places and never complained and now she was taking her old job back.”

  “Queenie had no right to say that,” I said. “She will not be taking your job, Maisie. You do it very well and I’m pleased with you. Besides, I’m not going anywhere with a new baby, so we don’t have to face that problem for quite a while.”

  I saw the hope come into her eyes. “So I don’t have to leave?”

  “No, you don’t. I want you to stay as my personal maid.”

  “Oh, thank you, my lady. I’m ever so grateful.” I thought for a moment she was going to hug me. “I don’t know what my mum would do without the money I give her. She has an awful lot of doctor’s bills.”

  “So that’s settled,” I said. “Dry your eyes and get back to work.”

  “Yes, my lady.” She gave me a damp smile and started putting the clothing back in her chest of drawers.

  I went down the stairs carefully, as my balance wasn’t what it used to be, then through the baize door and down another flight of stone steps to the kitchen. I was greeted by two exuberant puppies, delighted to see me, but no sign of Queenie. Mrs. Holbrook appeared as I stopped the dogs from jumping up and petted them.

  “Oh, my lady. Is everything all right? I don’t know what’s got into Queenie. She was quite bolshie this morning and said she wasn’t your cook anymore.”

  “She’s upset because I have a French chef coming, Mrs. Holbrook, and she’s behaving badly.”

  “Do you want me to have a word with her, my lady?”

  “I’m going to have a word with her myself, Mrs. Holbrook. I’m most disappointed in the way she’s behaving. Do you know where she is?”

  “I haven’t seen her all morning. Can she have left without giving us notice?”

  “Who knows.” I shrugged. “With Queenie anything is possible.”

  “It’s a shame,” she said, “because I think she was doing quite nicely as the cook. Not too many disasters, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do know.” I smiled at her. “Send her to me if you find her.”

  “I will. You go back to your breakfast and I’ll bring up a boiled egg in a jiffy as well as some more toast. I expect that first lot is cold by now.”

  We searched the rooms downstairs, then I went back up. No sign of her in the dining room. I was going to return to my breakfast when another thought occurred to me. I went back upstairs to my bedroom, and there was Queenie, rearranging my clothes in the wardrobe.

  “Queenie, what are you doing?” I demanded.

  “Putting everything back in its proper order, missus,” she said. (You’ll note that she had never learned to call me “my lady.” It was “miss” until I married and now had moved on to “missus.” I was never quite sure whether this was deliberate or she just wasn’t too bright).

  I took a deep breath. “Once and for all, you are not my maid. I have a perfectly good maid called Maisie, and you had absolutely no right to tell her she was sacked. You are lucky I don’t sack you on the spot for your impertinence. But let’s get one thing straight: you can stay on in this household as assistant cook and hopefully learn some skills from a trained chef, which will help you to get a head cook’s job in the future, or you can give me your two weeks’ notice and look for another position.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll be doing,” she muttered. “I’m not having no foreign gentleman telling me what to do. I tried that once and I didn’t like it. And you’ll be sorry when I’m gone.”

  With that she flounced out of my bedroom. Oh dear.

  Chapter 3

  June 30

  Eynsleigh

  I do hate upsets, and I can’t help feeling uneasy about Queenie. Still, she knew that her position was only temporary until we found a trained chef, didn’t she? And she must realize that she is not qualified to cook more than the simplest dishes. It’s stupid, but I shall miss her if she goes. I wonder if she’s bluffing.

  I finished my simple breakfast but found I couldn’t settle to anything as we waited for the arrival of Pierre.

  “Am I doing the right thing, Granddad?” I asked. “It seems to have upset the entire household.”

  “You’re doing what’s expected of you, my love,” he said. “You know Sir Hubert will be back soon, and he told you last time he was here that you should be looking for a good cook and he’d pay. Well, you’ve been taking your time and he’ll be disappointed if you don’t have a proper cook in place.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “I have been putting it off for this very reason. I didn’t want to upset Queenie.”

  “If you ask me, that girl has been a pain in the neck since you first took her on,” he said. “I’d send her back to Darcy’s aunt and good riddance.”

  “I know, Granddad,” I said. “The problem is that she’s been so brave and loyal and not complained when I took her to outlandish places like Transylvania. So I feel sort of responsible for her. But as you say, she did enjoy being with Darcy’s aunt and uncle. Only then I’d have to look for another assistant cook, and I hate hiring servants.”

  “It will all sort itself out, you’ll see.” He smiled. “Mrs. Holbrook will find you a girl if you need one. She’s a good woman, isn’t she?”

  I sensed that my grandfather was sweet on her. He had that wistful smile whenever he spoke of her. “She is. And I hope she will stay on for a while. I know she’s at the normal retirement age.”

  “She likes being useful and needed. I know how she feels. It’s sad when you realize that nobody wants or needs you anymore and all you’re fit for is the scrap heap.”

  I reached out and took his hand. “Granddad, you are very much wanted and needed around here. I value your company.”

  “That’s very nice, ducks,” he said, “but it’s not as if I have anything useful to do, is it?”

  “Then we’ll find you something. Darcy and I have been talking about getting the home farm up and running again. Start with some chickens and maybe a pig or two.”

  This made him chuckle. “As if I know anything about pigs!”

  “You could learn.”

  “What’s that they say about not teaching an old dog new tricks?” But he was still smiling.

  I glanced out the window as I heard a noise in the driveway. But it was only the postman on his bike.

  “I wonder what time Pierre will be arriving,” I said. “He said he’d telephone from the station to be picked up.”

  “Let’s hope it’s before dinner, or we’ll all die of starvation,” Granddad said.

  “Golly, I hope I haven’t made a mistake in hiring him,” I said. “I’ve never actually tasted his cooking.”

  “You haven’t?” He looked up now, frowning. “You got a recommendation from somebody, then?”

  “Not exactly.” I found I was chewing my bottom lip. Something I used to do as a little girl when I was nervous. “I met him in Paris. He was working as a waiter but he told me he was a qualified chef, only he couldn’t find a job in Paris. So I offered him the post with us. I thought anyone who qualified as a chef in Paris had to be better than Queenie.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t get a job for a good reason.”

  “Oh golly. Don’t say that. He is a poet. And he is a passionate communist. Let’s hope he doesn’t make it his mission to poison all the aristocracy.”

  * * *

  Queenie, or somebody, managed to heat up yesterday’s soup for lunch. It was probably too much to wish that we’d have cakes for tea. I took the dogs for a long walk and had just returned when they dashed to the front door, barking madly.

  “Holly! Jolly! Get down! Quiet, you brutes.” I tried to grab them. They were six months old and still very much playful puppies with not a mean bone in their bodies, but they were now quite large and could be alarming to a visitor. Luckily Phipps appeared and opened the door as I held their collars. Outside stood Pierre, red-faced and sweating, holding a large suitcase.

  “Mon dieu,” he said, eyeing the dogs suspiciously. “I thought I would never reach this place.” He said this in French as he came in and deposited the suitcase on the marble floor.

  This was not the time to tell him that the servants’ entrance was on the ground floor at the side of the house.

  “I thought you were going to telephone us to send someone to the station,” I said, also in French.

  “That was my intention,” he said, walking forward as he examined the staircase, the portraits on the walls, and the suit of armor. “But I met a man at the station who said he was driving past your house, so I thought it would save you sending someone to pick me up. Alas, I did not realize that it is such a distance from the gates to the house, and on such a hot day…” He paused to mop his forehead.

  The dogs were now straining to get at him, to cover him with slobbery kisses. But he backed away. “These animals, they are dangerous?”

  “Only to people we don’t like,” I replied. “No, they are still young and very friendly.” I turned to Phipps. “Take the dogs and shut them in the scullery for now, Phipps. This is our new chef, Pierre. I will show him to the kitchen and his quarters.”

  Pierre watched as the dogs were dragged away.

  “Now, if you will follow me,” I said. “I did not ask you how good your English was. You will need to communicate with the other servants.”

  “I am speaking…leetle bit,” he said. “My American friends. They try to learn me.”

  “Then I hope you will work hard to pick it up quickly. I speak French but I don’t think anyone else in the house does.” I indicated his suitcase. “Come along, then. Follow me.”

  He picked up the suitcase and followed as I led him down the hallway.

  “Ees very grand,” he said in English.

  “Yes. Very grand. But your part of the house is this way.” I pushed open the green baize door and went down the stone staircase that led to the kitchens and the servants’ area.

  “This will be your domain,” I said. “The kitchen is here.”

  He looked around. From his expression I couldn’t tell whether he approved or not.

  “Ees big,” he said. Then he frowned. “But old. Not modern.”

  “No. Not very modern. This house was built in fifteen eighty-something.”

  He walked around, running a finger over surfaces like a visiting maiden aunt. I hoped he wasn’t going to be temperamental. He had seemed so pleasant and easygoing in Paris.

  “And your room will be through here.” I left the kitchen, went past Mrs. Holbrook’s little sitting room, and opened the door to a bedroom. It hadn’t been used since the last chef left, as Queenie had kept her bedroom on the top floor. The curtains were drawn and it smelled musty. Pierre regarded it with horror.

  “No, no.” He waved his arms. “This is not possible. I cannot sleep here.” He reverted to French. “It is dark and smelly. I cannot live underground. Only rats and bats like this sort of place.” He turned away. “Now you see why I am a communist. You live in a place of great grandeur, but your servants, they must live in holes below the ground. This is not right.”

  I had to agree with him. It was not the most appealing of rooms. But I wanted to make sure that we did not start off on the wrong foot, with Pierre lording it over the household or expounding his communist ideas to the rest of the staff.

  “Pierre, I hope you remember that I gave you a chance when I offered you this job,” I said, reverting to French. “You wished to be a chef but you could find no chef’s position in Paris and you had to act as a waiter. A humble waiter, Pierre. I am taking a chance on you. I have not even sampled your cooking. Who knows, maybe you are not good as a chef and that was why you could not find work.”

  I saw his face flush with indignation. “I am a very good cook,” he said. “You will see.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I went on. “Here you will not find the work hard. You will be cooking mostly for myself, my husband, and later my godfather, who owns this house. You will be able to try out new dishes and earn a reputation. Make the most of this.”