1
Late on a rainy night in May 1884, Daniel McAdam paid me a visit.
The kitchen was dark and thankfully quiet, the only sound the quiet pattering of light rain on the high window and a sputtering of candle wax. I’d turned out all the gas sconces, as the mistress of the house was inclined to be fussy about the expense, and had lit a single candle. Under this warm glow, I sharpened my knives and made my notes on the meals of the day.
Mrs.Bywater, the aforementioned mistress, had been rather tiresome about a fish dish she’d claimed tasted off, though the family and guests had eagerly downed it. I’d used fresh coriander leaves, which apparently some people believe have the taste of soap. Mrs.Bywater appeared to be one.
She’d lectured me for some time about ingredients and had insisted I take her over the larder and show her how I stored my herbs and vegetables.
I’d been weary after this session and grateful for my assistant, Tess, who carried on with the work while Mrs.Bywater distracted me. I liked to keep to an exact routine in order to finish all our tasks on time, and Mrs.Bywater’s interference put me behind.
I was also grateful that Daniel, the ostensible man of all work and, I suppose, my beau, had chosen tonight to visit. I hoped I could vent my frustration to him, but one look at his face when he sat down in the circle of my candlelight stilled my words of vexation.
“What is it?” I asked.
Daniel tried to beam his disarming smile. He’d pulled off his cap when he’d stepped inside, revealing tousled dark hair in need of a trim. His blue eyes warmed me even through my sudden concern.
“Are my thoughts so plain?” Daniel made the question sound like a jest.
“Only when you are truly worried about something. Tell me what it is at once.”
I thunked a plate in front of him of leftover stew filled with chunks of beef and roasted vegetables, with a soft bun for sopping up the juices. The fish dish was entirely gone, in spite of Mrs.Bywater’s objections to the taste, as the others in the household had made short work of it. That was fine, because Daniel preferred fish when it was covered with batter and wrapped in newspaper, served alongside a load of crispy chips.
Daniel, being Daniel, did not answer me until he’d taken a mouthful of the savory stew, followed by a bite of bread.
“Oh, Kat.” He heaved a long sigh. “That is heaven.”
“Never mind the flattery.” I poured tea for both of us, adding sugar and a bit of cream to the cups. “What has upset you?”
Instead of explaining, the wretched man gazed around the kitchen, taking in the dresser with its crockery and the large black stove crouching like a beast against the wall. I’d grown fond of that stove, though it was temperamental and needed coaxing some days. Copper pots hung above it, gleaming in the faint light. Behind me stood another dresser filled with various cooking implements, including empty produce crates I’d have the strong footmen tote back to the merchants I’d obtain orders from.
My scrubbed but scarred kitchen table, where Tess and I chopped vegetables, kneaded bread, and rolled out pastry dough, had become another friend, a place to relax and enjoy a meal in the evening. Every night I reposed here to contemplate the day gone by and plan for the one to come.
Tomorrow was Thursday, my favorite day of the week. I had the entire day out, from morning until evening, to enjoy with my beloved daughter, Grace. I’d hoped to enjoy it with Daniel as well.
He shattered that hope by stating, “I will miss this.”
My heart sank. “Do not say you are being sent to the ends of the earth again to do things for your unreasonably demanding boss. Where is it this time? Scotland? Ireland? Somewhere on the Continent where people are rising against their rulers instead of staying home and minding their own business?”
“Some rulers are fairly terrible people and should be risen against,” Daniel said in a reasonable tone. “You’d be the first to lead the charge, I think, striding out with your rolling pin aloft.”
I was not in the mood for his humor. “Do not be ridiculous, and tell me where you are going.”
“Belgrave Square.”
I stared at him. I’d expected him to name a far-flung outpost of the empire, not a nearby district of London.
“This is not such a great distance.” I made myself lift my teacup without it trembling. “From Mount Street it is perhaps a quarter of an hour walk, if you do not stop to chat with friends or look into shop windows in Piccadilly.”
“It is not distance that will take me away, but time.” Daniel laid down his spoon. “I will be moving in to the home of one Viscount Peyton, who leases a house on the south side of the square. I am to be his secretary—a dull-witted but efficient young man trying to earn my living.”
“While you discover what he is up to?” Daniel was often sent to nose around in other people’s affairs.
“Which might be nothing at all. Viscount Peyton spends his days in a wheeled chair, attended by a young man who is strong enough to carry him about when necessary. His previous secretary has vanished, and I am to replace him.”
“Vanished.” My heart thumped, and I set down my teacup with a decided click. “So Mr.Monaghan will send you in to see if you vanish as well?”
Daniel had the audacity to grin. “He might not have been done away with and buried in the cellar, like in a tale in a sensational magazine. He might simply have become impatient with the post and departed. The previous secretary was the son of an aristocrat and possibly didn’t enjoy being ordered about like a footman.”
