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Mrs. Redfern stared at me in astonishment. I rarely snarled at her or any of the staff, but at the moment, lack of a butler in the dining room was the least of my troubles.

“If Mr. Bywater is upset, he can have all of us dismissed.” Mrs. Redfern’s crisp tones returned. “Mrs. Bywater’s rants can be brushed aside, butMr. Bywater has a bit more authority. When I see Mr. Davis, I will shake him hard.”

I half expected Mr. Davis to glide smoothly into the kitchen on her last words, inquiring in his mild tones if she would truly do such a thing.

The doorway remained empty, however, Mr. Davis noticeably absent.

“I apologize, Mrs. Redfern,” I made myself say. A household in which the staff was at one another’s throats was a miserable one, I well knew. “I have had a trying day, and having to cook a large meal on top of that has made me short-tempered. I will open and decant the wine before it’s sent up. You can pour the wine and supervise the footmen—you have the necessary dignity for the dining room.”

“I should hope so.” Mrs. Redfern’s color rose as she strove to check her anger. “Very well, then. Let us pray that Mr. Davis set out the wine for the evening, so we don’t blunder and serve the wrong sort.”

“I do know something about wine,” I said. “What goes with what dish, I mean. I used a bit of what he serves in my cooking.”

I wiped off my hands and moved past her on the way to the butler’s pantry. I tried to ignore Elsie and Tess, standing together in the scullery doorway, eyeing Mrs. Redfern and me in consternation.

Mrs. Redfern had the keys to unlock the butler’s pantry. I did as well, in case I needed a certain wine when Mr. Davis wasn’t available, but I let her lead. She opened the pantry and lit the sconce beside the door, its faint yellowish glow soft in the dark room.

Thankfully, Mr. Davis had set out two bottles of Beaujolais and one Viognier on the large table near the silver chest.

I had become skilled at opening bottles and decanting wine. The butler in one house I’d worked for had had the unfortunate tendency to drink half the bottles before they reached the table, so I’d taken over the task of preparing the wine and placing it on the dining room sideboard. I’d let that butler choose the wines, however. He’d had excellent taste and thorough knowledge of viticulture—probably learned by imbibing every sort of wine imaginable.

The white would be served directly from the bottle, but reds gained in flavor from interacting with the air. Decanting the red wines prevented any sediment in the bottom of the bottle from ending up in an unlucky diner’s glass.

Under Mrs. Redfern’s watchful gaze, I uncorked the Beaujolais and lifted the decanter. Holding the decanter at a slight angle, I let the bloodred wine trickle into it from the bottle. When I spied grit in the bottle’s neck, I quickly upended it, halting the flow.

I stoppered the decanter, placed it and the unopened bottle of white wine onto a tray, and presented the whole thing to Mrs. Redfern.

“I can carry it up for you, if you like,” I offered, trying to be civil.

“No, thank you. I will manage.” Mrs. Redfern all but snatched the tray from me and marched away, her footsteps loud on the board stairs. She navigated the door at the top without hazard, letting it bang shut behind her.

I smothered a sigh and returned the Beaujolais bottles to the table. I started to exit the room, then halted and surveyed it by the steady light of the sconce.

What clues I thought I’d find to Mr. Davis’s whereabouts, I didn’t know. I saw nothing at all to indicate where he’d gone. His coat and hat were missing, but of course he’d have taken those, as the January day was freezing.

He’d left the corkscrew I’d used near the decanter and bottles, as though he’d meant to return soon and open them. Two more bottles rested on a small table near the door, but I did not know what he’d intended those for.

Nothing in the room indicated that Mr. Davis hadn’t planned to be in the house in time for supper.

I left the butler’s pantry, locking the door behind me.

In the kitchen once more, I continued clearing up the mess from cooking supper, and began preparations for the next morning. A kitchen never truly rested.

In addition to the water I kept simmering on the stove, I also had a pot of stock on the warming burner. I could quickly add this to soups, use a portion to make gravy, or to boil it down into demi-glace—a rich thickener for sauces.

I moved to this pot to give it a stir, and remained there, the spoon going around and around while I stared at the wall.

“Everything all right, Mrs. Holloway?”

I jumped. Tess stood behind me, a rag in her hand and concern in her eyes. Her freckled face was smudged with flour and grease, her hair straggling from under her cap. Tess had worked very hard while I’d been out. I ought to be praising her, not ignoring her.

“Yes, I am fine.” I laid down the spoon. “You did well today, Tess. You will soon be ready to cook meals all on your own.”

Instead of flushing in pleasure, Tess’s eyes rounded, and her face lost color. “Oh, Lord, Mrs. H. Ye ain’t thinking of leaving, are ye? I can’t do this without you, and that’s a fact. Ye can’t go.Please.”

Her voice rose through this speech, ending on a near wail.

“Whatever are you talking about?” I asked in bewilderment. “I have no intention of going. What has gotten into your head?”