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I definitely would request that my agency find Jane a much better place. She was skilled in the kitchen and shouldn’t be held back. If I hadn’t already had Tess, I’d have tried to persuade Mrs. Bywater to hire her.

As it was, I knew Mrs. Bywater would never agree to the expense of a second kitchen assistant, even if Lord Rankin was paying the bills. She’d have to write to Lord Rankin and explain, and I knew she feared annoying the titled man she was related to only through the marriage of her niece.

James gave us a cheery wave and started the cart down the street. Tess also waved her good-byes, the two maids returning them downheartedly.

As on the journey here, there was no room for me on the cart, so I chose to walk home. I bade the two maids farewell, vowing to look in on them from time to time. Jane nodded, but Mary burst into tears again as I turned away.

Once I crossed Oxford Street, I exhaled in relief.

I saw James in his cart turn ahead of me, and I slowed my steps.

I was in no hurry to unload the goods and then prepare the Bywaters a thrown-together supper to make up for their missed Easter feast. I was tired and out of sorts on this thoroughly rotten day.

James had pulled the cart to a halt in front of the house by the time I reached Mount Street, and Tess was scrambling to the ground. Without a word, James descended and started lugging the heaviest crates down into the kitchen. The lad was a blessing.

Mr. Davis waited for us below stairs, anxiously supervising James as he toted in the wine.

“I hope it hasn’t been shaken up too much,” Mr. Davis said worriedly. “Will ruin it, that will.”

“We have been very careful,” I told him as I hung up my coat and hat. “Do count and make certain they are all there, Mr. Davis, except for the two I used for sauces. The butler to Lord Babcock tried to abscond with some.”

Mr. Davis’s mouth pinched. “Armitage, you mean. He’s a nasty piece of work. Has nicked things in great houses the length and breadth of England. I will count with double care.” Mr. Davis waved me off. “Thank you for bringing the wine back, though in what state, remains to be seen.”

“Not at all, Mr. Davis.”

I left him brooding over the bottles like a doting father and turned to assist Tess and Elsie, who’d left her scullery, to put everything away.

Tess told Elsie what that had gone on in the Babcock household, Elsie listening with rounded eyes.

Mr. Davis and Mrs. Redfern, as well as the footmen, paused to listen, but I silently got on with preparing supper for the family.

I reflected on it all as I worked, shutting out the voices around me.

I could not make the pieces of the puzzle fit, and that annoyed me.

The poisoning and the stabbing, regardless of what I’d speculated earlier, may or may not be connected.

The antipathy for Lady Babcock, the question of Lord Alfred’s legitimacy, Lord Babcock withdrawing to his study, and Mrs. Morgan’s warnings might all be smoke.

However, as Inspector McGregor constantly pointed out to me, it was the business of the police to investigate and decide if they had enough evidence to charge someone with murder. In truth, none of this had anything to do with me.

And yet, I couldn’t help wanting to protect the people in that house: Lady Babcock, who was out of her depth; Jane and Mary, who were innocent young women; Mrs. Morgan, who wasn’t a bad sort; Lady Margaret in her intense grief.

Even the brusque Mrs. Seabrook had my concern.

She certainly could have committed both crimes, though I wasn’t sure what she would gain by it.

I did consider that Mrs. Morgan herself could have done the murder.

She could have dosed her own tea with an amount of morphine that wouldn’t kill her in order to feign an illness, waited until the family and guests had gone into dinner, nipped down the backstairs, stabbed Lord Alfred, and scuttled again to her bed.

As in the case with Mrs. Seabrook, why Mrs. Morgan would do such a thing, I had no idea, although she’d proved to be as protective of Lady Babcock as Lady Babcock’s aunt professed to be.

Of course, this idea would suppose Mrs. Morgan knew about morphine and how much to use on herself.

Plus, she’d have to be swift, something her age and bulk might prohibit.

In addition, she’d have to know that Lord Albert would linger in the hall after the others went into the dining room.

He’d claimed an aching stomach—which could mean he too had been given something to make him hesitate instead of hurrying in with the others to eat a large meal.

I continued to speculate as we finished unpacking the foodstuffs and preparing the meal for the Bywaters, but I drew no definite conclusions. Mrs. Bywater did indeed visit the larder after supper, and she seemed disappointed she couldn’t find fault with how I’d stored the leftovers.

Once she went upstairs again, we and the rest of the staff consumed our own suppers, and Tess, Elsie, and I cleaned up the subsequent mess.

I sent Tess to bed before long, as she was exhausted after our two extraordinary days. I remained in the kitchen after last of the staff had gone up, sitting at my familiar table and making notes in my book.

My hopes were that Daniel would come. I’d put aside some cold ham and a leftover bit of tart for him, but I had no idea if he’d have time to visit me. He might be assisting Inspector McGregor to determine whether Desmond had murdered his cousin Alfred.

I continued to write well past midnight, making scribbles in the margins when my thoughts wouldn’t connect.

I realized after a while that I’d drawn a flower several times over. I halted my hand in surprise and stared down at it.

Of course, I thought, but I followed that with the words, Make certain.

I closed the notebook and rose, quietly moving down the passageway to the housekeeper’s parlor. I had a key to it and unlocked the door.

The shelf in the corner held my three cookbooks. I flipped through one of them until I found its section on herbs and spices. I read the page I sought, my heart speeding.

I replaced the book on the shelf and returned to the kitchen in time to hear Daniel’s knock on the back door. I quickly opened it, pulling him inside and embracing him with relief.

Daniel no longer wore an indigent person’s garb but his own coat, homespun trousers, and thick cotton shirt. He also smelled nice, of the outdoors and coal smoke, nothing like the miasma that had clung to him with his disguise.

He returned my hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “That glad to see me, are you?”

I made myself release him. “I am always pleased to see you, Daniel, though I know you’ve only come for your Easter meal.” Before he could answer my teasing, I drew him all the way inside and shut the door against the night.

“Let us sit and have tea,” I said, towing him to the table. “And I will tell you who killed Lord Alfred.”