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D aniel McAdam, his tall son James beside him, grinned cheerfully down at me, never minding other carts and wagons who now had to pull around him.

My gladness in seeing Daniel unnerved me a bit.

We’d grown more tender with each other of late, but I was a cook, while he worked in some capacity for the police when he was not driving a delivery vehicle.

Ours was not the romance of legends, and my heart had no business leaping high every time I beheld the man.

I strove to sound offhand. “I have not far to go now, so it is no matter. Thank you for the offer, of course.”

Daniel’s sunny smile barely dimmed. “Where are you heading on this fine Saturday afternoon? The markets are in the other direction.”

I adjusted the heavy basket on my arm. “Mrs. Bywater ordered me to cook Easter dinner at the home of her friend in Portman Square. Not an hour ago, this was.”

At last, I’d managed to astonish him. Daniel handed the reins to James, who was equally astonished, and scrambled down.

“Portman Square?” Daniel asked me sharply.

I eyed him in trepidation. “Please do not tell me you are stalking a horrible criminal in Portman Square and that I, Tess, and the guests will be in grave danger there.”

“No, no.” Daniel said this too quickly for my taste. “I am surprised, is all. What has happened?”

I hardly had time to stand in the street and chat, but this was Daniel. He soon had the entire story out of me.

“Inconsiderate of her,” Daniel agreed when I finished. “Mrs. Bywater is the sort of woman who doesn’t quite believe other people are human, isn’t she? They exist as characters in her personal drama, with no lives of their own when they have left the stage.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that, but Daniel’s description was apt. “In any case, I must be off. Tess went ahead with the supplies, and I do not want the kitchen staff browbeating her. Who knows if they were told she was coming with me?”

“Tess is a resilient young woman,” Daniel reminded me. “You have given her much confidence. I agree with Mrs. Bywater in one respect—you will do a fine job of it, even rushed in a strange kitchen with unfamiliar staff.”

“Very kind,” I said with irritation. “I’d rather not have the bother, thank you very much.”

Instead of being contrite, Daniel continued cheerily, “One day, you’ll be able to put your feet up for good. I promise.”

My heart fluttered, and I admonished it. Did Daniel mean he’d accomplish this scenario on my behalf? Or only that it was inevitable?

“That day seems very far away,” I replied grumpily. “I’ll likely be too old and doddering to walk at all, by that time.”

“Poor Kat.” I read sympathy in Daniel, even as he laughed at me. “Be resolute until Monday, and then I will give you and Grace a grand afternoon out.”

“I apologize for my temper,” I said in sudden remorse. “I was caught by surprise by my mistress’s impulsiveness. This means I cannot promise you a good meal if you stop to chat Sunday night. Though I’d be happy to see you, in any case.”

As we stood on the street, Daniel did not try to press my hand, or heaven forbid, kiss me, but he leaned close and spoke in a low voice. “I will be happy to see you at any time.”

My heart fluttered again, but I made myself restrict our farewell to a friendly nod. “I look forward to it. Now, I must get on. Keep well, James,” I called up to the young man.

“And you, Mrs. H.,” James said good-naturedly. “I’ll look after this one.” He pointed a gloved finger at his father.

Daniel’s smile turned wry. He tipped his hat to me, scrambled up to the driver’s seat, and saluted me once more before he took the reins and chirruped to the horse.

I hid my glumness as the delivery van ambled away, unhappy I had to say goodbye to the two who’d become very close to me and face a daunting task.

I firmed my resolve and trudged the final block to Portman Square.

What awaited me was worse than I’d feared.

The house, which stood on the north side of the square, two doors down from Upper Berkley Street, did have a fairly well-appointed kitchen. A stove of a later model than mine gleamed on a bed of tiles, its stovepipe fixed into an old chimney behind it.

Bright copper pots and cooking utensils dangled from racks, the kitchen table was wide and ample, and a carved Welsh dresser loaded with crockery stood against a wall. The flagstone floor had been recently scrubbed, and the whitewashed walls brought a refreshing lightness to the room.

The staff, on the other hand, were next to hopeless. Tess stood among them, minus her hat and coat, scowling her most fearsome scowl. A plump, middle-aged woman in a brown frock, whom I took to be the housekeeper, stood near the dresser regarding Tess, me, and the crates we’d brought in vexation.

“What am I meant to do with this lot?” she demanded.

I remained as unruffled as I could while I hung up my coat and hat and unrolled my apron.

“We will sort out the food and add it to what has already been prepared,” I said as calmly as I could.

“It is not ideal, but I’m certain that between us, we can fix a fine meal for the upstairs, with a nice one for ourselves afterward. ”

One of the two kitchen maids perked up at my last utterance, but the second one studied me with intense dislike.

“Cook’s already got in her own supplies,” the housekeeper said sourly. “Mrs. Morgan won’t be wanting other things cluttering up her kitchen.”

From what I could see, Mrs. Morgan hadn’t brought much into her kitchen at all. One pot simmered on the stove, emitting a scent of old beef, but no other cooking scents pervaded the air. It was apparent that when the cook had fallen ill, the other staff hadn’t stepped in to take up the slack.

“I am sorry to hear she is doing poorly,” I stated. “Mrs. Morgan must be wretched, not being able to bustle about her own kitchen on this important occasion.”

“Aye, she’s in a bad way.” The housekeeper nodded, though she did not appear to have much sympathy for her colleague. “Had stomachache all day Thursday, soldiered through part of the day yesterday, and couldn’t heave herself from the bed this morning.”

“Poor soul,” I said. “I hope she is soon better. I am Mrs. Holloway, and your mistress has brought me in to finish the meal. This is Tess Parsons, my assistant. She is quite skilled and will help me but stay out of your way.”

I ceased speaking, waiting for them to introduce themselves, but all three simply stared at me, the housekeeper and one maid glowering, the younger kitchen maid regarding me in open curiosity.

I turned to the more interested maid, who had dark hair and eyes and a rather square, plain face. “What is your name, my dear?”

“I’m Mary,” she answered readily. “This is Jane.” She jabbed a thumb at the maid beside her. Jane had an oval face, lighter brown hair, and blue eyes. Her churlish expression marred the prettiness she otherwise possessed.

“I can speak for meself,” Jane snapped. “How d’ya do, I’m sure.”

“Keep a civil tongue, Jane,” the housekeeper admonished. “I’m Mrs. Seabrook, if we must make introductions as though we are at tea. I’ll not take orders from you, Mrs. Cook.”

“I’d not expect you to.” I strove to keep my tone even. “If you will show me the larder, I can make a start.”

“I’ve better things to do than take you around the downstairs,” Mrs. Seabrook said sharply.

“Jane will do that. Is that wine in them crates?” She moved to one whose lid Tess had loosened and peeked into it.

“You’d better save back a few bottles for the footmen, or you’ll get nothing accomplished.

Give them to Armitage. He’s butler.” Mrs. Seabrook frowned as Tess and I stared at her.

“Come on then, Mrs. Cook. There’s much to do. ”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, Mary watching her go with uncertainty.

I made myself turn to the table. I’d immerse myself in cooking— with all the wine I’d brought—and we’d leave this house tomorrow afternoon. There was no need for me to befriend a bad-tempered housekeeper.

“Now then, Jane,” I said briskly. “Let us look at the larder.”

“I don’t take orders from ya, neither,” Jane informed me. “I work for Mrs. Morgan. Old Bat Seabrook don’t frighten me, and neither do you.”

Tess darted forward. “Look ’ere, you?—”

I put myself between the two young women. “I’m certain I can find my way on my own. Carry on with what you were doing.” Which didn’t seem to be much of anything, from the lack of foodstuffs on the table.

I sent Tess a soothing glance and departed the kitchen, turning left in the passageway to where the larder was most likely to be. Most servants’ areas in this part of London were laid out in a similar fashion, and I quickly found the linen cupboard, laundry room, and larder.

Pattering footsteps sounded behind me, and Mary caught up to me on the larder’s threshold.

“Don’t mind Jane,” she said apologetically. “She’s all sourness at the best of times. What can I show you, Mrs. Holloway?”

“Thank you, Mary.” I softened my tone, grateful for one friendly voice. “I need to see all the produce you have stocked, plus we’ll need plenty of cream and the best fresh herbs. Where are her spice boxes?”

“I don’t know about any of that.” Mary stood in the middle of the larder, regarding the jumble of crates and the shelves as though she’d never seen them before.

“Mrs. Morgan don’t let me in here much. There’s some flour, there.

” She pointed to a large sack that had leaked to the stones, staining them white.

“We’ll need that for the bread, won’t we? ”

I was already rooting around the shelves, uncovering bags of such dried foodstuffs as rice and macaroni, but no produce at all.

A wooden box marked Cheese held nothing but moldy bits that needed to be discarded.

I did discover a few pots of spices, but they must have been ancient, because they barely had any odor.

I was grateful I’d remembered to bring some of my own.