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thought it again as Jack drove the cart up the tradesmen’s track. It was a track hidden from the gravelled driveway by yew hedges because, presumably, the sight of it offended Lady Brampton, much as the sight of Evie’s rear would have done had she not backed out of her presence. The gravelled drive, visible through gaps in the hedge, ran alongside the huge lawn, in the centre of which grew a cedar tree. ‘It was planted by the Italian architect and you’d have thought the cuckolded husband would chop it to the ground and use it for kindling. I would have done,’ she murmured to Jack. He laughed quietly.
    At the end of the track they arrived at the stable yard where lads darted from here to there paying them no mind, and then they clopped through to the cobbled kitchen yard at the rear of the big house. Simon was waiting to heave the tin trunk from the cart, which he did quickly, so that Jack, his cap pulled well down, could turn Old Saul around and head off again before anyone saw him and recognised him as the Forbes agitator. Jack leaned down and whispered, ‘If you hear anything that can be helpful to the union, tell Simon.’ Then he straightened and called loudly, ‘Goodbye, Evie Anston.’
    Simon nodded towards the steps that ran down to a door she had thought was a cellar when she came for her interview. ‘You know the way, bonny lass. You’ve made up with Jack, I see.’ Evie nodded, too edgy to speak. She was here at last, and her courage failed her. It seemed her feet wouldn’t move.
    To the right through the archway the stable lads were still darting, criss-crossing. One had a great sack of hay on his back, another a bridle over his shoulder which clinked over the sound of his hobnails as he strode forward. Behind her, garages edged the whole of the kitchen yard and cast shadows which just caught the tail end of Jack’s cart as it passed into the stable yard.
    Simon jerked his head towards the steps again, the strain of carrying the trunk clear on his face. ‘This isn’t quite the feather that you might think. Can we get into your new place of work so I can put it down?’ He had put on a posh voice, and grinned.
    She cast a last look at Jack as he disappeared along the track and followed Simon down the stone steps, opening the door for him, stepping back as he struggled into the corridor with the trunk, dropping it as soon as he could. It should be returned to Miss Manton within the week, her mother had insisted. ‘Borrowers mustn’t become keepers,’ she had said. Simon had promised he would see to it. Then it was Evie’s turn to step from the fresh air into the darkness.
    There were banks of bells on the left, with room names printed beneath. The floor was of stone slabs. It was spotless. There was some sort of a cross-stitch text on the wall. Evie didn’t read texts, they were either biblical or improving, and a load of rubbish when the nobs were up there and she was down here.
    The first person she saw was a girl of her own age, who wore a dark blue uniform and white pinafore and a neat little white cap. ‘Hello Simon,’ the girl called as she lounged in the kitchen doorway with a broom in her hand. ‘She’s not from here, she’s Lancashire-born,’ Simon whispered, then louder, ‘Lil, this is Evie . . . Anston.’ The hesitation had been slight and the girl noticed nothing. Simon added, ‘Evie’s come as assistant cook.’
    Lil laughed. ‘That’s what she thinks, is it? Her Ladyship has decided to economise, taxes being what they are after the Liberals got in.’ Lil’s mouth was grim, her eyebrows arched in mock pity.
    Evie studied her closely. ‘What do you mean?’
    Lil was turning back, beckoning her into the kitchen where Evie had had her first interview just a few days ago. ‘Come on, Mrs Moore is expecting you. Hurry up. She said to keep an eye out. See