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kitchens. At that moment, an indignant bellow erupted from the house. Loveday started as Verdelet, spitting, flew through the kitchen door, followed by a frail, aged man, who was in turn pursued by a stout, red-faced woman who stopped in the doorway, brandishing a broom.
    “That’s Kettleburn, the cook,” Dillian explained. The woman spoke in angry tones, but Loveday couldn’t understand the broad dialect.
    “She’s saying that the cat’s an egg thief,” Dillian translated, disconcerting Loveday by her apparent mind-reading ability, “and that Samson’s an evil old goat who puts his hands where he oughtn’t.”
    Loveday was startled into laughter, and relaxed. The events of the past few days had left their mark on her; she wasn’t ordinarily so tense.
    “Samson is Mrs. Snugglebutt’s husband,” Dillian continued, suddenly seeming quite content to talk. “He looks frail, but he accomplishes a lot. He oversees the stables, and tends the gardens, and pesters his wife, and torments the maids.” She paused, as if to give Loveday a chance to reprimand her, but Loveday was determined to do no such thing. It seemed to her that Dillian received criticism enough.
    Dillian continued cheerfully. “Isolda says that Mrs. Snugglebutt does a thriving business in spells and charms, while Samson occupies himself with impractical fantasies about the servant girls.  Here’s the original part of the castle. The rest was added on at a later date.”
    Loveday gazed upon the structure with awe. This section did indeed date back to the fifteenth century, if not earlier, and she felt a brief pang of sympathy for the aged lord who had created such a magnificent setting for his unfaithful lady. The gray stone tower stood starkly silhouetted against the sky.
    “I’ve seen the tower lady here,” Dillian said suddenly, again demonstrating her uncanny affinity with Loveday’s thoughts. “She jumped, you know. So did Geraldine.”
    The last governess, Loveday thought, with sudden unease.
    “Yes,” agreed Dillian. “Don’t ever try to go up there, Loveday. Promise me! No matter who wants you to.”
    Loveday was surprised by Dillian’s sudden vehemence. “I thought the staircase was ruined,” she remarked.
    The girl’s fingers closed tightly on her arm. “Promise!”
    “Of course, if it’s that important to you.”
    Dillian’s grip loosened. “You should see it at night,” the girl murmured, “with the moon behind the tower.” Loveday could well imagine the desolation of such a scene.
    “Isolda has persuaded you to try and be a mellowing influence on me, has she not?” Dillian inquired abruptly. “There is no need to trouble yourself. I’d as lief not be a pattern-card of respectability.”
    “I daresay I should not know how to go about turning you into one,” Loveday replied carefully. “Isolda seems to consider that you conduct yourself in a somewhat improper fashion.”
    “And you are a model of propriety? Your conduct is reputed to be little better than my own.”
    Loveday marveled at the speed of gossip. And that the inhabitants of the castle should be so interested in her pranks.  “My misbehavior does not excuse yours.  Moreover, our situations are quite different. Isolda was not in the best of moods, and I did not care to tell her that her hopes were doomed to disappointment. She would have been quite out of charity with the both of us.”
    “I tax her patience greatly,” Dillian remarked.
    “It’s hardly to be wondered at, when you seem to run counter to her at every opportunity.”
    “I have other things with which to occupy myself,” Dillian retorted cryptically. “And I don’t why Isolda should encourage you to waste your time on me when everyone knows that I’m incorrigible.”
    Loveday studied her. “Do you hold me in such dislike?”
    Dillian looked startled. “Of course not. I simply do not wish to become a bread and butter miss.”
    “Such would not become you,” Loveday agreed