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news. As head butler, Arthur fancied himself the head of the household in the absence of Toby Silver.
    “ Of course, Miss,” she heard herself saying and, drinking in the approving nod, she pulled away from him and turned to the wardrobe once more.
            Avery sat himself before his mirror and watched Kate as she busied herself once more. As she moved, she talked aloud to him, her pink lips opening and closing at such a rate he felt dizzy by the speed. Her bright blue eyes were moist and the colour of her slender cheekbones seemed pinker against the ivory of her skin. After a few moments, she stopped abruptly and turned to catch him staring at her. A hot flush spread across his cheeks and he grinned sheepishly.
    “ If you want to admire perfection Miss, you must only commission my portrait and you can look upon it as oft as you like.”
            Avery spun around to see Kate seated demurely upon the blanket box at the foot of his bed, her knees drawn to one side and her head turned to look over her shoulder; the pose similar to a portrait that hung in the hall. He laughed out loud. She was unlike anyone he had ever been in the company of, either staff or otherwise. She always seemed to say and do whatever was on her mind and it is this, as much as her beauty that charmed him.
    “ And if THAT is all it takes to turn your foul mood around, I recommend you start work on it as soon as you can,” she added, scooping up the few used pieces of crockery and, placing them on her tray, she whisked out of the room. Avery shook his head, smiling to himself, as he tracked the sound of his maid drifting from the corridor humming tunelessly. His face was still set in a smile but Kate had taken his cheer with him and he wasn’t ready to let it go. He stood silently for a moment, his breathing the only sound in the seemingly otherwise still house. Kate had disappeared down the back stairs and he felt an impulse to follow her and, abruptly, he hurried out of his room. He stood for a moment at the head of the stairs and listened to ensure she had reached the bottom before he followed. As he reached the foot of the bottom flight, he found the door to the kitchen ajar and he could sense, rather than see, the hustle and bustle of the staff as they went about their morning duties. He listened and watched as he edged closer to the crack in the door, gradually bringing the scene beyond into full focus.
    “ Hush, girl,” admonished the stern voice of Mrs. Druce, the cook. “I won’t hear talk like that in my kitchen. If you’ll only listen to yourself,” she continued out of earshot, grumbling about how service had been in her day. The kitchen was a rush to Avery’s head, filled with steam from the adjoining laundry room and from the stove where Mrs. Druce was orchestrating breakfast. Two pans were providing the percussion, lids rattling, one with boiling eggs and one with milk. A kettle was whistling merrily and Mrs. Druce appeared to be whirling, in a dance from the kitchen table to the stove, pulling out a kipper from the oven steamer before lifting the lid of saucepan. The fragile steam pirouetted against Mrs. Druce’s white cap before vanishing into the dense fog that gathered above everyone’s heads; there, it mingled with the warm, soapy scents and the smell of food. The scullery maid, Jane, scuttled around and looked to Avery as though she were busy but Mrs. Druce seemed to notice that she was without purpose.
    “ For heaven’s sake, child,” she barked. “What on earth are you doing? You’re wearing out my tiles!”
            Jane stopped abruptly and dropped her hands to her side. Her bottom lip trembled as she weighed up if she should speak out or keep quiet. The moment’s indecision was just enough for Mrs. Druce to draw fresh breath and begin berating Jane for all that had gone wrong in the house that morning. Behind the large frame of a pious Mrs. Druce, her symphony of breakfast was reaching