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enough to realise that her wages must be husbanded carefully against times when she might be without a job and particularly against the time when she was too old to work.
    A knock at the door presaged the entrance of Nellie Bates with a tray.
    ‘Nellie! What are you doing here?’
    ‘Temp’rary ’elp, Miss Meg,’ said Nellie proudly. ‘To ’elp Mrs Barlow. Just days, mind. Me mam won’t let me stay o’ nights. On account of ’is lordship’s reputation. Real wicked, they say ’e is!’
    A snort from Mrs Barlow as Nellie left the room suggested that her help was not entirely appreciated. She softened it by saying, ‘She means well, I’ll say that for her. Not but what some folks ‘ud do a sight betterto worry ’bout their own beams afore they goes looking for motes in other folks’ eyes.’
    Meg thought things were definitely taking a turn for the better. If Marc…Lord Rutherford was hiring help, then perhaps he was not such a shocking lickpenny as Cousin Samuel, who had given new layers of meaning to the term, ‘of a saving disposition’. That would mean better times for everyone on the estate.
    Agnes bustled over with the tray, placing it on her lap. It held a plate of bread and butter and the bowl from the top of the veilleuse. Suspiciously Meg raised the lid. Ugh! More broth! Well, at least this time she had been provided with a spoon rather than that horrid syphon. She could not recall how many times she had carried the thing to Cousin Samuel after he had bought it. He had agonised over the purchase price and consequently had been determined to get his money’s worth out of it, so he had used it every time he had so much as a head cold.
    Meg remembered the time she had suggested that, at four pence, he could afford to keep it for special occasions. The old man had practically had a seizure, moaning that she was a wanton, extravagant hussy, just like her mother, and would bring him to ruin with her spendthrift ways!
    And now she had used it! She had a very clear memory of Marc…his lordship, giving it to her…she was very much afraid that she had sworn at him. Blushing once more as she spooned up the broth, Meg realised that she would have to see his lordship again, if only to thank him for his care of her and to apologise for trespassing on his hospitality. She hoped he would not think she was angling for a handout.
     
    In the event, Meg did not see his lordship for several days. Her voiced intent of getting up to pack and remove herself to Burvale House to take up her duties there, was dealt with summarily, if vicariously, by Marcus. Having been informed by Mrs Barlow of the patient’s plan, he had charged her with the message that if Miss Fellowes was such a pea goose, he would personally strip her, put her back to bed and tie her to it if necessary, until the doctor gave her permission to get up.
    While deprecating the blunt nature of Lord Ruthford’s graphic threat, Mrs Barlow relayed it faithfully and was bound to acknowledge that it had its effect. Nothing more was heard from Miss Fellowes about getting up for another five days, by which time the doctor was perfectly satisfied with her progress.
    Inwardly fuming over his lordship’s high-handed attitude, Meg had to admit that she didn’t really want to get up all that much. Certainly not enough to risk calling his lordship’s bluff. If indeed he was bluffing, which she thought extremely doubtful. So she remained in bed, happily reading, for five days.
     
    Having been informed by Ellerbeck that in his opinion the patient was recovered enough to leave her bed, Marcus sat waiting at the desk in the library to inform Miss Fellowes of her future. He had it all sorted out. She was most definitely not going to take up that position at Burvale House. It would be quite ineligible for a young lady, which she undoubtedly was.
    First off, she could go to stay with Diana. He would send her to London post. That would get her out of this neighbourhood,