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ready to serve dinner, Caleb,” Mrs. Quigley said, interrupting them.
    “That’s right, I’m the footman now as well.” Caleb Little rolled up his sleeves and crossed the kitchen toward the washbasin. “Double duty since they sacked all the rest of the servants.” Caleb’s accent was more rough, more American, than the proper Quigleys or the German cook.
    “And lucky to have the job, so I better not be hearing a complaint.” Mrs. Quigley raised a finger.
    “Of course not, ma’am,” Caleb answered, leaning over to washhis hands and splash his face. Clara’s eyes lingered as he rubbed the back of his tanned neck with a wet rag.
    “You’re going to be with Caleb at dinner tonight, Clara,” Mr. Quigley explained. “Watch how he serves, and you’ll fill in for him on occasion.”
    Clara peeled her eyes from Caleb, turning toward the valet. “I’ve never served dinner for a family like the Shippens.”
    “It’s not too hard, Miss Bell.” Caleb winked as he turned back to face her, toweling off his wet face. “As long as you keep Miss Peggy’s wineglass full, you should have nothing to worry about.”
    “It is hard, and she should worry about it,” Mrs. Quigley snapped at Caleb. “And you could stand to worry a bit more too. Now start getting these dishes out on the table.”
    “Sorry, Auntie.” Caleb nodded his head respectfully toward Mrs. Quigley before flashing Clara a mischievous grin. With that, the housekeeper handed her nephew the tray of wineglasses and pushed him through the door, ordering Clara to follow behind.

    “D INNER IS ready to be served,” Mr. Quigley announced to the kitchen. His voice set off a fresh round of errands among the staff.
    “The family is seated—go, go!” Mrs. Quigley kept Clara and Caleb running to and from the kitchen to the dining room, carrying tray after tray of hot food. Hannah had the Shippens starting with trays of meat: miniature game hens, a rabbit pie, and fresh sturgeon. Accompanying the meat were heaping bowls of rosemary potatoes, carrots from the garden, steamed fiddleheads, spinach, and roasted beets.
    “My aunt acts like we are serving the royal family, but really you just have to make sure you don’t spill and you don’t trip. Aslong as you manage that, they’ll never even notice you’re in the room. All they’re looking at is the food and one another’s clothing,” Caleb whispered to Clara at the threshold of the dining room, but Clara wasn’t listening to the footman beside her. Her eyes were feasting on the scene before her, a tableau unlike the family meals she’d known at the Hartleys. The Shippens sat around a table of walnut, with ornately carved chairs showing the ornamental flair once again popular in Europe. The table was spread with a damask tablecloth, every inch festooned with the freshly polished silver and china plates wreathed in a floral pattern. “Ready?” Caleb paused beside her, weighed down by the plates of meat he carried.
    “Caleb, I can’t. Let me watch you this first time,” Clara pleaded, placing her bowl of potatoes down on the buffet in the hallway. “I’ll drop something, or do something incorrectly, I just know it.”
    “What’s the matter, Clara Bell? ’Fraid of a few Shippens just because they wear fancy clothes and pump powder into their hair?” Caleb smiled, his hazel eyes lit up with teasing.
    “Let me see how you do it first. Please?” Clara pleaded.
    “All right, just this once, then you’re helping me serve.” Caleb winked. “Here I go.” He straightened his posture, shrugging off the casual affability he’d displayed just moments ago in the servants’ quarters and marching into the dining room with sudden and impressive poise. Clara lurked in the hallway outside the dining room, watching the family from a concealed corner where they didn’t suspect her presence. She spotted her mistress first, the brightest spot in the dark, wood-paneled room. The candlelight danced playfully