"That's as may be. Fond as I was of Miss Anthea, I never thought the day'd come I'd be taking orders from an actress."

"What makes you think she's an actress?"

"There's precious little Lady Philpott don't tell her abigail."

"I suspected the servants knew all."

"Only the upper servants," she said with a sniff. "The under servants are better off unaware of such

scandalous doings."

"But it's your Miss Anthea who's the actress, Hibby. By the way, you'll be glad to hear she's happy in her marriage."

Looking as much surprised as glad, the housekeeper said sceptically, "And how would you be knowing

that, Master Miles?"

"Miss Wingate told me her parents are devoted to each other. They live most respectably together despite the notoriety of the theatrical world, from which they have shielded Miss Wingate. She is not

upon the stage." He hesitated. Wardrobe mistress sounded too closely connected with the theatre. "She's been employed as a seamstress."

"Then why did she turn up bold as brass in your carriage, sir, without never a chaperon, and you known

to have a soft spot for the acting profession?"

"She came by the public coach, and I met her walking from Riddlebourne. You must know she left her box there. You'd not have had me leave her to struggle on afoot and arrive late?"

"You had ever a kind heart, Master Miles."

"And she had no chaperon because her mama works for her living and they could not afford a maid to

accompany her. Come, Hibby, I know you too have a kind heart. Give the poor girl the benefit of the

doubt."

"Sewing's a respectable trade," Mrs Hibbert allowed dubiously. "All the same, it don't fit a female to take charge of a place like the Manor."

"So she'll need your help until she learns how to go about it."

The housekeeper sighed. "You've not lost a mite of your cozening ways. Well, we'll see."

"The alternative is for Mrs Chidwell to remain in charge for the next six months, unless you believe Lady

Philpott will summon up the courage to defy her."

Her response was an eloquent snort.

Satisfied that he had done his best to smooth Miss Wingate's path, Miles finished up his cider and was

about to leave when there came a timid tapping at the door.

"Come in," called Mrs Hibbert.

Miss Wingate came in. Her anxious gaze fixed on the housekeeper, she did not notice Miles. "Mrs

Hibbert?" she said. "Maud said you wished to speak to me?"

"No, no, no!" Miles seized her by the arm and bustled her out. "All wrong. Mrs Hibbert," he said over his shoulder, "Miss Wingate will see you in the library in five minutes."

As he closed the door behind them, he saw the housekeeper shake her head, but she was smiling.

"What do you mean, all wrong?" Miss Wingate wrested her arm from his grip and came to a standstill.

"The footman said that was Mrs Hibbert's room, and my maid said she wanted to see me."

"My dear girl, you are Miss Wingate of Addlescombe. If your housekeeper requests a word with you, you send for her at your convenience. You don't rush to her room."

"You were there."

"I've known Mrs Hibbert since I was a child. When you are equally familiar with her, you may drop in now and then for a friendly chat."

"Oh." Her lips trembling, Miss Wingate started back along the passage. "I've made a bad start, haven't I?

She'll guess I've never dealt with servants before."

"I have a feeling she already suspected as much. Have you no servants at all in York?"

"Just Tessa, who's been with Mama since before she was married. Otherwise only a cleaning woman

who comes in to do the heavy work."

"That's more than I have had as often as not. But now I seem to have inherited my godfather's valet."

"And I have an abigail all to myself," she said in awe. "At least, she's really a housemaid, but she means

to learn to be a proper lady's maid."

"I'm sure she's delighted to have the chance." He pushed open the door from the servants' wing. In the

brighter light of the front hall, he saw that she had changed into a droopy brown silk gown with modest strips of narrow lace at neck and cuffs. "Your Sunday best?"

"Yes, it's the dress I wear for church. I thought I'd best put it on for dinner, though I know it's not nearly

grand enough."

"Fustian! For a family dinner in the country it's ... Good gad, girl, your hair is soaking wet!"

She put a self-conscious hand to her head, neatly coiled and pinned up but far too dark and sleek. "I

washed it before Maud told me about Mrs Hibbert," she said defensively.

"Mrs Hibbert can wait. You'll take a galloping consumption, drop dead, and leave me to face your relatives on my own. Go up at once and dry it by the fire."

"No." She raised her chin in defiance. "I'm perfectly warm."

"But my dear girl..."

"I wish you will stop calling me your dear girl! If you cannot recall my surname, Nerissa will do, since we

are almost related and must reside in the same house for several months."

"My dear Nerissa..."

She frowned at him, but she was biting back a laugh.

"I insist upon your drying your hair."

"Unless you prefer to summon Mr Harwood to adjudicate our disagreement," she said with a green glint

in her grey eyes, "pray tell me which way is the library."

"Devil take it, woman, you try my patience. This way."

He accompanied her, poked up the dying fire and added a log, and made her sit in one of the wing-chairs close to the hearth. She complied without demur, but adamantly refused his offer to stay while she spoke to the housekeeper.

"Mrs Hibbert will never have any respect for me if I use you as a shield," she pointed out, then spoiled the effect by calling after him, "Mr Courtenay! Should I invite her to sit down?"

"Miles."

"Miles, then. Please! She'll be here in a moment."

He wasn't going to tell her he'd never been present when a housekeeper was interviewed by the lady of the house. "If her business seems likely to take more than a minute or two," he compromised. "After all, she's been with the family for decades, and you're a baronet's granddaughter, not a duchess."

She nodded, her extraordinary eyes wide, tensely straight in her chair, looking very slight and vulnerable. Miles felt an unaccustomed surge of protectiveness.

He quickly suppressed the unsettling sensation. All the same, when he met Mrs Hibbert just outside the door, he commanded in a low voice, "Be kind!"

As he reached the hall, Miss Sophie was retreating into the drawing room. Glancing back, she caught sight of him. An expression of alarm crossed her round, pink face and she scuttled out of sight. Miles frowned. Of all Sir Barnabas's relatives, he had the fondest memories of the vague, timid old lady. Also she had been the only one at the reading of the Will to make a gesture of friendship towards himself and Nerissa.

An aborted gesture, he recalled, as Mrs Chidwell had promptly removed her. What could Euphemia have told Sophie to make her afraid of him?