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The information chilled John into sanity. He drew back his head to look down into her earnest face.

He reacted to the revelation as any decent man would, with pity and outrage. But on a practical level, running a household entailed close communication between the butler, housekeeper, and cook. How the hell was he going to work with someone who was afraid of him?

They proceeded past the kitchen, scullery, butler’s pantry, servants’ hall, domestic offices, and storerooms, and paused at the open door of a small sitting room where Tuppence Higget worked at a writing desk. The housekeeper struggled to her feet, disregarding Reina’s entreaty to remain seated. She was very thin, her neck a fragile stem, her body appearing to tilt off balance from the heavy curve of her stomach.

Tuppence waited patiently as Reina made the introductions and bobbed in a perfunctory curtsey. “Mr. Pembroke.”

John had seen too many women with that bruised and wary gaze. Not only while serving on the police force in Manchester, but also during a childhood spent in domestic service. Then, as now, it had been taken for granted that female servants would be preyed upon.

“Mrs. Higget,” John replied with a respectful nod. Regardless of her marital status, a housekeeper or a cook was always called “Mrs.” as a mark of status. “A pleasure. I would appreciate the benefit of your knowledge as I become familiar with the household.”

Tuppence nodded, looking away from him. She clearly wasn’t thrilled by his addition to the staff.

“I’ll need to review the accounts and staff schedules with you, at your convenience,” John continued.

“Tomorrow morning?” she suggested. “We can meet here in my sitting room, after breakfast.”

“Aye, thank you.”

After an awkward silence, Reina told the housekeeper, “I’ll show Pembroke to the butler’s rooms. He’ll need bedding, soap, and toweling.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

John followed Reina to a bedroom with an attached butler’s office. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that both rooms were clean and dry, the walls painted white. The spacious office was fitted up with shelving, a desk, dressers, and a safe for account books and valuables. It also contained a small private dining table and sideboard for entertaining tradespeople who came to the house on business. In a clever bit of design, the cast-iron fireplace inset in the bedroom had been built back-to-back with the one in the office, sharing the same chimney breast.

“Will this suffice?” Reina asked.

“It’s more than satisfactory, ma’am.” John set down his bag and wandered around the office, illuminated by a row of high windows. Compared to the butler’s and housekeeper’s rooms at Galwad-y-Môr, or his rented room in Manchester, this was pure luxury.

“It smells of new paint,” he remarked in approval.

“I hired a contractor to repair all the servants’ rooms and install modern plumbing.” Reina gestured for him to accompany her. “Come, I’ll introduce you to June.” As she preceded him along the hallway, her animated voice floated in her wake. “You’ll like her, I’m sure. My mother used to say June was full of la alegría de vivir.”

“Is that the same as joie de vivre?” John asked.

“Yes, but it means something a little more passionate, more intense, in Spanish. A happiness that spreads.”

“Are both your parents Spanish?”

“No, only Mamaíta. She danced with a touring company from the Teatro del Principe in Madrid. She met my father when the troupe went to Paris.”

“Was he a performer?”

Reina laughed at that. Not a delicate, bell-like sound, but full and natural. It resonated against the wall of his heart the way a summer storm rattled a windowpane.

“My father was an English banker,” she said over her shoulder. “Very proper and dignified.”

“Not a conventional match,” John said carefully.

“No, indeed. Especially since he was already married when they met.”

Her tone was casual, but John understood the significance of what she’d just revealed. In a society where family connections and bloodlines meant everything, the stigma attached to illegitimacy was inescapable. For most women, such a beginning in life was disastrous in every way.

“June is taking courses at the London Cookery School,” Reina said. “Fortunately for the rest of us, she’s staying here until she graduates.”

They entered a large kitchen, which was equipped with a cookstove, a roasting range, a separate stockpot stove, a cook’s sink, and cabinetry. Most of it appeared newly installed. How could an economist earn enough to pay for all this, along with a staff of servants to maintain it?

At the long wooden table in the center of the kitchen, a young woman chopped carrots with a large kitchen knife, her hand moving in a blur of motion. A dark coil of hair had sprung from a white cloth that had been wrapped and knotted around her head.