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The table erupted in protests.

From Belinda: “It’s bloody still dark then, innit!”

From Norman: “Waking that early gives me palpitations.”

From Enid: “Why don’t you tell me to run around in circles while you’re at it?”

Mad Dog was silent, running his finger inside the glass dish to catch any stray drop of lemon cream.

“Five o’clock is the usual time for servants to rise,” John said. “It’s easier once you’ve made a habit of it.”

“How would you know?” Enid asked.

“I did it for years,” he replied calmly, “starting from the age of six.” He glanced at Tuppence. “What are their first chores of the day?”

“Norman and Mad Dog carry in the coal, logs, and kindling,” Tuppence said. “Enid makes the fires upstairs, and Belinda does the ones downstairs. Mad Dog feeds and waters the horses. I take tea up to Miss Martin’s room, unless I’m having a difficult morning, and then I’ll ask someone else to do it.”

June chimed in then. “Breakfast is at six thirty,” she said, “but most days I have to keep the food warm until eight, which makes me late for market.”

“From now on,” John said, “anyone who doesn’t come to the kitchen to eat by seven will have to wait until lunch.” Seeing their aggrieved expressions, he said, “We’re all keeping to the schedule. If you perform your duties efficiently during the day, you’ll have extra time for resting or relaxing later in the evening.”

Noticing that June had left the table to begin preparing Reina’s dinner tray, John pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and consulted the time. “I have only three points to make,” he said. “First, in a smaller household like this, flexibility is called for. We have to work together when there’s a need.”

They all looked bemused.

It occurred to John that they didn’t seem like people who had lived in the same household for a month. They were more like strangers who’d happened to find themselves seated at the same table.

He realized that as much as he’d hated working at the Cardiff estate, it hadn’t been all bad. Now from the vantage of time and distance, he saw that belonging to something greater than himself had anchored him and kept him from loneliness. There had been people to share holidays or attend fairs and preaching festivals with. They’d understood each other in a way outsiders never could.

It wouldn’t hurt these people to have a sense of community—although he was damned if he knew how to foster it.

“The second point,” he said, “has to do with Miss Martin, whose work is more important than any other activity in this household. It’s her livelihood, which provides our livelihoods. Nothing is worth interrupting or bothering her. If you have a problem or something puts you in a temper, keep your mouth shut and deal with it in private. Understood?”

There were a few mumbles of assent.

“Yes, Mr. Pembroke,” he prompted.

They parroted the phrase without enthusiasm.

“Good,” he said. “Now for the last point: According to the ticket-of-leave contract, a supervisor from the local police office is going to drop by for a surprise inspection.”

“When?” Norman asked.

“I don’t know,” John said. “That’s why it will be a surprise.”

“What’s he inspecting?” Enid asked.

“Our work, our personal lives, and Miss Martin’s guardianship of us. And then he’ll write a report. Since he hasn’t been here yet, I would expect a visit soon—and we’re not ready for it.”

“Devil burn the bastard,” Norman said. “Miss Martin wouldn’t send us back, no matter what he reports.”

Amid the general chorus of agreement, John took a small notebook from his coat pocket. Methodically he opened it, riffled through the pages, and extracted a neatly folded newspaper clipping.

“There’s something you may not be aware of,” he said. “It was laid out in a recent editorial from The Times.”

“How’d you read that if you was at Millbank?” Mad Dog asked suspiciously.

Before John could reply, Tuppence said, “Prisoners are allowed one newspaper per week. Sometimes the women in my ward all chipped in for a Reynold’s.”