"She wants us to do what?" Brooks looked at me like I'd lost my mind, and shook his head a few times before returning his attention to under the bonnet of the car. The side-guard was propped up and Brooks had his tools spread out on a cloth next to him. 

"To come to her as she feels utterly unable to lift a finger to help herself." I waved the one-page letter I'd just received from Elizabeth Boyd-Scathby in the air. 

The smell of hay and leather was still strong in the old car shed, even though it has been years since horses were stabled there. The doors were wide open and a light breeze blew in, but that did nothing to cool my temper.

"And too cheap for a train ticket, is she that, as well?" snipped Brooks, continuing to shake his head.

I'd had the same thought. After having sent an answer to Elizabeth's cry for help by saying I would take on three of the ex-soldiers overrunning her estate, as that was all I had room for, I was expecting a relieved and cooperative response from her. Not this tirade of accusations. 

Only halfway through reading her damnable message and my hands had already been shaking. 

I am gravely disappointed in you, Olivia. If only your father were still alive, I would certainly have some words for him!  You have cruelly laughed in my face and make mockery of my distress! 

Three of these vagrants you'll take? Three? Have you any idea how many are knocking at all hours of the day and night at my kitchen door demanding to be fed? Three? And that I should speak to any crippled ones about your programme first? Do you honestly think I stand at the door welcoming these filthy men? I only thank God in heaven that none of my property has been stolen or destroyed!  Do you honestly expect me to council to them? How should I know if they qualify to join your obviously highly selective programme? I'm not your representative! I asked you for your help and you will only relieve me of three?

"She clearly believes we have unlimited resources and are simply being difficult," I said.  "I don't believe for an instant that the problem is nearly as dire as she's making it out to be. Still, if she refuses to speak to the men on her estate and tell them about us, as well as refusing to pay the ticket. . ."

"What does she think will happen? That we'll agree to take them and they'll just, what then, magically disappear? Sounds to me as if she thinks she's ordered the rat catcher. We'll show up with ferrets and traps and, bob's your uncle, she'll be got rid of her troubles. No ex-Tommies darkening her doorstep forever more." Brooks snorted.

That was exactly what it sounded like to me, as well. Calling the rat catcher. 

New additions to Cloud Hill normally found their way to us, or were invited and met by their former regimental mates in London. I'd never been asked to collect men wholesale from off someone's doorstep before, as if they were vermin. 

"Why don't you simply ignore her and let her solve her own problem," Brooks said, reaching for a spanner. 

I was sorely tempted to do just that.  If it wasn't for Elizabeth's uncle, Sir Mortimer, and her brother, Stanley. 

Both were members of Parliament, Stanley having been one of Father's circle before the war. If I left her to stew in her own juices, she'd certainly complain directly into their waiting ears. 

There might come a day when I needed to ask for support from this or that government office for the Rabbit Hutch, and I would need as much credit to my name as possible. The last thing I could use were MPs with poor opinions of me, and I was sure Elizabeth would make sure that's what they had.

That sort of cautious thinking didn't make an impression on Brooks, of course. He was a practical man, best at solving practical, immediate problems. Such as whatever was ailing the car. 

"I can't afford for her to feel snubbed," I said in way of a short explanation, looking out of the open shed door at the back of the main house where several men were working in the kitchen garden.  "Would you possibly be prepared to travel to Hertfordshire and collect whatever there is to collect?"

Brooks straightened up, his mouth falling slightly open in astonishment. "You want me to go all the way to Hertfordshire and ferry back any irritating Tommies? How many trips will that need?"

"Just one, I promise. But not alone, certainly! Let's see, who else. . . How about Morris? We could do without him for a few days. He could go with you. Yes, Morris might be the best advertisement we could send, as his missing arm will certainly make the right impression."

"Aye, I reckon Morris is a good choice. But if you think this will be the last time you'll be hearing from Lady Whoever-Whatever, you're in for a disappointing." Brooks nodded his head a few times in fatherly admonishment. "

"Best to scratch this off the list as soon as we can and get on to more important things. So you both should get going as quickly as we can manage it. Day after tomorrow most likely. And, if we're lucky, we'll perhaps find someone in Hertfordshire with a skill we can use."  

That wasn't likely, but Brooks was honestly the best man for the job and I wanted to encourage him as much as I could.

"That's short notice. I've got things to see to here, but I'll see what I can arrange." He fixed the car engine with an black look. "Once I figure out what's making that knocking noise."  

"Thank you, Brooks. I would greatly appreciate that."

Leaving the car shed, I felt as if I'd made slight progress on the problem, but was still vastly annoyed at Elizabeth's cheek. Brooks was right, she was treating me and The Hutch like servants. No, not servants, like tradesmen. Someone you sent for to take care of an unpleasantry for you, and then forgot to pay. 

I knew why,  or at least I thought I did, even thought I fought with myself about it as I crossed over the lawn to the main house, folding the letter back into the envelope and cursing under my breath.

I had no husband. I had made no alliances and was running a veterans programme alone. In the eyes of the older generation, I was only barely on the acceptable side of scandalous and that was a potential problem.

We had a strong customer list; I wasn't worried there. I was more concerned about influence in my own class if times became difficult again. We'd survived one war, but could we survive another catastrophe of similar magnitude? While a second war with Germany was highly unlikely, economic difficulties never were, and women alone were always the most vulnerable. 

No matter if they had an estate and the vote or not.

I glanced over at the white length of the Infirmary. 

It had been two days since I'd smacked James and I hadn't seen a speck of him since. 

McCrory informed me that Sykes was keeping a close watch on him. Apparently, he thought James a bit of a trouble maker now and was threatening to have him redeployed to Hard Candy if he so much as bent a parsley stalk. 

That couldn't be pleasant. 

The kitchen door opened and Daniels, the cook, appeared. He was still recovering from the shock of the attack on his post, and had taken to limiting the amount of people in the kitchen at any one time and keeping the door to the garden closed and guarded.

"Miss Altringham! Visitor in the grand salon for you!" he called, and then slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply.

A visitor? Who on Earth could that be? 

I was in no mood for visitors. I needed to talk to Morris and get the trip to Hertfordshire underway so that we could see where we stood with residents as quickly --.

Perhaps it was Charlotte! She did sometimes stop by on her way down to Rye to take the air.

Oh, let it be Charlotte!  If anyone could cheer me up by spitting some venom in Elizabeth's direction and help me not take things so seriously, it would be her. 

Shoving my immediate worries to the side, I hurried into the house.

But when I arrived in the grand salon, it wasn't Charlotte who rose to greet me. It was a woman I'd never seen before wearing an plain grey dress and a straw hat with a large, wilting pink flower tucked into the band. Two large, brown leather traveling cases stood by her feet. 

Agatha set down her teacup and rose from the chair opposite the strange woman. The woman rose, as well. 

"Miss Altringham," Agatha said formally, gesturing to the stranger, "this is Mrs Thrower. Lady Bucking-Coombs' former housemaid who inquired after a position with us a week ago."  

Mrs Thrower nodded and curtsied, the flower in her hat loosing a petal. 

"She's just arrived to inquire after the position," Agatha continued. "Personally. Apparently, . . ." and here Agatha laid a dramatic pause. "Apparently, she has nowhere else to go."