THINGS WERE GOING FROM BAD TO WORSE at Uncaster Hall. Affogato and Hypatia, having eaten a huge plateful of scrambled eggs, had retired to their adjoining bedrooms and locked themselves in. After a while, a note was pushed out from under the door of Affogato’s room; Arabella, trudging upstairs to plead with her children, read it with some difficulty:

Mother! Altho you dont deserve the name of mother becos mothers are ment to LOOK AFTER there offspring! It is yor DUTY! Our nobble queen Victorria is an egsample you shood FOLLOW!

Wen you come to yor senses you can tell us and we will come out. Untill then we are ditermined to stay here and we have swarn so to do in BLUD.

Affogato and Hypatia Poskett P.S. We have got the chikens so we can eet eggs.

Edie had come up behind Arabella, and when she was passed the note she read it in silence.

“Cor,” she said as she finished. “They spells worse than me! Didn’t they go to school?”

Arabella shook her head. “They had tutors. They were supposed to be the best, but I don’t think the dear children tried very hard.”

“ ‘Tooters’?” This was not a word Edie recognized. “I don’t like the sound of them. But my gran always said, ‘It’s not learning that matters: it’s living.’ And, Ma’am – if you’ll ’scuse me asking – how are you going to live?” She went pink. “’Scuse me again, but there was a lot of talk in the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but hear it. We got folk banging on the door asking about bills, see, and then there was the wages not being paid … Cook said as she reckoned the bailiffs would be round any day, and that’s why she took them copper pans.” Her blush deepened. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

Arabella Poskett was silent. She was the only child of a widower – James T. Merriweather, who had made his fortune in linens, cotton and sewing thread. Her father had been less than delighted when the Honourable Henry Poskett asked for her hand in marriage. Suspecting Henry was after his daughter’s money, he had waited until the extremely expensive wedding was over before announcing he was not going to pay for anything else until the Honourable Henry found gainful employment.

This had never happened; Henry felt strongly that any form of mental or physical work was beneath him. Assuming his wealthy father-in-law would eventually pay his debts, he had spent wildly and enthusiastically … but James T. Merriweather was a man of his word. Not a single debt was paid. He had visited his daughter when Affogato was born, but Henry had made it abundantly clear he was unwelcome so James T. Merriweather left after just two days swearing never to return.

As their debts mounted, Arabella sent pleading letters – but they were returned unopened and she had eventually stopped writing, taking to selling small items of jewellery in an attempt to make ends meet. Eventually the news reached her that James T. Merriweather’s empire had collapsed and the owner gone missing: no further details were available, and Arabella had given up hope of ever seeing her father again.

Seeing her deep in thought, Edie coughed. “Got an idea, Ma’am, if you don’t mind my mentioning it…”

Arabella stood up straight. There was no point in thinking about James T. Merriweather. “What is it, Edie?” she asked.

“Well…” Edie fidgeted with her apron strings. “It’s like this, Ma’am. My friend Minnie’s Auntie Lou, her little tobacco business went bust, see. Not a penny to her name – and bills! Lord love us, she had bills. But she had a spare room, and she began to let it out. Only single ladies, mind. No riff-raff! Then she moved into the kitchen so she had two rooms to let … and before long she’d made enough to rent a bigger house where she could let four or five rooms, and now she’s living in luxury.”

A wistful look came over Edie’s thin little face.

“Guess what, Ma’am! She has roast chicken every week! A fat one, too … none of your scraggy old birds. AND she’s got a real Nottingham lace shawl! My friend Minnie says it’s a wonder. It’s about growing an oak from a little haycorn, see. That’s what you need: a little haycorn.”

Arabella had got lost in the complications of Edie’s story. “You mean I should grow trees?”

“Trees?” Edie burst into peals of laughter. “No! I meant as you could take in lodgers, Ma’am! This big old place … there’s loads and loads of room!”

“Lodgers? Oh – oh dear.” Arabella sounded doubtful. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure at all…”

Edie looked wise. “Tell you what. Start with theatricals: actors, that is. They don’t stay long. Always up and off and away, so you could see how things go – and they won’t expect luxury, Ma’am.”

“Actors?” Arabella was imagining large, bewhiskered gentlemen, booming complaints as they paced to and fro wearing out the carpets, and well-endowed women, being dramatic about the absence of marmalade. “But are they respectable? I have my children to consider, remember. Darling Affogato is so easily led astray.”

“They’re as respectable as most, Ma’am.” Edie bobbed a curtsey. “Another cup of tea? Things always look better after a cuppa.”

Arabella Poskett was exhausted. Her life had turned upside down, and everything that had made it pleasurable was draining away at a terrifying speed. Only the little kitchen maid, still smiling cheerfully, stood between her and total despair. “Thank you,” she said. “That would be lovely.”

“We’d better make it four cups, Ma’am.” Edie was on tiptoe, peering out of the landing window. “If I ain’t much mistaken, that’s the bailiffs riding up. Recognize a bailiff anywhere, I would – I seen enough of them to last a lifetime. And they’ve got a empty cart coming up behind them, so they looks as if they mean business.”

“Bailiffs?” Her employer sank down on the stairs and clutched her head. Total despair came rushing round the corner, and leapt upon her. “BAILIFFS? Oh, the shame of it! The disgrace! Oh, Edie – whatever shall I do? This is the end … the end of everything.”

Edie put her hands on her hips. “Nothing ain’t over until you’re four foot underground with a big stone angel standing on your toes. We’ll give them a cup of tea and talk nice, and see what we can do.” She gave Arabella a hopeful glance. “Thought any more about letting those rooms, Ma’am? If we can say we got a plan to bring in the pennies they might go easier on you.”

“Whatever you say, Edie.”

And the owner of Uncaster Hall followed her kitchen maid obediently down the stairs, like a large paddle-steamer being towed by a very small tugboat.