Michel’s face turned red, a sure sign he was about to indulge in his favorite pastime-rattling saucepans and lids just to establish his superiority to everyone within earshot. It was a completely wasted effort, since the staff was used to the noise and did their best to ignore him.

Mrs. Chubb winced as the first saucepan lid crashed to the floor. One of these days, she thought darkly, she’d bash one of Michel’s saucepans right over his head. It was bad enough putting up with his fake French accent, which disappeared whenever he’d downed enough brandy to kill a cow-but his temper tantrums gave her a headache with all that crashing and banging.

She picked up her rolling pin, prepared to do some banging of her own, but just then the door swung open. Mrs. Chubb looked up, and dropped the rolling pin when she saw Mrs. Baxter walk in. Madam never visited the kitchen during mealtimes. She knew better than to disturb the staff during their busiest part of the day.

The housekeeper stared at her manager in dismay. Something had to be up for madam to come in during breakfast. Even Michel stopped banging the saucepans about, and the maids all stopped talking and stood huddled in the corner, apprehension written all over their faces.

Mrs. Chubb wiped her hands on her apron and waited.

Madam glanced around the kitchen, and her face looked pinched and white when she said, “I don’t see Gertie. Is she upstairs?”

“Yes, m’m.” Mrs. Chubb squared her shoulders. “What’s she gone and done now, then?”

Madam blinked, as if she didn’t understand the question. “Done? Oh, she hasn’t done anything.” She paused, and an odd expression crossed her face. Her voice sounded strange when she added, “Nothing that I’m aware of, at least. I do need to talk to her, however. Right away, in my office, if you please, Mrs. Chubb.”