Michel swung around from the stove, his tall chef’s cap bobbing up and down. “Sacre bleu! What a clumsy oaf you are! You make me spill ze gravy all over the stove. Now you clean it up, oui?”

Pansy promptly burst into tears.

Muttering under her breath, Mrs. Chubb hurried over to her and patted her shoulder. “There, there, no need to carry on. Just pick up the pieces.” She glared at Michel. “And you can clean up your own stove. You know full well she didn’t do it on purpose.”

“She never do it on purpose,” Michel roared. “She is clumsy, that one. Clumsy like an elephant.” He slammed a saucepan lid down hard on the stove, making Pansy cry even louder.

“Now look what you’ve done.” The housekeeper fished a large white handkerchief out of her apron pocket and handed it to Pansy. “Come now, child, blow your nose. It’s not the end of the world.”

It might just as well be, Pansy thought, as she obligingly trumpeted into the handkerchief. What with Samuel paying her no attention and the new maid flapping her eyelids all the time at him, this was going to be a miserable Christmas.

“Here.” Mrs. Chubb took the handkerchief from her and tucked it back in her pocket. “I’ll pick up this mess. You can take the tray up to Mr. Mortimer. He’s requested his meal in his room tonight.” She pointed at the tray on the kitchen table.

Pansy wrinkled her nose at the steaming bowl of soup and two thick slices of bread. Sitting next to it was a plate of fried roes with beans on toast, and another dish piled high with carrots, peas, and a large slice of steak and kidney pie smothered in gravy.

“I’ve already sent up a bottle of sherry and a decanter of brandy, so ask the gentleman if he would like a cup of tea and we’ll take it up later.”