“No, no, there’s nothing.” Nora shook her head. “I just wish she wasn’t going. I don’t hold wi’ travel. There’s no need. I know Miss Griselda’s newly wed, and expecting her first child, and the poor soul worries something wretched, from all the letters she’s been sending. But that’s the way some folk are. She’ll be all right, like as not; and either way, there’s nothing the mistress can do.”

“Is Miss Griselda delicate?”

“Lord no, just took it into her head to worry herself. She was all right till she married that Mr. Murdoch with his airs and graces.” She bit her lip. “Oh, I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’m sure he’s a very nice man.”

“Yes, I expect so,” Hester said without belief.

Nora looked at her with a faint smile.

“I daresay you’d like a cup o’ tea,” she offered. “It’s near eleven. There’ll be something in the dining room, if you want.”

“Thank you. I think I will.”

The only person sitting at the long oak table was a small woman Hester judged to be in her twenties. She had very dark hair, thick and shining, and a dusky complexion full of the most attractive color, as if she had just come in from an invigorating walk. It was not in the least fashionable, not in London anyway, but Hester found it a pleasant change from the much admired pallor she was accustomed to. The woman’s features were neat, and at first seemed merely pretty, but on closer examination there was an intelligence and a determination which was far more individual. And perhaps she was not twenty, but in her early thirties.

“Good morning,” Hester said tentatively. “Mrs. Farraline?”

The woman looked up at her as if startled by her intrusion, then she smiled and her entire bearing changed.

“Yes. Who are you?” It was not a challenge but curiosity, as if Hester’s appearance were miraculous, and a delightful surprise. “Please do sit down.”

“Hester Latterly. I am the nurse to accompany Mrs. Mary Farraline to London.”