“Commendable,” I say, finishing the milk. “And they'll tell you you can't find the staff these days, eh?”

“Shall I fetch some fresh clothes, sir?” Arthur asks, smoothly resuming his professional manner. “There are still some in the laundry.”

“I ought to wash first,” I tell him, choosing a slice of toast; the bread has been unevenly toasted, but one must become inured to such privations, I suppose. “Is there any hot water?”

“I'll fetch some, sir. Will you be bathing in your own apartments?”

I rub my face, greasy from the day and night before. “Am I allowed to?” I ask. “Does our brave lieutenant consider my punishment complete?”

“I believe so, sir; she told me to take you breakfast and let you out, before she left.” His eyes widen as he takes in what I have just said. “Punish you, sir? Punish you? What right has she?” He sounds quite indignant. I have not heard his voice raised so since I was a child, and used to torment him. “What but what right? What could you do, in, in, in your home that let her?”

“I let slip a sack of what was neither edible nor mountable,” I tell him, trying to calm him. “But what do you mean, «left»? Where has she gone?”

Arthur sits tutting for a moment or two longer, then hauls his attention back. “I oh, I don't know, sir; they left I think there's a half dozen of them still here the rest, the lieutenant and the rest, the ones she took, they left just after dawn. just a handful of them still here. In search of hardware, the ones that left, that is, I think I heard one say, but that could be wrong sir; my hearing…” Arthur shakes his head, withered fingers trembling near one ear.

“And our good lady? Is she abroad?” I ask, smiling.

“Abroad, with them, sir,” the old servant says, expression troubled. “The lady lieutenant… she took her too, as some sort of guide.”