Annoyed that her thoughts were so transparent, Elizabeth said stiffly, “I wish I had your optimism, not to mention your clairvoyance.”

Violet clicked her tongue and turned to face her again. “You’re going to worry yourself into an early grave, Lizzie. Why don’t you-” She broke off as the door burst open and a pair of giggling girls tumbled into the kitchen.

Sadie was in the lead, and the boisterous housemaid came to a sharp stop when she caught sight of Elizabeth at the table. Polly, Elizabeth’s young assistant, bumped into Sadie, sending her forward a step or two.

“How many times,” Violet screeched, “have I told you two to watch your manners in Madam’s presence!”

Both girls mumbled an apology and slid onto their seats at the table. “So who’s going to an early grave, then?” Sadie demanded, having apparently overheard Violet’s last remark.

The housekeeper ignored her and started dishing up the pie onto plates.

“No one, I hope,” Elizabeth said, with a silent prayer. She looked at Sadie, wondering how to phrase the question uppermost in her mind. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Joe?” she asked at last.

Sadie shook her head and reached for a plate of thinly sliced bread. “Not since the invasion, m’m. Don’t suppose they can say much, though, can they. Especially since Joe is only my boyfriend. I’ll say one thing for these Yanks, they know how to keep their mouths shut, that’s for sure.”

“Not like some people I could mention,” Violet snapped, as she slapped a plate in front of Elizabeth.

She put the other plate down in front of Sadie, who looked at the pile of mashed potatoes covering a gray mess that defied description.

“What’s this, then?” Sadie demanded, sniffing warily at the offering. “It doesn’t look like shepherd’s pie.”

“Well, it is.” Violet stomped back to the stove to get two more plates. “It’s just a wartime version of it, that’s all. It’s Lord Woolton pie.”