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“It’s gone half-past six and breakfast’s at seven, and her ladyship’s in a rare bad humour this morning too, so you’d better look sharp.”
    Caroline tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. “Surely it can’t be morning already?” And then she asked, a little dazedly, “But who are you?”
    The girl laughed. “I’m Betty: I work here. And it’s plain to see you haven’t worked in a big house before, or you’d be used to getting up in the dark of a morning.” She regarded Caroline curiously. “The story is that you’re the wrong girl and that the master took you when the right one didn’t turn up.”
    Caroline didn’t pretend to misunderstand this rather mysterious statement. “No. It seems the parlourmaid didn’t turn
    up and Mr. Craig took me on instead.”
    The maid gave vent to a long whistle of astonishment. “So that’s why Creed’s like a bear with a sore head this morning. Well, you’d better get up and face the music, otherwise we’ll all suffer for her bad humour. Just go straight downstairs to the basement and first brown door on the left.”
    With this information she whisked away and Caroline got up and hurried along to the small old-fashioned bathroom at the head of the stairs where, to her relief, in spite of its antique appearance, she found that the water was really hot. When she returned to her room she put on one of her oldest frocks and ran downstairs, flight after flight, until she reached the basement quarters and entered the first brown door on the left, as Betty had directed.
    When she opened it, she found herself in a snug dining-room where a bright fire crackled in a black iron grate. Of Mrs. Creed there was no sign, but at a long table sat Betty and a rather lugubrious-looking elderly man whom she addressed as “Fred”.
    Betty good-naturedly offered to fetch Caroline’s breakfast from the kitchen and while she was gone Fred pointed sternly to a seat at the end of the table. “That’s where the new girls sit,” he informed her shortly, as he buttered a slice of toast.
    Fred, who, it transpired, was Mrs. Creed’s husband, was a round, rosy-cheeked man who evidently enjoyed his victuals from the way he tucked into his breakfast of bacon and egg, fried bread and tomato. “So you’re the new girl!” He chewed energetically and surveyed Caroline. “But not the right new girl,” he told her, as she docilely took the seat pointed out to her.
    Fred’s speech was slow and he appeared to think carefully before uttering his observations.
    “Yes, that’s true,” Caroline agreed. “She didn’t turn up, so I got her place.”
    At this point Betty returned with Caroline’s breakfast and placed it before her.
    “Mind you, I won’t do this every day,” she informed her, as though rather regretting her good nature, “but as it’s your first day I’ll make an exception. Is it a fact,” she asked, when she had returned to her own place, “that you used to mend broken china?” She giggled delightedly. “What a queer way to earn your living! If we’ve any broken china here we chuck it out.”
    “Only the kitchen stuff,” Fred put in sternly. “When it comes to Mr. Craig’s antiques that’s a different matter.”
    “Not that anyone would dare as much as chip them,” Betty observed, “or the sky would fall about our heads.”
    “All the same, can’t be much money in that business!” Fred put in sombrely.
    Caroline was tempted to tell him of the very considerable sums paid by collectors for the expert handling of their precious antique pieces, but she refrained because she got the impression that Fred would resent any signs of uppishness from a newcomer like herself. Apart from that, she felt convinced that neither Fred nor Betty would believe her and that it would only sound like boasting.
    She was saved from having to make any rejoinder by the entry of Mrs. Creed, upon which Betty hastily finished her breakfast and scurried away.
    “Three minutes late