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this morning with his breakfast, and the master’s in a nice taking. It’s really very provoking,” Mrs. Creed exclaimed, her face slightly flushed. “Surely you can’t have let the clock run down again, Fred!”
    “Correct to the second,” he informed her, glancing at the big old-fashioned wag-o’-the-wall in the corner of the room.
    “Well, that’s the second time this week his breakfast has been late, and you may be sure I got the sharp edge of his tongue.”
    Her eyes fell upon Caroline. “A trained girl would have made all the difference. However, I know that’s too much to expect!” Fervently Caroline wished she had every bit of the training that Mrs. Creed desired—or indeed that she was trained in anything—as she felt the impact of the housekeeper’s basilisk glance.
    “I suppose I’d better set you to polishing the corridors,” the housekeeper went on, “and after a while you’ll get into things, no doubt. Goodness knows, there were plenty of girls answered my advertisement, but as soon as they found out that the house is a bit remote they backed out in a hurry, I can tell you. It’s all pleasure and gadding about the young people want nowadays. Why, I remember when I first went out to work, the house was at the back of beyond and we had to get up at the crack of dawn. I started in the kitchen and worked my way up, you might say. But in your case I think we’d better begin by polishing, for I’ve a feeling you’d be more of a hindrance than a help in the kitchen.”
    In spite of the housekeeper’s unflattering opinion of her culinary abilities, Caroline felt her spirits rise somewhat at the knowledge that she was not to begin her apprenticeship in the kitchen under Mrs. Creed’s critical eye. She had caught a glimpse of the kitchen and it had seemed to her a huge, dreary cavern of a place. Besides, if she were engaged in cleaning she would be on her own, with time to assess her position and become acclimatised gradually to her surroundings.
    “Oh, but I’d like that,” she said eagerly.
    Mrs. Creed looked surprised at this declaration. “Well, I must say,” she conceded grudgingly, “you sound willing enough. No doubt, in time, you’ll get into our ways, so if you’ve quite finished your breakfast I’ll show you your duties for the morning and let you get on with them. We’re particularly busy at the moment,” she added pointedly.
    Caroline quickly drained her cup of hot, strong tea and stood
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    As Mrs. Creed turned towards the door, closely followed by Caroline, she glanced tight-lipped at her husband, who sat slouched over the table, nursing a large tea-cup, gazing vacantly ahead. “It’s time you began the windows, Fred,” his wife informed him sharply. “You’re giving a very bad example to that Betty, for goodness knows, she’s lazy enough as it is, always dodging her duties, her mind on nothing but boys all the time.”
    Mr. Creed regarded his wife lugubriously over the rim of his cup, then with a sigh laid it down and straightened. “Why must you always be on at a body? Can a man not take a reasonable time to his breakfast without being continually chivvied about? Goodness knows the master’s particular enough without your being on to one as well.”
    His wife sniffed disapprovingly. “It’s because the master’s so particular that I have to see that everything’s to rights. There’d be short shrift for the both of us, I can tell you, if I didn’t see that things go like clockwork. ”
    “Yes,” her husband agreed. “He’s a hard bitter man, without a bit of heart!”
    “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” Mrs. Creed rejoined cautiously, “but he certainly expects to be obeyed, and anyone who thinks otherwise will be out of a job in jig time, I can tell you that.”
    Caroline listened to this exchange with growing dismay. She was inclined to agree with Mr. Creed’s assessment of Randall Craig. There was something decidedly implacable about