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of fuss. Embarrass you in front of the customers. Unless …’
    The old crow’s mouth curled into a sneer. ‘Unless?’
    ‘Well, that’s not for me to say, now, is it? Of course, you might like to consider letting me rest today and regain my strength.’
    ‘Rest, you say?’ said Mother Snagsby.
    ‘That’s right. And it may be that you decide to let me have some company at the house. Nothing fancy. Just a few girls my age. I’m practically positive that these small concessions would be enough to lift my spirits and get me back to work.’
    Mother Snagsby made no reply. Her craggy face was set in stone.
    ‘The Roaches,’ she said at last.
    I frowned. ‘The Roaches?’
    ‘We have buried several of their kin,’ said Mother Snagsby frostily. ‘They are respectable folk and always pay on time. It is possible I could extend an invitation to Mrs Roach and her two daughters to come for tea.’
    The urge to squeal with delight was awfully strong. But I resisted. It didn’t seem right in light of Rebecca. Instead, I nodded my head and said, ‘That sounds lovely.’
    ‘But I expect much in return,’ said Mother Snagsby. ‘You are to come with us to every appointment without complaint after today. And you are to perform your household duties without complaint. While Ezra and I are seeing to Mrs Quilp, you can recuperate by dusting the viewing parlour from top to bottom.’
    ‘Surely my time would be better spent lazing about eating crumpets?’ I said hopefully. ‘Or perhaps you might wish to paint me as you have Gretel?’
    Mother Snagsby grabbed the cleaning rag out of Mrs Dickens’ hand and pushed it into mine. ‘Dust,’ she barked.

    ‘Where on earth are you going, lass?’
    ‘Important business, dear,’ I said, opening the front door. ‘Frightfully important.’
    The housekeeper looked positively alarmed. ‘But you promised Mrs Snagsby you would clean the viewing parlour.’
    ‘Fear not, Mrs Dickens,’ I said. ‘They will be at poor Mrs Quilp’s all morning and I will be back in plenty of time to do my chores.’ I pointed to the portrait above her head. ‘Did Gretelhave many chores to do around the house? Before she went to Paris, I mean.’
    It was as if a cloud passed overhead. The housekeeper looked grave, then she jumped up and felt a sudden urge to polish the brass doorknocker. ‘Miss Gretel was always so busy with this and that.’ She pointed to the street and I suddenly became aware of the sounds of carriage wheels and chatter. ‘You best be getting along, lass.’
    I stepped outside as the sky began to rumble. ‘We should go on strike, Mrs Dickens. Let Mother Snagsby discover the delights of cooking and cleaning for herself.’
    ‘You might be shocked to know that your mother was once a keen cook – at least, I think she was.’
    ‘Mother Snagsby a cook? Surely not.’
    Mrs Dickens nodded. ‘She has a book of family recipes, carries it with her everywhere she goes – guards it like the pharaoh’s gold, she does.’
    ‘Whatever for?’
    ‘I expect the recipes mean a great deal to her.’
    ‘But how do they tast e – surely that is the question?’
    ‘Well, that’s the queer part,’ said Mrs Dickens, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘In all the time I’ve worked here, Mrs Snagsby’s never cooked a single recipe from that book.’
    I was befuddled. And felt it frightfully unfair of Mrs Dickens to burden me with suspense.
    ‘Well, why does she carry it around with her, you great lump?’
    Mrs Dickens chuckled. ‘That’s a very interesting question.’
    Then the housekeeper hurried me along, muttering something about the feathers of a chicken not plucking themselves.
    As I set off down Thackeray Street, any thoughts about Mother Snagsby’s curious book of recipes fell away. I quick-ened my step, my mind swirling around a single image – Rebecca being chased through those ghastly white woodlands by a pack of vicious Locks.
    The rules of the Clock Diamond