Return to the house before dinner.

Deciding it was best not to linger any longer, you turned back towards Kingsmere Hall.

The servants' entrance was considerably busier than it had been earlier that afternoon. Deliveries arrived one after another, while footmen hurried between the courtyard and the house carrying everything from wine crates to bundles of freshly cut flowers.

As you stepped inside, a sharp voice echoed from somewhere ahead.

"If that barrel rolls over my foot again, I'll be charging it rent."

The remark was met with laughter from several nearby servants.

Following the sound, you found a young woman directing two stable lads as they struggled to manoeuvre a heavy barrel through the narrow doorway into the kitchens.

"No, no. Lift first, then turn."

The lads looked at one another.

"Trust me."

They did.

This time the barrel slipped neatly through the doorway.

"There."

She dusted her hands together with obvious satisfaction.

"See? No broken walls, no broken barrels... and more importantly, no broken idiots."

One of the lads laughed.

"I heard that."

"You were supposed to."

Only then did she notice you standing nearby.

"You're the valet of Sir Edward, aren't you?"

"I am. Thomas."

"Martha."

She wiped one hand against her apron before offering it without the slightest concern for whether such familiarity was entirely proper.

"Martha Green."

You shook it.

"I've seen you wandering about the place."

"I was getting my bearings."

"Nothing wrong with that."

She glanced towards the courtyard.

"You have to know where everything is before the guests start asking impossible questions."

Before the conversation could continue, another familiar face emerged from the corridor carrying a vase filled with freshly cut flowers.

Emily.

She smiled as soon as she recognised you.

"Good afternoon, Thomas."

"And to you."

"I hope you're finding your way around."

"I'm beginning to."

"I'm glad."

With an apologetic smile, she continued on her way, clearly too occupied to stop for more than a few moments.

Martha watched her disappear before folding her arms.

"Emily always has time to be polite."

"And you don't?"

"I've got time."

A grin spread across her face.

"I just choose to spend it differently."

You found yourself laughing.

"Well," Martha said, pushing open the kitchen door with her shoulder, "if you ever find yourself wondering where the real work happens, you'll know where to look."

With that, she disappeared into the organised chaos of the kitchens, leaving you smiling to yourself as the bustle of Kingsmere Hall carried on around you.

It was becoming clear that every corner of the estate had its own character...

...and so did the people who kept it running.