Head downstairs towards the kitchen

Leaving the library behind, you descended the servants' staircase towards the lower floor.

The atmosphere changed almost immediately.

The quiet elegance of the upper corridors gave way to the steady rhythm of work. Footmen hurried past with polished silver, maids disappeared through swinging doors carrying fresh linen, and somewhere nearby a cook barked instructions that echoed through the passageways.

As you approached the kitchen, you found a young footman standing helplessly beside a large serving tray.

"I don't know where this belongs," he muttered.

"That's because you're looking at it instead of reading the note tied to the handle."

The reply came from a young woman carrying a sack of flour over one shoulder as though it weighed nothing at all.

She stopped beside the bewildered footman, untied the small card and held it up.

"The morning room."

The footman blinked.

"Oh."

"Don't sound so surprised. Reading usually helps."

She noticed you watching.

"You."

Before you had time to answer, she nodded towards the tray.

"Hold this."

Without waiting for a reply, she thrust the tray into your hands before taking the card herself.

"No wonder he couldn't find it."

She turned the label around.

"Someone tied it on upside down."

The young footman let out an embarrassed sigh.

"I didn't think to check."

"No."

She smiled.

"I noticed."

She straightened the card before taking the tray back from you with an appreciative nod.

"There. Crisis averted."

Only then did she properly look at you.

"You're Sir Edward Harrington's valet, aren't you?"

"I am. Thomas."

"Martha Green."

Martha was perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four, a little older than most of the younger servants, with dark auburn hair pinned back in a practical fashion. A handful of rebellious strands had escaped their pins, giving her an appearance that was more spirited than untidy.

She had sharp hazel eyes that didn’t look like they missed anything happening around her and a confident grin that suggested she was more than capable of winning any argument she entered.

Years spent working in kitchens and stables combined with her small height had given her a strong, plump build. Her voluptuous curves were hardly concealed by her dress - her large breasts lay perfectly in place and when she bend forward you could catch a glimpse of her cleavage. Rolled sleeves revealed toned forearms, while every movement carried the confidence of someone entirely comfortable with hard work. She walked with purpose rather than delicacy, and somehow that suited her perfectly.

She was undeniably attractive, though not in the polished manner of a noblewoman.

She offered her hand without the slightest hesitation.

"You've picked a lively week to visit."

Then she spun around and proceeded with her busy work.

“What a peculiar woman”, you thought to yourself.