I watched as Agatha took both letters, pinching each on the side along the top crease, and held them up side-by-side for comparison.  

The deluge that had begun during dinner with a loud crash of thunder right over our heads, was still raging outside. The drumming of rain against the night-black windows and the soft glow from the gas lamps should have made me tired, but I was still a little too irritated to settle in. 

Agatha's room was pleasant, a mixture of traditional furnishings which had been in that room for ages, and a few modern additions. A row of charming china shepherd and shepherdesses lined the chimney piece, and a taxidermied owl stared down at me where I sat sunk into an overstuffed velvet armchair, my fingers running over the lace dust covers draped over the ends. 

Agatha didn't say anything for the longest time, her head only moving slightly as she looked from one letter to the other. Finally, she drew a deep breath and said, "Either Mr. Mead is appallingly careless with his paperwork, or our guest had access to the housemaid's letter before it was sent." 

"You mean, you don't think she's Mrs Thrower?"

Agatha looked at me. "Do you?" 

I shook my head. "No. But she must know her." 

"Indeed." Agatha folded the letters up and placed them on the arm of her own velvet armchair. "Did you notice her reaction when you mentioned a letter had already arrived?"

No, I hadn't. I'd been too worked up over Elizabeth's callousness. 

I shook my head. 

"She obviously didn't know a letter from the real Mrs Thrower had arrived and was temporarily unsettled by the news. That tells me she didn't know the real Mrs Thrower had made use of her reference. And, if I might make mention of it, you should have posted it back to her so that she could inquire with it again elsewhere." 

"I didn't notice it was there. I only read half of her inquiry letter, to be honest to facts."

Agatha raised an eyebrow.  

"Well, what use would it have been? We can't afford her, can we?" I said, a little more snippy than intended, but I was still somewhat nettled and was in no mood to be reprimanded for a etiquette slip. "At least not at full wages." 

"Which the faux Mrs Thrower has graciously renegotiated." 

"She's clearly attempting to sneak in here under false pretences." I told Agatha what I had observed from the Hutch window. "And you saw how she behaved at dinner."

We all had. 

It was natural for the men to take an interest in anyone new and be much more lively than usual, but the woman had really overdone it. She'd leaned forward and backwards in her chair like a door hinge on a public lavatory to speak to men who were as far as two tables away, largely ignoring her food in the process. And then, when the clap of thunder had sounded right over our heads, she'd shrieked and dropped her cutlery as if a bomb had gone off.  

That hadn't helped.

Most of the men who were severely bothered by thunder had noticed the rumbling when they came in and chosen to eat together in one of the smaller salons where Brooks could keep an eye on them, and they could hide or calm each other, if need be. Poor Pritchard had gone with them, and I was sure his stutter would be ghastly the next day. Sykes also wasn't fond of thunder, but he'd braved it out in the smaller dining room, seating himself at my table. 

"No the Bosch, lads. Just God rearranging the furniture," he'd said to no one in particular as the rain had seriously started to tap at the windows. "He'll be done 'fore we've cleaned our plates." 

But Mrs Thrower's excessive reaction had caused a chain reaction. Some of the men throwing or shoving their plates forward on the table, others knocking over glasses, spilling liquid and food, some of them even jumping up and knocking over their chairs as they reflexively attempted to get away from the danger that Mrs Throwers high-pitched squeal had indicated. 

And there she'd sat, hands clapped over her mouth, startled by the chaos that she'd helped create. "Oh! Oh!" was all she could get out, the silly woman. 

Agatha, who had been seated at the same table, had calmly laid down her cutlery and begun to clean up the mess. Another clap of thunder had jarred the men out their state of shock, and they too had begun to mop up spilt water and sauce. Mrs Thrower had waited a few moments before rising and making the rounds to different tables, dolling out apologies, righting a few salt pots and dabbing at shirt collars.

"She was in the kitchen garden before dinner? Well, that only supports what I suspected from speaking with her. However briefly."

"And what do you suspect? That she's here to pocket a few things before she's shown the door? Take advantage of my renowned good graces?" 

Agatha took her time in answering, causing me to sigh and rub my fingers over the lace dollies even more. 

"I don't want to say anything until I'm sure. A disgraced servant has always been in difficult circumstances and I do not wish to make matters worse.  But, I do believe it would be beneficial if she stayed with us."

That made me stare. 

"What? You want me to take her up on her offer?" I couldn't believe my ears. "The woman is obviously a colossal fake and a manipulator! And look what a panic her behaviour put the men in!"

Agatha nodded. "She is, you're perfectly correct. When will you be going up to London?"

"When. . . on Friday. Why?"

"And back again on Saturday?"

"That's what I was planning, yes."

"That should give me enough time," she said, leaning forward to hand me back the letters.

Agatha explained that she'd give Mrs Thrower some work to do in the next several days to 'see if she was useful'. If I agreed with her reasoning for keeping her around after I came back from London, then she'd stay on at half-wages. If I disagreed, Agatha would pay her for the few days and send her packing.  I wouldn't have to do anything. 

"And you really think such a person could be beneficial here?" I said, as I took up the candlestick again and got up to leave.

"Quite possibly.  You might want to be quiet on your way out. I've given her the room across the hall. We don't want her knowing where you sleep." 

"The room right. . .? Fine, fine, I'm not asking. All part of the plan, I take it." I said, waving my hand to show I wasn't interfering with her judgement. "Good night, Agatha." 

"Good night. Oh, by the way," she said, as I was just about to open the door. "Davis was one of the men who ate in the small parlour. I believe some of them are still there. Good night, Olivia."

I went out, and shut the door behind myself. Sheltering the flame with my hand from any drafts, I made my way back to my room. 

Why had she seen fit to tell me that James had been in the small parlour? Was James set off by thunder? I'd thought she was against me having anything to do with him privately. And just what the devil could be beneficial about the Thrower woman staying here? Yes, having an extra pair of hands was always of use, but what was Agatha seeing that I wasn't? 

I deposited the letters in my drawer, making a mental note to send the real recommendation back when I was in London. 

Reading didn't appeal and the notion of lying in bed listening to the rain and waiting for the occasional flash of lightning also didn't appeal. I was both restless and bored. 

After pacing about and not finding anything that caught my interest, I finally decided to go downstairs and see if James was still about. 

Damned silly thing to do, Olivia. You're not in the best of moods and he's quite good at setting you off.

I knew that, and yet I supposed that's exactly why I took up the candlestick again and went down to the first floor.