She nodded. “Though I should imagine he’ll be all tuckered out by the time he gets back. Why he should have decided to go today, after the night we had, I don’t know. Mrs. Marmalade had her kittens last night, and a time we had finding out where she’d hid them.”

I wondered if the rules against discussing sex didn’t apply to the servant classes, or if once the kittens were a fact, they became an acceptable topic.

“Last time it was the root cellar,” she said, “and once their eyes are open, you can never find them all to drown them. And the time before we never did find where she’d hid them. That Mrs. Marmalade’s a sly boots, she is.”

“Yes, well, if you’d just please give him my message as soon as he gets back,” I said, putting on my boater.

“The time before that, it was Miss Pansy’s sewing box. And the time before that the linen drawer in the upstairs cupboard. The sly boots know you’ll try to take their kittens, you know, and so they hide them in the most peculiar places. When the Merings’ cat had her kittens last winter, she hid them in the wine cellar and they didn’t find them for nearly three weeks! Christmas Day it was they finally found them, and what a time catching them all. When I was in service at the Widow Wallace’s, the cat had her kittens in the oven!”

I managed to get away after several more anecdotes about resourceful cat mothers, and hotfooted it back to the gazebo.

At first I didn’t see Verity, and I thought perhaps she’d tried it again while I was gone and been successful, but she was on the other side of the gazebo, sitting under a tree. She was wearing the white dress I’d first seen her in, and her neck was bent gracefully over her sketchbook.

“Any luck?” I said.

“Nothing.” She got to her feet. “Where’s Finch?”

“Off buying cabbages in a neighboring village,” I said. “I left a message for him to come to Muchings End as soon as he gets back.”

“A message,” she said. “That’s a good idea. We could try and send a message.” She looked speculatively at her sketchbook. “You don’t have any paper you brought through with you, do you?”

I shook my head. “Everything I brought through was washed away when the boat capsized. No, wait. I’ve got a bank note.” I got it out of my pocket. “But what do we write with?”

“We take the chance that a milliliter or so of carbon is a nonsignificant article,” she said, holding up her charcoal pencil.

“That’s too thick,” I said. “I’ll go back to the house and fetch a pen and ink. When’s the next rendezvous?”

“Now,” Verity said, and pointed at the shimmering air.

There wasn’t time to race to the house and back, let alone scrawl, “Can’t get through,” and our coordinates. “We’ll need to wait till next time,” I said.

Verity was only half-listening to me. She was watching the growing glow in the grass. She stepped into the center of it and handed me her sketchbook and pencil.

“You see?” she said. The glow immediately dimmed. “It still won’t open,” and disappeared in a shimmer of condensation.

Well, and that was that. The continuum hadn’t broken down, at least not yet, and we weren’t trapped here. Ah, well, it was probably for the best. I truly did hate kedgeree, and croquet matches were deadly. And if St. Michael’s was any indication, the late summer would bring on hordes of jumble sales and fêtes.

I looked at my pocket watch. It was half past IX. I needed to get back to the house before somebody saw me and asked me what I was doing loitering out here, and with luck I might still be able to get some devilled kidneys or smoked kippers from the Stag at Bay.

I started for the rockery, and nearly ran into Baine. He was standing looking grimly out over the Thames, and I scanned the water, looking for Princess Arjumand out in the middle of it treading water with her white paws.

I didn’t see her, but Baine was going to see me in a moment. I ducked back into the lilacs, trying not to rustle any leaves, and nearly stepped on Princess Arjumand.

“Muir,” she said loudly. “Mrowr.”

Baine turned and looked straight at the lilacs, frowning.

“Mere,” Princess Arjumand said. Shhh, I said silently, putting my finger to my lips. She began rubbing up against my leg, meowing loudly. I stooped to pick her up and knocked against a dead branch. It snapped off, its brittle leaves rattling sharply.

Baine started toward the lilacs. I began thinking up excuses. A lost croquet ball? And what was I doing playing croquet by myself at nine o’clock in the morning? Sleepwalking? No, I was fully dressed. I looked longingly back at the gazebo, gauging the distance and time to the next rendezvous. Both too far. And, knowing Princess Arjumand, she’d saunter in at the last minute and cause another incongruity in the continuum. It would have to be a lost croquet ball.

“Mire,” Princess Arjumand said loudly, and Baine raised his arms to part the lilac bushes.

“Baine, come here immediately,” Tossie said from the towpath. “I wish to speak to you.”

“Yes, miss,” he said, and went over to where she was standing, dressed in ruffles, tucks, and lace, and holding her diary.

I took advantage of the distraction to scoop Princess Arjumand up and step farther into the depths of the lilacs. She snuggled against my chest and began purring loudly.

“Yes, miss?” Baine said.

“I insist that you apologize to me,” Tossie said imperiously. “You had no right to say what you did yesterday.”

“You are quite right,” Baine said solemnly. “It was not my place to express my opinions, even though they were solicited, and I do apologize for speaking as I did.”

“Meeee,” Princess Arjumand said. In listening, I had forgotten to keep petting her, and she put her paw gently on my hand. “Mooorre.”

Tossie looked round, distractedly, and I backed farther out of sight behind the bushes.

“Admit that it was a beautiful piece of art,” Tossie said.

There was a long pause, and then Baine said quietly, “As you wish, Miss Mering.”

Tossie’s cheeks flushed pink. “Not ‘as I wish.’ The Reverend Mr. Doult said it was…” There was a pause, “…‘an example of all that was best in modern art.’ I copied it down in my diary.”

“Yes, miss.”

Her cheeks went even pinker. “Are you daring to disagree with a man of the cloth?”

“No, miss.”

“My fiancé Mr. St. Trewes said it was extraordinary.”

“Yes, miss,” Baine said quietly. “Will that be all, miss?”

“No, it will not be all. I demand that you admit you were wrong about its being an atrocity and mawkishly sentimental.”

“As you wish, miss.”

“Not as I wish,” she said, stamping her foot. “Stop saying that.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Mr. St. Trewes and the Reverend Mr. Doult are gentlemen. How dare you contradict their opinions! You are only a common servant.”

“Yes, miss,” he said wearily.

“You should be dismissed for being insolent to your betters.”

There was another long pause, and then Baine said, “All the diary entries and dismissals in the world cannot change the truth. Galileo recanted under threat of torture, but that did not make the sun revolve round the earth. If you dismiss me, the vase will still be vulgar, I will still be right, and your taste will still be plebeian, no matter what you write in your diary.”

“Plebeian?” Tossie said, bright pink. “How dare you speak like that to your mistress? You are dismissed.” She pointed imperiously at the house. “Pack your things immediately.”

“Yes, miss,” Baine said. “E pur si muove.”

“What?” Tossie said, bright red with rage. “What did you say?”

“I said, now that you have dismissed me, I am no longer a member of the servant class and am therefore in a position to speak freely,” he said calmly.

“You are not in a position to speak to me at all,” Tossie said, raising her diary like a weapon. “Leave at once.”