Imposing and regal, she’d been impressed by the house’s elegant proportions the last time she’d visited, to take tea with Isobel. Isobel had taken the opportunity to inform Eleanor of her intentions; now Eleanor wanted to inform the young woman of hers. She took a slow, steadying breath, and knocked. “May I help you?” the butler, ponderous but with a kindly smile, looked down on her. “My name is Eleanor McCardell. I’d like to speak with Isobel, please. She doesn’t expect me, but I am a friend of hers.” The butler glanced at her dress, slightly worn but respectable, and after a second’s hesitation, nodded. “Won’t you come in, miss?” “I’d rather not.” Eleanor smiled apologetically. “No doubt you’ve heard of the typhoid sweeping the city. I’m nursing a sufferer myself, and I’ve no wish to spread the contagion.” The butler took a step back, an expression of fearful distaste on his face. “Could you please ask Miss Moore to meet me outside? Perhaps we can take a turn in the park, where the air is fresh.”
