Evelyn opened the door before I’d finished knocking. She was a fat, good-humored woman with an easy laugh and a warmth about her that is found only in the very best gossips. “Welcome!” she cried. “Welcome to London. You must be Mrs. Hodgson.” She took my hand and pulled me inside. “Please do come in.” Mrs. Evelyn took our luggage from us and started up the stairs, utterly untroubled by the weight. Martha and I hurried after her. “Your letters said that you are a grace-wife,” she said over her shoulder. “Good, good. Such a one is always welcome in the Cheap. Good women we have.” I started to reply, but she would not allow it. “There are others in the neighborhood, of course: Grace Ramsden, for one. But she is so great with child that her travail could start at any moment. And once the baby is born, someone will have to take her place at least for a time. Why not you?” By now we had climbed three sets of stairs, passing Mrs. Evelyn’s own quarters along the way.
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