by M C Beaton
Joseph stood and watched until Rainbird’s carriage had turned the corner of Piccadilly.
He went to enter Number 69, but instead, he turned about and went and stood outside Number 67 and looked down at the dark basement.
He felt something important had gone out of his life. He found himself gripping the railings and wishing the candles would light up that darkness and Rainbird’s voice would be raised summoning him to his duties.
He went sadly into Number 69 and down to the servants’ hall.
“Good evening, Mr. Joseph,” said a blushing housemaid. “We was just about to have supper.”
“Thank you, Amy,” said Joseph loftily. He sat down next to Blenkinsop and snapped his fingers as a signal that he was to be served.
