The source of that smell would be the kitchen, where two women are busy bustling from counter to sink to oven and back again.

"Did you see the way the master looked at Miss Baxter when they came in last night?" says the younger one, as she bends to take a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. "An' now they're having breakfast together... awfully familiar of them, wouldn't you say?"

"Now, Mabel," scolds the elder as she pulls plates out of the cupboard. "The master's tastes are 'is own business. Ye 'aven't been speakin' to him about this, have ye?"