There was a general chorus of agreement.
Later, over cigars and brandy, the wealthy gentleman—who had remained for the dinner—remarked, “Fine meal. I thank you for your hospitality. Do come see me at my bank a se’nnight from now. Fine show, jolly fine show.”
As McClellan saw the fellow out, Percival felt a little dazed. Had they done it? Would he make a donation?
Certainly, he must go down and give the new cook her well-earned compliments. The only question was, how would she receive them?
Chapter 7
When the last of the dinner guests had departed, Percival went downstairs to see what changes had been made in the kitchen. Although his father had often told him that it was bad form to invade the servants’ territory, his curiosity outweighed custom.
When he entered the kitchen, he found it much changed from the morning. The charwoman was still scrubbing her way across the paving stones that comprised the kitchen floor, and another woman was polishing the tabletops with bouquets of fresh mint. Evan and Jack were elbow-deep in suds over at the trough that served as a drain. The pile of crusted, rusting cookware that had been tumbled in the corner of the kitchen was greatly diminished.
Grace and Sophie were sorting through a peck basket of apples, peeling the good ones, and placing the ones that were too far gone into a bucket that would go out to the poultryman for his chickens.
The kitchen smelled of roasting meat, spices, fruit, and strong cleaners, a welcome contrast to the morning’s chaos. How had it ever been allowed to come to such a pass? Percival marveled at the ways that custom could cause problems.
He looked around for the young cook who was responsible for all these remarkable changes. He did not see her at first, then he discovered her sitting at a small table in an out-of-the-way nook, her head resting on a long piece of foolscap, her fingers stained with ink. Someone had thoughtfully corked the ink bottle and cleaned her quill, but if he was not mistaken, part of the list she had been writing would now be imprinted on her face.
He approached Grace and Sophie. “Did not someone find a room for her?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, My Lord,” Sophie replied, expressionlessly. “She is to room with me. But she insisted that she should wait for Michaels to awaken and take her place. She said that some things are too delicate to be left unattended.”
Just then, the other subject of the conversation stumbled down the stairs to the servants’ quarters. Michaels was wearing a clean apron over a stained tunic and trousers. “By the saints!” he swore. “What happened in here while I was asleep? And why is the baker asleep over there at the cook’s desk?”
“No longer baker,” Percival corrected. “She is now the head cook. I have dined in some exceptional places, and never have I had such a meal as was served tonight! I came down to pass on the guests’ compliments.”
“Did someone save a plate for me?” Michaels asked, half-jokingly.
“Of course we did,” Grace replied. “It is on the hob, under the cover.”
“Wash first, and change your uniform,” Percival directed sternly. “Miss Bentley has put in an extremely hard day getting this kitchen clean and still prepared an excellent meal.”
Michaels started to make a jest, but glanced at his employer’s face. Instead he said, “Yes, My Lord,” and headed for the laundry room.
Percival knelt on one knee next to Tiffany’s chair. “Miss Bentley. He touched her gently on one shoulder. “Tiffany . . .”
She came awake with a start. “Oh! Lord Northbury! I am so sorry. I fell asleep.”
“When did you sleep last?”
“Yesterday? Five or six hours before we met.”
“Small wonder that you could not stay awake. A place has been prepared. You should go up to bed now.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
Percival rose, and put out a hand to help Tiffany to her feet, just as if she had been a great lady. Tiffany wobbled a little as she stood, then she gasped, “The loaf! Was it good, My Lord? Did you enjoy it?”
“It was excellent, quite the best bread we have eaten in this hall for many a year. I look forward to tasting one for which you have all the best ingredients.”
“Ingredients make all the difference,” Tiffany agreed, smothering a yawn.
“I’ll show you the way,” Sophie said. “You are going to be sharing a room with me.”
Percival watched the two of them leave the room.
Michaels entered, his hair tied back, wearing a clean, white uniform. “Much better,” Percival nodded. “You might not end a night looking so tidy, but henceforth I expect you to begin it so.”
