Michaels nodded. “Shipshape and Bristol fashion.”
“Quite so, Michaels. Miss Bentley has made a good start on clearing up the mess that Jones made of the kitchen. If you have any fondness for her at all, you might continue the process.”
“I did try, My Lord,” Michaels began, with a troubled look on his face.
The charwoman staggered to her feet and said, “I’ve seen cleaner floors in stables than this’un. An’ it scarcely yielded to ma cleanin’ what with That Man an’ his messes. If it’s all the same to you, m’lord, I’ll finish it ta’marra. I’m right tuckered, I am.”
“I am pleased with the progress you have made, and deeply appreciate that you have come in on a Wednesday, even though it is your usual day off,” Percival said. He fished in the pocket of his coat and came up with penny. “Here is a small token of appreciation.”
“Thank ‘ee, kindly, m’lord. It’ll buy me some supper. I’ve been smellin’ that good food all day, and it’s right hungry I am now.”
“Oh, my!” Percival exclaimed. “Michaels, make up a packet of food for this good woman so that she need not spend her penny on her supper.”
Michaels caught up a scrap of brown paper from where Tiffany had been kneading dough earlier. On it he piled some scraps of meat that lingered on the bone from the roast that had been served for dinner. He added slices of bread, then made a separate parcel that held threeof the little biscuits, and one of the few sound apples from the pantry.
The charwoman gratefully accepted the bundle. “Thank ye, thank ye,” she said over and over, bobbing curtsey after curtsey.
“Do you have a name?” Percival asked.
“Oh, yes, Me Lord! I’m Elizabet. Most calls me Old Bet, or sometimes Last Bet, ‘cause I’ll take on the jobs no one else will have.”
“Hmm. That says a great deal about this kitchen,” Percival observed.
“Oh, no, Me Lord. This twarn’t nothing. You’se me Tuesdy’s and Thursdy’s anyway. Lucas came to tell me this mornin’ that the new cook were a stickler for clean, an’ I was needed extra.”
Percival looked at the floor. There was a clear demarcation between where the charwoman had cleaned, and where she had left off. “Twice weekly, you say. Would you be interested in coming here every day?”
“Well, now, Me Lord, I cain’t rightly do that. I’ll be glad to add Wensdy to Tuesdy n’ Thursdy, but come Fridy, I cleans at the Poor House, ta pay ma dues gainst when I’m too old to work, and on Saturdy, I reads up the church for Sundy services.”
“We’d best not interfere with those days, then. But what about Monday?”
“On Mondys I does for a widow lady what is bound to her bed and a wooden chair contraption on wheels. She’d miss me sorely, that she would.”
“You are quite right. You are needed in those other places. Well, we shall be grateful for the three days that you can give to us.”
After the charwoman had departed, Percival turned to Michaels. “How long has this been going on?”
“I don’t rightly know, My Lord. I came to work here after Jones. But from what I’ve heard tell, since he started workin’ in your kitchen. Most all cooks have strange ways, but his were about the strangest I’ve seen yet. He’d deliberately throw stuff on the floor an’ tell the scullery to pick it up. We’s had a hard time getting a day scullery who’d stay. Evan has been the longest, an’ he works nights with me, mostly. He’d been gettin’ somewhat caught up on the reg’ler dishes, but some o’ those pots need to be thrown out and replaced, they’s that bad. It is a miracle and a wonder that the charwoman has stayed on.”
“So I am guessing that you are the reason we have had any decent food at all.”
“That’s especially true for the serving staff, My Lord, but Jones used to send out for ready cooked stuff for you and your guests.”
“That explains some of the very odd dishes we have had at the table. Well, I am exceptionally glad that Miss Bentley was our cook today. I received several fine complements on her behalf, and for that fine roast, as well.”
Michaels bobbed his head and grinned, too embarrassed to acknowledge the praise. “Speakin’ o’ which, My Lord, if ya ain’t gonna be dinin’ on poultry come tomorrow, I’d best start a new one goin’.”
“Quite so, Michaels. I have been keeping you from your work. I shall look forward to a great deal more of it, now that you will not have to fight for hearth space.”
As he climbed the stairs back up into his own part of the manor, Percival puzzled over his uncle’s endorsement of Jones.Uncle is always very refined in his tastes. I cannot imagine why he would recommend a cook who did not keep a clean kitchen.Percival was still thinking about it as he drew the covers up to his chin and tried to go to sleep. It simply made no sense.
Chapter 8
Tiffany awoke to the luxurious feel of soft sheets and warmth such as she had not felt since Father Bentley had died. For a moment she thought she was dreaming. Then she moved, and found that every inch of her body ached, thanks to the work she had done yesterday.
Bread! Tiffany pushed herself up on her elbows, made her ablutions, dressed, and hurried down to the kitchen.
“Mornin’, Girlie,” Michaels greeted her from the stool where he tended a joint that was slowly turning on a spit.
