“Cook, is it? That’s seems a mighty responsible position to give someone who might poison ye all in yer sleep.”
“So people keep telling me. But she has been here a little over a fortnight, and we are all still standing.”
Brooks gave a little snort. “An’ yer just now callin’ on my services?”
“We’ve been a little busy,” Percival said, defensively. “There is another matter I would like for you to look into for me. There is a char woman, Old Elizabet . . .”
“I know of her,” Brooks acknowledged. “She cleans at the poorhouse on Fridays. To the best of my knowledge, she is a harmless old soul. Just eking out the last days of her existence cleaning other people’s floors.”
“It seems that she has taken some young people under her wing. I’d like to help her out, but I don’t want to put money into a chancy situation.”
“Quite so, My Lord, quite so. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Brooks. I will be in your debt.”
“To be sure you will, My Lord. My retainer is not small.”
Percival laughed at that. “Just see my man of business on your way out. He will see to it. While you are about it, you might as well check out Michaels, the night cook. He identified Miss Bentley as having been the child he called ‘Girlie’ when she worked in Bentley’s bakery.”
Brooks laughed. “Oh, that one. I will save you your coin, My Lord. He is well known to us. He was the ship’s cook on theAntelope.”
“Is it true that his captain had the sweet sickness?”
“Oh, aye. Dropsy and heart trouble, as well as a predilection for gettin’ roarin’ drunk every time he was in port. Strangest thing, though. He got the craziest after eating sweet baked goods. Got into it with one of the barkeeps along the dock, grabbed his chest, and fell down, kicking and twitching. By the time someone thought to fetch a doctor, he was gone.”
“The ship was confiscated?”
“’Deed it was. Auctioned off, and most of the crew pressed into service on other ships. Michaels skipped out, and by the time we discovered where he was, he had a position and could not be classified as a vagrant seaman.”
“Well, well. Good to know that some part of my household’s past can be verified. Thank you for your services, and do see my man of business on your way out.”
“I will be sure to do that, My Lord.” Brooks swept him a bow, and prepared to follow McClellan out. Then he turned, “One more thing, My Lord. Word on the street is that your Charity Club is to build an orphanage. Have a care how you recruit the children for that new institution. Scuttlebutt has it that it is to be a slave house to provide workers for the aristocracy.”
“Dear God! Nothing could be further from the truth,” Percival exclaimed.
“Just passing the word along, My Lord,” Brooks said. “Best you should know, I thought.”
“Heavens, yes. I’ll let the other club members know, for we do not wish to have people look at it in such a way.”
Brooks touched the brim of an imaginary hat as if tipping it to him. “Thought not, My Lord. Well, I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Percival looked after his departing back quizzically. Then he turned back to the window. The sparrows had flown down to the lawn and were picking about.
What is the world coming to? It would seem as if one cannot even do a good deed without it being misconstrued.
Percival turned from the window, went out the door, and up the stairs to his office. The running of the estate weighed upon his shoulders like a pack that could never be removed. He could feel a headache coming on, and his day had scarcely begun.
Chapter 20
Tiffany whipped a large bowl of egg-whites vigorously, but her mind was not on the frothing concoction in the bowl. How might her world have been different if she had grown up in such a place as the Marquess envisioned? Would it have been better, or would it have been a prison not unlike her life with Mrs. Bentley? Would Mrs. Bentley have been kinder if she had been her real daughter?
Tiffany folded flour into the mixture, and daydreamed of the Marquess heaping berries on top of the beautiful white cake before biting into it. He was so appreciative of every dish, it was truly a pleasure to cook for him.
She had never met such a person as he in her life. If all peers were like the Marquess, what a wonderful world it would be. She would cheerfully make the best of foods for him.
But he doesn’t realize that there will be those who find it their bounden duty to pull apart what he is trying to build. Some will do it out of jealousy for his achievements, some will do it because they love to destroy anything that is beautiful, just because they can.
She slid the cake pan into the oven, and was just turning around when the Marquess entered the kitchen. “My Lord!” she exclaimed, sweeping him a curtesy. “How may I be of service?”
