“No, My Lord Uncle,” he said for what seemed the thousandth time, “I will not hire Jones back. I have charged Mr. Wilson with finding a suitable day cook, a task for which he is eminently suited. He has already gone around to three agencies and left his card. I am sure that we will hear back shortly.”
“In the meanwhile, we could have a perfectly capable cook, and be dining in style this very minute.”
“In style. Uncle Ronald, if you had set foot in that kitchen even once, you would have known that it was not being well run. Why, we had to throw out more than half the pots and pans and replace them. It is a miracle the good china survived.”
“What were you doing in the kitchen, Nephew? It is hardly the place for the lord of the house. Visiting servant territory in that way will either make them nervous, which will keep them from performing their duties; or it will make them familiar, with will also make them less competent.”
“My father used to say, ‘The foot of the master manureth the land’,” Percival retorted. “And I hardly think the saying means to step in something nasty then step elsewhere.”
“Your father was dangerously close to being an egalitarian.”
“And if he was? What matter that? This household was well run up until my mother took ill.”
“Took ill,” Lord Ronald snorted. “I know it is untoward to speak ill of the dead, but the woman was hysterical, and over the smallest of things. She hated for your father and I to go hunting together, even though I adored my big brother and found it almost unbearable to be separated from him.”
“Your affections are not in question, Uncle. Your choice of cook is. No, I will NOT have him back. I want that to be clearly understood.”
“Very well. What shall we do about luncheon?” His uncle stood with arms folded.
“I have sent out to my club to have a nice noon-day meal delivered for you. Michaels has made roast and beans for the servants, and Smithers has prepared a more than adequate beef tea for me. Matters are well in hand.”
“Well in hand? And what about those two lay-about ruffians who are downstairs in the drawing room desiring to be admitted to your chambers?”
“Lay about? Ruffians?” Percival looked toward the door, where McClellan stood, giving a good imitation of a face carved in stone.
“I was just about to tell you, My Lord,” McClellan said. “Your friends, Mr. Quentin and Mr. Kenault, are downstairs in the small drawing room. Shall I ask them to come up?”
“Oh, by all means, do. I believe it would do me good to see a merry face instead of hangdog expressions of worry. And I know I would be glad to hear something other than ‘I told you so’ in a broad variety of forms.”
“You did give me leave to say so, Nephew.”
“Only if it were proved that my staff had turned on me. Which,” he wagged a forestalling finger, “has not yet been established beyond all doubt.”
“How can you say it has not when the thief’s knife was found in your shoulder?”
“Anyone could have taken it from her room. Both Grace and Sophie knew of it, as did I. Anyone could have overheard us talking about it. It does not look good, I will admit, but it is not proof conclusive.”
“How do you account for her being the one to find you?”
“I don’t and I can’t.” Percival pounded his fist on the arm of the chair. “I must have sent for her, but I do not recall doing so. But then, I do not recall much of anything after Sophie brought up my tea.”
“Another criminal, no doubt,” Lord Ronald said scornfully.
“In point of fact, dear Uncle, you hired her yourself. She came highly recommended from a local agency. Mrs. Twitchel speaks well of her ability with linens, but not of the way she gets on with the other staff members.”
“So, you accuse me of encouraging you to hire a troublemaker?”
“No, Uncle. I merely point out that Sophie was hired upon your recommendation, as, now that I think about it, was Jones. Jones was the worst cook in the history of this household.”
They might have gone on in this manner for some time, had not they been interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Kenault, followed by Mr. Quentin.
“Eddy! Tommy! What a welcome sight you are.”
Mr. Quentin spoke up. “Constable Brooks said that you were fair blue-deviled, being picked at by elderly relatives and fawned over by servants. We’ve come to lend a bit of balance to the mix.”
Nearly at the same time, Kenault said, “How are you, old chap? Is the noggin still in one piece? And what’s this I hear about you sending Tiffany off? Damme, but she is a fine cook. Those little rolls she makes . . .” he pantomimed kissing his fingers and throwing the kiss into the air.
“I would rather not discuss that just now,” Percival said. “But come in, sit down. Oh, wait… McClellan, bring in some more chairs. Tell me about the orphanage, how it comes on. Have you been to the races lately? I hunger for news of the outside world.”
