“The Duke, who is to some degree a responsible gentleman, set her up in a cottage on the lower side of the village and arranged for her to be married. It isn’t a very happy marriage, I fear. Her new husband relies on the largess from the Duke to maintain the household. Of late, the fellow has taken up drinking up his own wages and a good part of the largess, leaving the former companion to take in laundry and the like to support herself and the baby.”
“That is terrible!” Evelyn exclaimed. “Something should be done.”
“Something is being done, as much as can be,” Mr. Rudge replied. “The constable has his eye on the fellow, and the village ladies do as much as they can for the woman. She is proud, however, and does not wish to be dependent on charity.”
“Now that I know about this, I am doubly grateful to you. Although, I do not think I should be so foolish as to be taken in by any gentleman, nor so poor-spirited as to succumb to him.”
“Perhaps you are quick to judge, Mrs. Swinton.” Mr. Rudge looked troubled.
“Oh, dear. I do not mean to be. But every shop girl knows what lies down that particular slippery path.”
“True enough. But when a young woman is employed by a great house, there are many ways that the young master can put pressure on her, not the least of which is being turned off without references.”
“I suppose so,” Evelyn agreed. “Shortly before I was hired on here, I interviewed for a house where the Lord made suggestive remarks, something about what might happen to me if someone was to buy up my debts. Fortunately, the physician who cared for my husband holds all of my debts, and I do not think he would sell them off.”
“That is good to know,” Mr. Rudge said soberly. “But what if the physician fell on hard times? Would not those debts be part of his assets?”
“And could be sold at auction,” Evelyn said soberly. “Fortunately, I believe him to be at least comfortable, if not well off. He has society patrons as well as his charity patients. He is the Duchess’ own physician, I might add, which is partially how I came to be offered this position.”
“Was your husband a charity patient, Mrs. Swinton?”
“Not at first. Mr. Swinton was a hard worker, and a frugal man. As soon as he realized that he was mortally ill, he started taking extra jobs and setting aside money against the time when he could not work.” Then she looked troubled. “I fear he might have hastened his death in the hope of making me secure.”
“Any man who was a man would have done that, Mrs. Swinton. If he truly knew that he was dying, I do not believe he could have done otherwise. Not if he loved you at all.”
“I think he did,” she said slowly, reflecting on the past. “I certainly loved him. Toward the end, there was very little left save the illness and trying to make him comfortable. He would not kiss or hold me, for fear of passing the illness to me. Indeed, he begged me to get someone else to care for him lest I be made ill also.”
“A good man, then,” Mr. Rudge comforted her. “And one who loved you well. While it is a great trial to be the one left behind, you were fortunate to have been the object of such adoration.”
“I suppose.” Evelyn sighed. “But I would have just as soon had a living husband, even if he tended to stay late at the local inn on a Friday night, or usually slept in a-Sunday instead of going to church.”
“Better a living man than a dead saint,” Mr. Rudge nodded. “I quite understand.”
“Have you lost someone, Mr. Rudge? You seem knowledgeable in the ways of grief.”
“My father,” he replied. “He also had a lingering illness, although his did not seem to have any specific cause. When he passed from this life, I tried to carry on. But my own health seemed likely to suffer, so one day I simply walked away.”
“Do you regret it?” Evelyn asked.
“Not really. I find ‘cook’ to be a fulfilling role in life. I prepare good foods that will sustain life, and sometimes even heal. Or at least Her Grace’s physician is of the opinion that they will.”
“I think he might be on to something there, Mr. Rudge. Especially when he has such a willing ally as yourself who can make his food prescriptions into something delightful, rather than a chore to consume.”
“Speaking of that, Mrs. Swinton, I have saved back a few scraps for you.” Mr. Rudge went to a small cupboard on the wall well away from the fireplace and withdrew a covered plate. “I had meant to send them up to your room tonight, but since you are here perhaps you would not mind keeping me company at my own supper?”
Evelyn stepped farther into the kitchen. “That would be a pleasure, Mr. Rudge, as long as all we are discussing is supper.”
“Only that, and plenty of it, Mrs. Swinton. I believe that your long months of nursing your husband, followed by the arduous task of caring for the Dowager Duchess, has taken its toll on you.”
“Are you trying to fatten me up, Mr. Rudge?” Evelyn teased gently.
“I am hoping to put a little meat on your bones, yes,” he replied with a grin. “Besides, if you share a meal with me, you might also stay and talk for a little while. I am afraid that most of the kitchen staff are doing well to write their own name or to puzzle out the ingredients in a recipe. I grow lonely for conversation that goes beyond the village gossip.”
“Then I will be glad to sit at table with you, Mr. Rudge.”
Evelyn smiled as he laid out crackers, cheese, apples, and a few small pieces of sliced meats.
“The Duchess does not stint the help,” Mr. Rudge said. “I am charged with feeding anyone from the household who might wander through my kitchen day or night. So do not fear that we might be breaking some house rule.”
