“She is such a charming person,” Evelyn said. “I had heard such horror stories about being a companion, but she is wonderful.”
And so are you, Mr. Rudge. I wonder if you realize just how unusual and special you are? Many in your position would abuse their power, but you make the care and well-being of the household your particular charge.
Aloud, she said, “Goodness! This is a lot of food.”
“The better to fatten you up, my dear,” Mr. Rudge said in his best theater villain voice.
Evelyn laughed, and began to feel a lonely place that had been growing since her husband had died, to feel a little less empty.
Perhaps life could be worth living, after all. I can, at least, have a few good friends to help fill the emptiness.
Chapter 10
Mayson could scarcely believe his luck. She consented to sit at the kitchen table with him! He supposed that it might be somewhat inappropriate, but the kitchen was not a private place. Anyone could come wandering through at any time, seeking food, comfort, and perhaps even some advice.
Mayson was not quite sure how the advice part had come to be. He was, after all, much younger than most head cooks. But perhaps it was because he was younger, and therefore perhaps a little less intimidating than the butler or the housekeeper. However it might have come about, he was often the confidant and gatekeeper for the younger staff members and their small concerns. In all events, it meant that the kitchen was often a lively place where the younger staff members might gather at any hour.
“Is this not late for you?” Mrs. Swinton asked. “Not that I do not appreciate a good meal. I usually have a little something squirreled away for after Her Grace has gone to bed.”
“To some degree,” Mayson replied. “But I have made arrangements with the potboy to start the fires and put the loaves in the oven to bake. He has done it a time or two now, with good success. I think I might be able to begin training him to be the undercook.”
“That will be pleasant for both of you,” Mrs. Swinton observed. “It is kind of you to take him under your tutelage. Many cooks are so jealous of their position that they would as soon cut off an arm as share their secrets.”
“Ah, but where would I be if a kindly cook had not allowed me to run tame in the kitchen, getting underfoot, and then being put to work at various menial tasks until I finally began to learn the secrets of proper cookery.”
Mrs. Swinton buttered a cracker, then placed a thin slice of cheese atop it. She contemplated it a moment then asked, “What was he like? The cook who taught you.”
“Gruff. Solid. He was not loud or angry-sounding like some cooks can be. He used a bosun’s whistle to get the attention of the staff. There was a special whistle for each person, and he expected them to quickly learn the tune that meant they were to attend him. There were also whistles for dishing up, adding wood, and more. It was quite complex.”
“Oh, dear! What a tangle that would have been for someone new!”
“It could be. Fortunately, for all his gruffness, he was a patient person with those who truly did not know. He was less patient with those who did not pay attention or try to learn.”
“What became of him?” Mrs. Swinton fixed her gaze upon him. Tonight, her eyes were a deep green, almost black in the dim light of the nighttime kitchen. It made her look enigmatic, he thought, like some ancient forest goddess stepped out of the dawn of time.
“To the best of my knowledge, he is still cooking in the same kitchen where I learned. I’ve rambled around a bit since then. Cooked for the army for a while, then for an inn or two. This place suits me. Big enough to be a challenge, but not so large that I must toil day and night to oversee providing food for everyone.”
“You were in the army?”
Mayson nodded. “For a while. Once it was discovered that I had a talent for making the scrawny chickens and dried meat that were our main rations actually taste like something edible, I saw very little of the fighting unless our camp was overrun.”
“Did that happen often?”
The softly curling eyelashes around the deep green eyes blinked, while she gazed at him steadily, waiting for the answer to her question. A man could get lost in those eyes, drown in them. She was so beautiful. It was no wonder that she had attracted the Duke’s attention.
Mayson dragged his attention back to their conversation, trying not to act like a complete mooncalf. “Every now and then. Often enough that my batman kept my things packed at all times so’s we could move at a moment’s notice.”
“You had a batman? I thought only officers had them.” Mrs. Swinton seemed puzzled.
“In the army, a head cook is an officer. As quartermaster, I was responsible not only for myself, but also for my staff and all the supplies. Sometimes what ran over our camp was not actual army—it was a rabble hoping for food.”
“How dreadful! What did you do then?”
“As often as possible, shunted them off. When we could spare it, I would give out bread. Only plain bread. Our men needed the meat. There was not enough to give any of that away.”
“I am amazed that there was flour enough to make bread. I had heard that it was in short supply.”
“I will let you in on a little secret. If horses can eat grain, so can the men. I had my lads grind the corn that was given as fodder, and had them gleaning the fields for hay and grass for the horses.”
