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“Oh, yes, I quite understand that is part of the issue,” said his visitor.

“But enough of this,” said Mr. Rutley. “Can you assist me?”

“I believe I can,” his visitor said. “I shall see if I can drive your problem away or simply dispose of it. Of course there is that matter of proof. I am assuming that a body that has clearly come to harm might be proof.”

“One does not like to say so,” protested Mr. Rutley, “but in truth, it would solve a great deal.”

“I’ll see to it,” said his visitor. “You'll be hearing from me.”

Chapter 18

Mayson shook his head over the sorry state of the Sunday roast. Mr. Sparks had forgotten to keep it turned, and it was blackened on one side, but raw on the other.

How could he have forgotten to turn the roast? Did not his nose inform him?

Mayson sighed. There was no help for it. While it was not an enjoyable thought, the fellow would have to go.

But if he went, who would he get in his place?

Jemmy! Of course, Jemmy would be perfect. The young man was already showing an interest in cooking, knew his ways, and knew the kitchen.

“Jemmy?” Mayson called over the hubbub of morning breakfast preparations.

“Yessir?” Jemmy hastened toward him, wiping perspiration from his face with his sleeve.

“Here,” Mayson said, handing him a piece of rough toweling, “Use that. Don’t wipe your face on your uniform.”

“Sorry, Mr. Rudge,” Jemmy said. “Did you need me for something?”

“Yes, indeed,” Mayson said. “Let us go out on the stoop where it is a little cooler and we can hear ourselves think.”

“Can we do that right now, Mr. Rudge?” Jemmy looked worried.

“Let me worry about that, Jemmy. Everything is simmering, so I believe we can, for just a few minutes.”

The two of them exited the kitchen by the garden door, leaving behind the clatter of the maids chattering to each other as they loaded the breakfast trays. The food was cooked and on the central table, so they should require little or no help. In addition, other than the daily soup which Mayson had just stirred, there was nothing to boil over or scorch.

“How can I help, Mr. Rudge?” Jemmy asked, as they stepped out into the fresh air. Since it was nearly July now, the day was already beginning to warm up nicely. Birds twittered in the trees. There were voices of mowers at work, and the mumbles and grunts of the milch cows being turned out to pasture behind the main barn.

Mayson took a moment to survey the scene, and to breathe in air untainted by cooking fires. Then he said, “Jemmy, how would you like to be undercook?”

“Would I ever! Mr. Rudge, do you mean it?”

“I do, Jemmy. You have been doing a good job with baking the bread. I believe you can learn to do more exacting tasks.”

“But, what about Mr. Sparks?”

“That is between me and Mr. Sparks, Jemmy. Lesson one about being a cook: you must learn to manage people as well as food. You should also improve your manners.”

“I’ll do my very best, Mr. Rudge. I will listen and learn all you can tell me. This is just fine! Super fine! I can’t wait to tell me Mum.”

Mayson smiled at the young man. “You’ve earned it, Jemmy. I’m afraid for a few days it might mean doing two jobs until we can get a replacement for you.”

“I can do it,” Jemmy declared. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Rudge! When do I start?”

“Today, if you can manage to wash pots and keep an eye on the soup and the roast.”

“That won’t be no problem at all,” Jemmy declared. “I’ve been mostly...” His speech skidded to a halt as he realized what he had been about to say.