“Yes, indeed, Mr. McElroy. Now Jemmy, if you will take him to the laundry room and get him squared away, I will begin to see to the rest of the dinner preparations.”
Molly Sue ogled after Jemmy and Mr. McElroy. “Mr. Rudge, how’s he gonna wash dishes? He's got one leg and one arm.”
“We’ll take him on trial, Molly Sue, and see how he does.”
She looked at him with frank disbelief, then loaded up a tray and went off upstairs with it.
Was it that late already?
Then the tower bells from the village Chapel tolled three times. It was, indeed, tea time.
“Would you care for a spot of tea?” he asked Mr. McElroy as he returned in a crisp, white uniform.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “My last meal was yesterday sometime. You might say that eating regular is a big part of my reason for applying here.”
“I can understand that,” Mayson replied. “I got my start as a cook because I had a knack for making half a hare and a bucket of oats turn into something that folks could stand to eat.”
“Is that right?” Mr. McElroy acknowledged. “Hunger do be a powerful push to get folks moving right along.”
“Sometimes,” Mayson replied. “However, that will not be your concern here. Jemmy and I will do most of the cooking while your job will be to wash the pots.”
“Fair enough,” said Mr. McElroy. “All I ask is a fair trial. This here arm should be better in a day or two. For now, I might need a little help hoistin’ the biggest pots.”
“If you are sure it will get better, that will be well enough. Now, how do you take your tea?”
“Anyways I can get it,” Mr. McElroy said, with a twinkle in his eye. “But if you have cream and sugar, I would admire havin’ it served up that a-way. Me mum used ter make it like that as a special treat.”
“Sugar and cream it is,” Mayson said, pouring for them both. “Here are some ham sandwiches, sweet biscuits, and fresh apples, if that suits your appetite.”
“Oh, Mr. Rudge! I will be your best friend forever. I have not seen such a meal in I do not know when.”
So saying, Mr. McElroy fell to with excellent appetite. He ate quickly and efficiently, as if the food might get away if he did not consume it fast enough. For all that, he used good table manners, chewed with his mouth closed, sipped his tea properly, and made use of his napkin to smother the inevitable burp at the end of his repast.
“Now, if you will point me toward the washin’ bench, Mr. Rudge, I will get to work straight away,” Mr. McElroy said.
“Jemmy,” Mayson nodded toward the newly promoted under cook.
“Right this way, Mr. McElroy,” Jemmy said. “I’ll show you where everything is stored.”
“Do you really think he will do?” Jemmy asked when he returned.
“We shall see,” Mayson said. “In truth, I am not sure. But I would not turn away one who has served England to the best of his ability, and clearly given of his health. Help him with the biggest pots, if he asks, but otherwise let him be to do his work. Let me know if there is a problem.”
“I can do that,” Jemmy replied.
“Now then,” Mayson went on, “Let us see about dinner. We shall have a great many hungry people needing to be fed all too soon.”
The two of them then bent over the slate that detailed the evening menu, then separated to attend to their various portions of the preparations.
Mayson kept a wary eye upon Jemmy’s processes but could find no fault other than the young cook being a trifle slow. Time and custom would take care of that.
He was less sure of the wisdom of hiring on a man with one leg and an arm only recently healed, but he could not with good conscience turn him away.
If I established my claim on Hillsworth, would Jemmy and Mr. McElroy be capable of cooking for the Duchess and her household?
He sighed. Complications at every turn. Doing the right thing was not always as easy as it seemed.
Chapter 22
