Chapter 23
Mayson missed the late evening tête-à-têtes with Evelyn, but he could scarcely tell Jemmy and Mr. McElroy not to join them at the table. The kitchen was essentially a public area, which was why it raised no eyebrows that Evelyn sat down at table with him for their last meal of the day.
On the plus side, Evelyn knew a great deal about how to make things easier for a willing man who was not as strong as he had once been, and her example of grace and good table manners was helping both of his kitchen workers improve their social presence.
Occasionally, they were now joined by one or more of the maids. One evening, even Mrs. Henshaw deigned to enter the kitchen for a cup of golden milk. All of this served to help instruct his undercook and potboy in the necessities of hiring on with one of the great houses.
This particular evening it was just the three of them setting up the table, putting chairs around it, and sorting through the leftovers from earlier meals for food that needed to be eaten up or thrown into the pail for the estate’s dogs and cats. Evelyn would be coming down the stairs soon, he knew, bringing the Duchess’ last snack tray.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Evelyn appeared right on schedule. Her smile did not waver when she beheld Jemmy and Mr. McElroy, but her eyes met his for just an instant. He felt a frisson of longing dash through him as their gaze connected, and he tried to make his smile especially welcoming.
“There you are, Mrs. Swinton,” he said politely. “Let me take that heavy tray. We have a place set for you.”
“I am not very hungry,” Evelyn replied, “But I will gratefully take an uninterrupted cup of tea.”
Mayson held out her chair, preparing to push it in for her. But just as her weight descended fully upon the seat, it crumbled out from under her.
He was just able to catch Evelyn and set her upon her feet, keeping her from being bruised on the stone floor, at the very least. As it was, she limped back from the chair, rubbing one foot against the back of the other.
“Goodness!” she said. “I know I have gained a little weight since I’ve been eating your good cooking, but surely not so much as all of that!”
“It must be a weak joint in the chair,” Mr. McElroy put in. “I have a little experience with joinery. I can have a look at it, Mr. Rudge.”
“I would appreciate it, Mr. McElroy, but it can wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, Mrs. Swinton can have my chair and I will sit on the stool.”
So saying, he switched the plates rather than the chairs, and pulled over the stool normally reserved for the spit boy, whoever that might be for the day.
As he did so, he noticed that Mrs. Swinton was favoring her right foot.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Nothing to signify,” she replied. “Only a bruise from one of the braces on the chair. I am sure that it will be better by tomorrow.”
* * *
But it was not better the next day, and Dr. Alton was sent for.
He pronounced that one of the small bones in her foot was broken, and wrapped it in a plaster cast.
“She will not be able to run and fetch things for a fortnight or more,” the physician explained. “Is there someone who could take up that portion of her duties?”
“Molly Sue or Betty, perhaps?” Evelyn made a question of it, looking toward the Duchess, who was tapping the chair-arm with her lorgnette.
The Duchess frowned. “It seems to me a very odd thing that a chair which has remained stable for nearly a half century should suddenly fall apart.”
“Half a century?” Dr. Alton gave forth a hearty chuckle. “That could be your answer right there, Your Grace. But would you like for me to examine the chair before I leave the house?”
“I would,” she replied. “While I have the greatest faith in Mr. Rudge, and in the abilities of Mr. McElroy by extension, I would like someone else to see the chair.”
When the physician had stumped off toward the kitchen in company of Wilson, the Duchess turned to Evelyn and asked, “What do you remember happening?”
“I tucked you up in bed, then took your dishes down to the kitchen. Mr. Rudge has decided that I need fattening up, so he usually has a light snack for me. For both of us, really, and we share it. Of late, we have been joined by others.”
“Others?” the Duchess frowned slightly.
“Young Jemmy, Mr. McElroy, Molly Sue, occasionally Betty, and once Mrs. Henshaw.”
“Not Wilson?”
