“No indeed, Your Grace. Wilson usually retires immediately after the servants’ dinner. It is understandable, for he is usually up before daybreak, checking in on Jemmy and the progress of breakfast.”
“But Mr. Rudge remains awake.”
“Until I retire, yes, Your Grace. Our repast is usually the final event of the day.”
“It used to be just the two of us, but somehow word has gotten around that extra goodies are to be had. It is no more than the serving staff used to save back from the evening meal. Do not think we are running the household out of supplies.”
“Of that I am assured, my dear. Wilson has nothing but good things to say about the kitchen accounts, and he has long been a high stickler for knowing expenditures down to the last grain of spice. If he was apprehensive of either consumption or behavior, he would have made the effort to stay awake. Of that you may be certain.”
“I am pleased that we have his confidence, Your Grace. It makes me a great deal easier in my mind.”
The Duchess reached over to where Evelyn was seated in a wingback chair that had been drawn up next to her own and patted her hand. “You have my every confidence, Mrs. Swinton. I believe you are fond of our young cook, is it not so?”
Evelyn felt heat rising in her cheeks.
“I find him to be an exceptionally congenial person. Well-mannered, thoughtful, and kindly toward his fellow beings. While I have never seen him with a horse, the dogs in the kennel and the cats that hang about the kitchen, dairy, and stables all come running when he walks about in the yards between house and out buildings.”
The Duchess chuckled. “As to the cats, my dear, he has been known to put out scraps, is it not so?”
Evelyn nodded.
“That is likely to be the attraction for our local felines. Not that I mind. I prefer cats to mice any day of the week. It has filtered back to me that the hound master and stable master both think well of our cook, as does the gardener. He does not neglect to take care of the people in all parts of the house. But it is the events leading up to the broken chair that interest me, my dear. What happened when you got downstairs with the dishes?”
“Mr. Rudge, Jemmy, and Mr. McElroy were setting out the last scraps so that we could choose from them. Mr. Rudge had made meat pies of some of the leftover vegetables and broken meats.”
“Excellent. Go on.”
“Mr. Rudge addressed me as Mrs. Swinton, since we were in company, handed off the trays to Mr. McElroy, and pulled out my chair for me.”
“Such a mannerly young man. One does not often see that in the below-stairs serving staff.”
“Not often, Your Grace, but it is not unknown.”
“So, he pulled out the chair. Then what occurred?”
“One of the legs gave, and I would have tumbled to the floor but Mr. Rudge caught me with an arm around my waist. But a brace hit my foot as the chair continued to fall.”
“Around the waist. A rather intimate hold, would you not say so, Mrs. Swinton?” The Duchess gave her a very direct look.
“Oh, he set me on my feet and released me almost immediately, Your Grace. He was in no way improper.”
“I see.” The Duchess gave her a knowing little smile. “I am glad to know that he observed the proprieties while still not allowing you to tumble down. Remarkably quick for a cook, is he not?”
“He works to maintain his physique, Your Grace. I have interrupted him at his exercises once or twice. His shadow boxing is impressive.”
“Is it so? Well, this is not Starkey’s, so I shall not request a demonstration. He does have the military background, after all. As does Mr. McElroy, I believe.”
Evelyn had seen the Duchess play off being the vague elder once or twice, so she was not in the least taken in by this peroration. “Yes, as Your Grace full well knows, because you read through the notes before finalizing hiring him to the position.”
“But not the same division as Mr. Rudge,” Her Grace mused, completely unfazed by Evelyn’s conversational repost. “Some place down in Africa, was it not?”
“Yes, Your Grace. And I had been intending to ask you if you would like to invite him up to tea one afternoon, to tell tales about his experiences.”
“A storyteller, is he?” Her Grace lifted one eyebrow.
“An excellent one, Your Grace. He tells wonderful stories about strange animals and funny trees and plants.”
“Perhaps at Christmas time, when we select a Lord of Misrule.”
