“Late Summer Vegetable Soup,” Wilson announced, and the serving staff brought in the first course.
Darrius tasted it, and was relieved to note that it was up to the household’s usual excellence. General conversation came to a halt as the company tasted the soup.
“Excellent,” the magistrate murmured to the physician. “Perhaps a medical recommendation?”
“No, merely the dictates of cleaning out the cellars,” Dr. Alton murmured back. “But not contrary to good sense and good health.”
As each course was brought to the table, no discernable loss of quality was noted until the dessert was brought in. It was a light applesauce spooned over a sponge cake, good enough in its own way but not the sort of dish usually prepared by the Dowager House’s renowned cook.
“That was excellent,” the Duchess said to Wilson. “Will you request that the cook come up to receive compliments?”
Wilson gave her an odd look, but at her slight nod, he said, “Of course, Your Grace. It will take only a moment.”
It was not Mr. Rudge who came to the door in white chef’s hat and clean apron, but Jemmy, the undercook. He bowed, as was proper, but then added with slight impropriety, “Mr. Rudge set it all up except for the dessert. But he’s had a mishap, and is sleeping now.”
There was a slight murmur of surprise around the table, followed by condolences and wishes for the cook’s speedy recovery in addition to praise for the young undercook. At a signal from Wilson, Jemmy withdrew.
“What a strange thing,” Lady Carletane commented. “You are bearing up remarkably well. I’m sure I should have been prostrate with the cook out of commission and a major dinner party planned.”
“That is what comes of having good, loyal staff,” the Duchess said affably. “In a pinch, they always come through.”
Darrius sighed inwardly. If his mother only knew the machinations he had gone through to obtain that loyal staff, or the indignities heaped upon his head as rejected workers were asked to leave for the most minute infractions. What would happen to this staff if he could not reverse the estate’s fortunes?
It was with difficulty, that he brought his attention back to the table conversation. “…looking for the lost heir,” he heard his mother saying. “Yes, there are handbills out all over the village, or so Mrs. Swinton tells me. As you know, I don’t make it out that often.”
“It is true,” Constable Morris remarked. “It would seem that Mr. Rutley wishes to establish a legitimate claim to Hillsworth so that he can have both the title and the fortune.”
“Would it be worth a great deal?” Dr. Alton asked.
“Who knows?” the constable shrugged. “One thing is for sure, the grounds have grown shabby, and Rutley has difficulty keeping staff.”
“Why is that, do you suppose?” Lord Carletane speculated.
“No idea,” the constable said, “But I do know that there is a great deal of ill feeling toward him, and the feeling that he is not doing a good job as a caretaker.”
“Dear me,” the Duchess remarked. “It was such a showcase in its time.”
Lord and Lady Carletane declined to stay for brandy, pleading the long drive home and the increasing chill of the evenings. The Duchess beamed a bright smile at each of the guests as they came forward to thank her for the meal, and say their goodbyes.
When all but Dr. Alton had departed, the Duchess prepared to return to her rooms. She groaned as she heaved her bulk upward and stood, swaying a little on her feet. Evelyn quickly went to her, and offered a hand for Her Grace to lean on.
“Thank you, my dear,” the Duchess said. “I believe I should make an early night of it.” Then she abruptly sat back down in her chair. “How humiliating. My feet do not wish to bear me up.”
Dr. Alton quickly came forward. “May I examine them?” he asked.
“By all means!” the Duchess consented fervently.
The physician knelt at her feet, drawing up only as much of the ruffle as he needed to be able to see that her ankles were hugely swollen and her feet bulging out of her shoes.
“Let us have two of the footmen carry her to her rooms in her chair,” Dr. Alton said. “I believe she has had enough excitement for tonight.”
Evelyn hurried after the Duchess as she was carried to her rooms. What next? Was reconciling with her old friend too much for Her Grace? Was the stress of dealing with the loss of her favorite cook too much?
Chapter 32
Two shadowy figures met at the old stable.
“Are you pleased?” one asked the other.
