“Not to worry, Your Grace. I believe there is a fund for that which is part of my office.”
“To be sure there is. I had forgotten about that,” the Duchess said. “How foolish of me.”
Evelyn noticed that Mayson stared at the constable for a moment, but Constable Morris dug into his dinner as if he had said nothing unusual.
Evelyn could almost hear the thoughts that must be running through Mayson’s head.
If the Duchess remembered repairs having been made on the rack in the kitchen, how likely was it that she would forget about a special fund for hiring extra constables?
Surely, mentioning the fund must be a code for something else, for the Duchess made no further comment on it.
The Duchess turned the conversation to their meal, praising the various dishes, especially the roasted chicken. She even commented that the cake, although not as fluffy as usual, had good flavor.
Mr. Wilson beamed at that, saying, “This is the cake our Jemmy made before he made the pair that were squashed flat by the rack. It is a shame that no one ever got to taste them, for they had perfect form and appeared to be light and fluffy.”
“It is said that practice makes perfect, so if our young undercook produced two creditable cakes today, no doubt he will be able to repeat the performance at some future time.”
“One would think so,” Mayson said. “I have every confidence in his ability and his willingness to learn. There is every indication that he will soon become a good cook, and will become even better as he applies his skills. He had already been doing many of the tasks that Mr. Sparks should rightly have undertaken.”
“Should we understand, then, that Mr. Sparks was somewhat in his dotage?”
“Precisely,” Mayson said. “He was not a bad fellow, but his wits had begun to wander. His daughter is happy to have him home.”
“It is a real puzzle, that is for sure,” Constable Morris said. “No one with a motive, no angry former staff member. But more investigation is likely to bring something to light.”
“It is to be hoped,” said the Duchess. “I cannot have my household continuously in an uproar.”
“Quite so,” the constable agreed. “Thank you so much for the delicious dinner, Your Grace. Mr. Rudge, do tell your young undercook that he is coming along famously and might soon rival his mentor. If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I shall toddle along and make some inquiries in various places. Hopefully, someone will have an idea as to what is going on. No need to get up, Mr. Wilson, I can see myself out.”
With that, the constable went his way. By then, everyone was exhausted, so it was not long before the same two stout footmen carried Mayson back downstairs to bed.
Evelyn did the clearing up, sending the trays of dirty dishes off with the maids. She helped the Duchess retire to her bed, then retreated to staff territory. She looked in on Mayson, but he was already fast asleep, so she went to her room and prepared for bed.
As she stared up into the darkness, Evelyn wondered why these things were happening. There simply did not seem to be any logical reason for any of it. Yet it all seemed to center around the kitchen, and Mayson. There is a connection there, she thought.
If I could just put the pieces together.
Chapter 35
Evelyn awoke with a sense of unease. It was still pitch black, and the house was very still. Something was not right.
Evelyn swung her feet out of her bed, pushing them into her soft house slippers. She then shrugged into her robe, and walked quietly to the door. That was when she smelled smoke.
Evelyn hurried out of her room, and hastened down the hall, pounding on doors as she passed to rouse the household.
Mr. Wilson met her at the head of the stairs leading down to the kitchen. Thick smoke coiled up the stairwell.
“Mayson!” Evelyn cried out, flying down the stairs as fast as her feet would carry her. When she pushed her way into the kitchen, she beheld a macabre sight.
A large chunk of something unidentifiable hung from the roasting spit. Jemmy was sprawled on the floor, his hair perilously near the flames in the fireplace. The fire, instead of burning low as was customary at night, blazed ferociously, while thick smoke billowed out from it and filled the room.
Mr. McElroy hitched himself along on his side, making a valiant effort to pull Jemmy away from the conflagration.
Evelyn ran to help Mr. McElroy while Mr. Wilson ran to the washing up trough, where he scooped up a huge pot of water. He staggered back with it and poured it over the burning mass in the fireplace, causing it to hiss and sputter before going out.
Although the immediate danger was quelled, thick clouds of smoke and steam continued to billow through the kitchen.
“I’ll check on Mayson,” Evelyn said, hastening to the door of his small sleeping chamber.
