Evelyn gave a polite little laugh. “It is certain that this meal will not be cold before you can partake of it. How fortunate that there is fresh butter and strawberry jam.” She rose from where she knelt on the hearth, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the coals.
“Oh, that does smell delicious,” the Duchess said. “And the tea will be piping hot, as well. We should do this more often, Mrs. Swinton.”
Evelyn forced a smile. “I think you would find my cooking tedious after a time, Your Grace.”
And I need to get back to Mayson. Never before have I appreciated the difficulty of washer women and barmaids who have families.
“Perhaps.” The Duchess bit into the toasted bread. “But I think these simple meals are made better by the company. It is too bad that Mr. Rudge cannot join us.”
“Oh, you are too shrewd, Your Grace.” Now Evelyn’s laugh was genuine.
“My dear, I know what it is to love. And I know what it is to fear for a loved one who is ill. I am sorry to be such an old crosspatch as to insist upon your company. But, in truth, the maids fret me. Come sit with me, and have a cup of tea before you go back to Mr. Rudge. Are you sleeping at all?”
“I’ve caught a few winks. Mr. Bruce sits with Mr. Rudge, and so does Mr. McElroy. But Mr. McElroy is limited in what he can do until the carpenter completes his leg.”
“Such a shame that someone would be so petty as to burn the peg-leg of a one-legged man. It is a miracle that he is getting about at all.”
“He does well with his crutches, but they do not leave his hands free to carry things about. Moreover, while he was trying to move Jemmy away from the hearth, he strained the arm he broke that was newly-healed when he came to work here.”
“Such a noble spirit in that tortured body.”
“I think so,” Evelynn replied. “But there are many who do not see beyond the scarring and the sightless eye.”
“I do not understand the ways of people sometimes,” the Duchess said. “But I will own that had it not been for Mr. Rudge, we probably would have turned him away. Yet he not only gave as good a service as many an able-bodied man, but he also risked himself to save Jemmy.”
The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes. Then the Duchess said, “I note that Bruce has become Mr. Bruce of late.”
“He has earned it,” Evelyn said. “Mr. Wilson has confirmed that he is grooming him to become a butler.”
“Perhaps at least one good thing will come of all this turmoil.”
“Perhaps. But I think he would soon be moving up anyway. He is already the lead footman.”
“So he is. Well, my dear, you have borne with me admirably. If you will but help me into bed, I will not take it amiss if you go to Mr. Rudge. Let me know if there is any change.”
Evelyn lent her shoulder to the Duchess so that the older lady could hobble her way from chair to bed on her swollen feet. The Duchess sank down on the edge of her wide bed with a sigh of relief.
“Someday, they will make an easier way for those who are crippled up with age or rheumatism to get about more easily.”
“No doubt they shall,” Evelyn soothed her. “But until that time, those of us who are still able must serve those who are not.”
The Duchess settled back on her pillows and Evelyn drew the covers up over her. “You are like an angel to me, Mrs. Swinton. Go now to your friend, the cook who has served up so many delectable dishes. I miss them. Tell him I miss my golden milk and that the fool my son sent me cannot make it fit to drink, so he must hurry and get well.”
The Duchess’ tone was light, but Evelyn heard the genuine concern behind the flippancy. “I will tell him, Your Grace. Good night.”
“Good night, Mrs. Swinton.”
Evelyn banked the fire, and made sure the fire screen was firmly in place. She turned down the nightlight, and giving a nod to the footman stationed outside the door, she hurried down the hall to the guest room where Mayson no doubt lay awake, waiting for her.
When she entered the room, she found that Mayson was awake. Mr. McElroy sat in a wingback chair beside the fireplace. The chair and the bed nearly filled the small room, but a straight-back chair sat in the niche between bed and nightstand, waiting for Evelyn. She sank down upon it, gratefully.
“How are you, Mayson?” she asked. But she could see it. Two hectic red patches glowed on his cheekbones, his eyes were fever bright and hollow.
“Evelyn,” he croaked. “What took you so long? I was worried about you.”
“I am here now, Mayson. The Duchess is having a bad time with her gout. She misses your cooking, and she misses our little chats. She even suggested that you dine with us.”
“Should we, then?” Mayson asked.