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The following day brought several changes to the Dower House. When Evelyn entered the Duchess’ sitting room, she found that Betty had assisted Her Grace, and had her settled in her comfortable wingback chair before the fireplace.

“I made porridge for Her Grace,” Betty explained to Evelyn when she entered the room. “I’m not much of a cook, but makin’ porridge was my morning chore when I lived at home. I hope that was all right.”

“Oat porridge?” Evelyn asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Swinton. Mum used to make Scottish broth, too, but I wasn’t allowed to help with that.”

“Why not?” the Duchess enquired querulously. It was clear that she was not in a good mood.

“Because meat was ever so dear, so Mum would not let any of us help with the supper. She said it cost too much to let us go messing about.”

“I see,” the Duchess commented. “Do you think that you could remember enough of your Mum’s recipe to make some for my dinner? Or, better yet, do you think your mother could be persuaded to come work for me for a few days?”

“Why, I’m pretty sure she could, Your Grace. My youngest brother just signed on with a Navy ship, so she don’t have no one at home to care for.”

“What about your father?”

“Me what? Oh, him. He spends his days at the tavern, drinkin’ up Mum’s sewin’ money. I’m pretty sure Mum could be talked into cookin’ for you for a few days. I don’t know about cookin’ for the whole house, though.”

“Mrs. Swinton, quickly write a letter to this woman who taught her daughter how to make porridge fit to eat. Then you shall have a bowl of it, for Betty seems to have made enough for a threshing crew.”

“All here on the hearth, Betty?” Evelyn asked, glancing at the large pot that seemed to take up most of the hearth space.

“Yes, Mrs. Swinton. I hope that was all right. I brung up the smallest pot I could find in the kitchen, an’ made it the way Mum taught me. I had eight brothers, and there was only three o’ us girls, so’s it always tuck a big potful to feed us.”

“Share it out with the staff, if you would, please Mrs. Swinton,” the Duchess directed. “It will only get cold sitting there, once you have had your fill.”

“I will do that gladly,” Evelyn said, dishing up a small bowl of the oatmeal porridge. “Oh, my! This is delicious! Your mother let you use cinnamon?”

“Well, only on special occasions, like. Because at home cinnamon was ever so dear an’ we din’ have it often. But I thought it would be something that you would have often, Your Grace.”

“Not too often,” the Duchess declared. “But I must say it is all the difference between a bland, gummy mess, and a delicious, creamy concoction.”

“Thank you, Your Grace!” Betty curtsied, and gave a beaming smile in response to the praise.

Evelyn could see the sense in getting someone who had a deft touch with food preparation to take over the kitchen. She quickly penned a letter for Betty to take to her mother.

“How long to go and come back?” Evelyn asked.

“Oh, not long at all, Mrs. Swinton. But there’s just one thing. Me mum can’t read.”

“Can she not?” the Duchess asked in surprise. “I took great care some years back to make sure there was a good school and a teacher in the village. “

“Well, you see, she doesn’t come from around here. Me Da does. An’ he can read—I think. I can read.”

“Very well, then you must read it to her. But hurry back, and bring her with you if you can. Take one of the footmen so he can carry her things. Make haste, Betty, for I think another day of these abysmal meals, broken only with the foods you and Mrs. Swinton can make for me, and my palette will die of ennui. And me along with it.”

“Oh, surely you would not!” Betty exclaimed. “But I shall hurry, all the same.”

Evelyn made arrangements with Mr. Wilson to share out the porridge, including sending two bowls to Mayson’s room where Mr. McElroy was keeping him company for the day.

“This is delicious,” Evelynn said to the Duchess. “I’m glad Betty was able to do for you this morning. I am sorry to be late.”

“Don’t be sorry, my dear,” the Duchess replied. “You look worn to death. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

“A little. Mr. Bruce came in after his shift and sat with Mr. Rudge until it was time for Mr. McElroy to arise. I looked in on them just before I came up. They were waiting for their breakfast, since neither of them are in a condition to use the hearth for cooking.”

“How is Mr. Rudge?” the Duchess asked.