Mrs. Redfern sniffed. “It is none of our affair, Mr. Davis. I would be sorry to see her go, but—”
“It is our affair,” Mr. Davis snapped. “They will marry off Lady Cynthia to some insipid sprig to strengthen their family’s standing, and I’m certain they’ll make sure he’s a rich sprig. Lady Cynthia needs to be here, where we can look after her.”
“You warm my heart, Mr. Davis,” I told him.
I tied on my apron and looked over the recipes Tess had chosen. Salmon with capers, hens in béchamel sauce, artichokes, salad, carrots in dill sauce, and a rhubarb tart. Good choices, if a tad ambitious.
“You said there was nothing we could do,” Tess reminded me as she whisked the béchamel. “That you weren’t even going to try.”
“I said I doubted Mrs. Bywater or Lord and Lady Clifford would listen to me. I did not say I would not give the matter vigorous thought.” I began to separate strands of fresh dill. “I wonder why Lord Clifford truly has come to London.”
“They said,” Tess answered at once. “To fetch Lady Cynthia home.”
“Lady Cynthia has been living here for a while now, well before I arrived,” I pointed out. “Mrs. Bywater has been complaining about the friendship between Cynthia and me for nearly a year. Why have Cynthia’s parents now decided a trip to London is in order? They could have simply sent for Cynthia—Mrs. Bywater would have put her into a coach or on a train without hesitation.”
“Ah.” Mr. Davis brightened. “I see what you’re on about. Perhaps they’ll mention the true reason at supper.”
“You are there to serve, Mr. Davis, not listen,” Mrs. Redfern said, but I could see she spoke the words only because she considered it her duty. “Sara is in charge of unpacking Lady Clifford’s things. Her ladyship did not bring her own maid.” Her lips puckered with disapprobation. “I will assist her.” She rustled out of the kitchen.
“Hoorah!” Tess cheered. “Good for Mrs. R. We’ll show ’em.”
“We will do nothing of the sort.” I set the dill on the cutting board and hefted my knife. “Mr. Davis, I’m certain wine needs decanting.”
“Right you are, Mrs. Holloway.” Mr. Davis glided out, whistling.
“Did ya have a nice outing, Mrs. H.?” Tess asked, her cheerfulness returning. “The Crystal Palace, eh? My brother and I sneaked off there once when we was tykes. Couldn’t pay the fee to go in, but we wandered about the grounds and climbed on the ancient beasts. Fancy those huge things used to walk the earth, and right here in England. Too bad the Flood wiped ’em out, innit? Or maybe a good thing for us.” She chortled. “We’d be food for ’em, wouldn’t we?”
“Not so much chatter until you’ve finished that sauce.” My knife flashed through the dill, the herb’s fresh fragrance soothing. “But yes, it was a pleasant outing. I will take you there one day, once you master the mother sauces.”
“Ooh, I’d like that.” Tess stared down into her pot, as though determined to master all the sauces on the moment.
Her question about the Crystal Palace reminded me of Lady Covington and her certainty that she was being poisoned. I ceased my chopping and made a note in my book that I must create a lemon cake. I hadn’t made one in some time, so I’d have to think about a recipe. I could not give one to Lady Covington’s cook that was less than my best. I had a reputation to maintain.
Lady Covington’s story concerned me. If she was mad or simply had a lively imagination, she’d be all right, but if she spoke the truth, then she was in danger. I disliked to think of her unprotected in her big house, with those four rather odd children, her ironhanded lady’s maid who might be deranged, and who knew who else.
I was certain that Jepson had overheard Lady Covington speaking to me. If Jepson was in league with the poisoner, or was the poisoner herself, Lady Covington might not make it through the night.
I realized I was being dramatic, but at the same time, I fretted. I could not rush around and pound on Lady Covington’s back door on the moment, which meant I would have to recruit help.
“Charlie,” I called into the corner. Charlie ceased playing with the dice he was rolling and jumped to his feet. “Will you see if you can find James McAdam?” I asked him. “He’s bound to be about somewhere.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Charlie, glad of the excuse to rush outdoors, charged through the scullery. His small legs flashed through the high window as he ran up the outside stairs, then he was gone.
I calmed myself by realizing there was plenty I could do even while tied to the kitchen. James was a resourceful lad. I would bid him hunt up his father, Daniel, and ask the two to invent an excuse to get themselves inside Lady Covington’s house and make certain the lady was safe. Daniel, a man of innate charm, had the ability to transform himself into any person he liked. That he’d be able to gain entry into Lady Covington’s household, I had no doubt.
He’d certainly gained entry to mine, from the time I’d first met him delivering to a kitchen a few years ago, to the current evenings he stopped by after the rest of the staff went to bed. I knew I should not let Daniel linger while we chatted about our days, his son, my daughter, and anything we could think of, but my heart was always lighter after his visits. The kiss or two we shared before he went could make the drudgery of the next day fly by.
I carried the dill to the stove, scooped out a hunk of butter from a bowl, and began to teach Tess to make yet another sauce.
* * *
* * *
Late that night, after the staff had gone to bed, I stood at my kitchen table surrounded by broken eggshells and lemon rinds. I’d separated eggs and beat whites until my arm was stiff, but by the time I’d reached the third cake, I thought I’d perfected the batter.
I was folding in the last spoonful of flour on this third attempt when Daniel arrived. I poured the batter into a pan and set the pan carefully in the oven before I went to unlatch the door he’d rapped upon.
A light rain was falling, darkening the gaslights on the street above. Daniel, clad in a rain-spotted jacket, removed his dripping cap and left it on the corner of the sink in the scullery before he followed me into the kitchen.
“Mmm.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Makes my stomach rumble, that does.”
Indeed, I heard the stomach in question growling. Daniel’s dark hair glistened with rain, but his blue eyes danced as he slid off his drenched coat. He hung that on the rack near the door, water quickly puddling beneath it.
“Come and eat the failures.” I scooped up the eggshells and put them into my slop pail, reserving the lemon rinds to make into candied peel. I cut a slice of lemon cake from a loaf I hadn’t considered excellent and thunked it to a plate.