Page 47 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

Anthony only nodded in reply and left the room.

CHAPTER 18

Before the sun had even brightened the city’s streets, Frances was up and at her desk, scribbling furiously. Sara fretted and fussed, insisting on bringing up trays of tea and bread to fuel Frances’ work. The intention was to alleviate the helpless feeling she felt towards her dear missing cousin by working on the list Anthony had requested, but with every new item—replaster the ceiling in the library, replace the cracked windows—she would have another idea to put down on a different list.

“Meet with the butcher and his wife. Convince them to talk to me,” Frances muttered to herself as she wrote out the plan. “Inquire of any coach companies whether a young couple went north. Send messengers to the inns along the route to Scotland to inquire… at Lady Hutchings’ expense.”

As more and more of the dismissed servants had begun to respond to Frances’ offer of employment, a different picture of the scenario formed in her mind. One newly-arrived maid informed her that Juliet had asked for a dress, promising toreturn it and bring her lace when she did so. The cook told her that Juliet had been pilfering dried fruits from last winter, the old ones that she used to flavor scones and stews.

“So, you think she might have been going somewhere?” Frances had asked while showing Mrs. Wallings the kitchens.

“I can’t rightly say, but it certainly seems that way now, don’t it, my lady? I mean, Your Grace!” the cook had said, beaming as she corrected herself.

Frances had smiled, content to have familiar faces around her once more. It would be an adjustment for them all to grow used to this new life, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it would be hardest on Anthony most of all. She had been interrupted by such thoughts when Mrs. Wallings had tsked sadly.

“I’m afraid the state of this kitchen will be needin’ some work. It’s certainly clean enough, but there’s not much in the way of ingredients. The larder’s half-bare, and most of these pots will be needed a good scourin’ and a slather of fat.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that the housekeeper has been worked nearly to her grave for quite some time. I’m sure that mealtimes were simple but hearty fare, with no need for many other ingredients,” she’d explained.

“Well, there’ll be no more bland porridge or stale bread in this house, never fear!” Mrs. Wallings had said with a good-natured laugh, already fastening up her sleeves to set to work.

And as Frances was overjoyed to discover, the cook had been right. Where Mrs. Barrett had certainly striven to keep them all fed while seeing to a house this size, Mrs. Wallings set about at once preparing lovely meals that Frances remembered. They had been the only good thing during the times when she had returned from Miss Chatham’s, usually at Christmas, as Mrs. Wallings’ labors had outshone the meager fare at school.

“Tell me what happened at my uncle’s house after I left,” Frances had asked one day shortly after the cook’s arrival. She’d sat down at the long table in the kitchen and started helping to crush wheat berries in the cook’s old stone mortar, at least until the woman had tsk-tsked and taken the pestle from her.

“You’ll ruin your hands doing that, Your Grace,” Mrs. Wallings said.

“Well, at least let me fold the rags,” Frances had insisted, reaching for the pile of dish cloths. Mrs. Wallings shook her head and took those from her, too.

“You’re not Lord Hutchings’ ward anymore! There’s no earning your keep around here, remember,” she’d explained quickly. Then, she’d sighed and said, “After you were gone, most of us was dismissed straight away. When the first ones left after bein’ accused of pinching things from the house, I certainly didn’t think I’d be followin’ after ‘em. What sort of house can manage without a cook?”

Mrs. Barrett had taken that precise moment to enter the kitchen and surely had heard Mrs. Wallings’ remark. Frances had lookedover to her, but the housekeeper had actually been nodding in agreement.

“Apologies, Mrs. Barrett,” the cook had said kindly. “I know ya did your very best to do it all!”

“Not at all. You’re absolutely right! I had no time to shop for the best vegetables or bargain with the butcher. You don’t know what a load off my mind it is that you’ll be taking care of all this from now on! And I’m grateful to you, Your Grace, for saying something on my behalf.”

“You’re so welcome, Mrs. Barrett, but I won’t let you sell yourself short. I’ve eaten your cooking ever since I arrived here, and as you can see, I haven’t wasted away yet,” Frances had said, smiling at her.

“But as I was sayin’,” Mrs. Wallings had continued, “I thought surely I’d keep my position. But no, they dismissed me and brought in someone else, someone who’d work for less wages.”

“I should think it had to do with losing my father’s money,” Frances had confessed. “I just wish they hadn’t slandered everyone in the process. As I’m their niece, it’s no wonder that all of them haven’t accepted the offer of a position here.”

Frances had been confused, but even more so when she couldn’t help but notice a strange look that had passed between Mrs. Wallings and Mrs. Barrett. She’d frowned, then asked for an explanation.

“Well, Your Grace, it’s not the only reason most of ‘em have kept away,” the cook had said slowly.

“Oh? What else is behind it if it’s not the fear that I’m precisely as disagreeable as their last employer?”

“Best get on with our work now, don’t you agree, Mrs. Wallings?” the housekeeper had said sharply.

“Yes, Mrs. Barrett,” the cook had answered, casting an apologetic glance at Frances and hurrying off to see to some task.

Frances had been bewildered at the exchange, and thinking on it again now did not help her decipher the housekeeper’s unusual reaction. She was beginning to think it was but one more thing about the mysterious Cadmoor House that she would never understand.

“Sara, we must prepare to go out. I’ve written several letters, and we must dispatch them at once. We will contact the carriage services and inquire about a young couple heading north, then we will send word to various places along the way where they might have gone. I shouldn’t imagine Juliet was able to afford any inns if she was collecting food for the trip from the kitchens, but perhaps Thomas had some funds he’d saved.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sara acknowledged as she prepared Frances’ clothes.

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