Page 31 of The Lord's Compass
“You must be,” Eric said, before leaning in conspiratorially. “I am sure you would appreciate more help, though.”
“Are you offering?”
Ah, Abello had some humor within him after all.
Eric chuckled. “I am afraid I would only hinder you,” he said. “But I can put in a good word with your employer, if you’d like, see if he has any plans to add more staff.”
Abello said nothing as he poured wine into their glasses and then departed, leaving them alone once more.
“What are you doing?” Faith hissed. “He told us his family has been here for generations. He is not going to share with us any information on his employers! I am sure he is not taking kindly to us offering our opinions.”
“You are right,” Eric said with a sigh. “Perhaps we might have more luck with other servants.”
They cautiously ate their meal, which one would not call delicious but also not exactly horrific.
Dessert was two sad pieces of pineapple on a plate.
Eric frowned as he stared at them. “Do you suppose they have poisoned us?”
Faith’s mouth gaped open as she dropped her fork, the clatter resounding about the room.
“Why would you say that now, after we have just finished eating?”
He shrugged. “It just occurred to me.”
“Do you ever consider what you are about to say before you say it?”
“No,” he said immediately and then laughed. “I didn’t even think that through, did I?”
Her lips moved in something he considered just might be a prayer, and then Abello re-entered. Damn, but the large man moved with the silence of a cat.
“I hope all was satisfactory.”
“Of course,” Eric said, before glancing at Faith and then back at the butler. “Say, could we perhaps thank the cook?”
“She is not dressed to meet you.”
“Oh, that’s fine, we are not particularly concerned, are we, sweetheart?”
“No,dear, we are not,” Faith returned.
“Very well,” Abello said, although displeased.
A few moments later, he returned to the room, followed by a young woman, her head bowed before them.
“Lola,” he said, pointing to her, and then stepped back.
“Lola, that was exemplary,” Eric said, earning himself a look from Faith which suggested he was overselling it, as even Lola was likely aware it was far from that. He cleared his throat. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mother,” she said in what was near to a whisper, as she was obviously not used to being addressed by those she served.
“Well, she did a fine job,” he said with his most winning smile, one which nearly always worked on women. “How long have you worked here?”
“A few months,” she said.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Lola,” Abello said, stepping forward. “Back to the kitchen.”
