Page 73 of Miss Delectable
Sycamore followed, more curious than hungry, but also a little dismayed. Jeanette needed to know her brother was safe, and better still if Sir Orion allowed a smidgen of contentment into his life. If the list of suspects included every soldier who’d ever borne a grudge against a commanding officer, then Goddard’s potential detractors were legion.
“Tell me more about Deschamps.”
“He’s a former French officer, devilishly handsome, and a known spy.” Goddard took off down the steps leading into the bowels of the house. “If he’s still frequenting your club, then your job is to find out what the hell he’s doing in London.”
Sycamore followed, though he’d been hoping to see the house’s public rooms. “I have ajob?”
Goddard paused at the bottom of the steps. “I realize even that limited brief exceeds your meager capabilities, but somebody has declared war on me, and needs must. If I approach Deschamps directly, he’ll simply prevaricate.”
“So approach him indirectly.”
“I tried that. How is Jeanette?”
Worried about you.“Thriving in my loving care and happily taking an interest in activities at the club. We’re buying a property out at Richmond and hope to use it for our market garden.”
“My boys could help with that undertaking. They are honest and hardworking, and for all I know, I’ll soon have to flee to France one step ahead of the watch.”
They are not your boys.“You’d flee to France?”
Goddard looked around the kitchen, which was tidy, warm, and dimly lit. “I don’t know. I don’t want to, but… I don’t know. How hard can it be to find bread and cheese?”
“Well, there’s the breadbox, and the cheese might be in the window box this time of year. Swing the kettle over the fire, and we’ll manage.”
Goddard produced a half loaf of bread wrapped in linen. “If I must retreat to France, will you do something for me?”
“I will hire those hooligans of yours, if that’s what you’re asking.” The cheese was not too sharp, not too mild. Sycamore set it on the wooden counter along with a tub of butter, cheese toast being among the delicacies he’d learned to prepare during his limited banishment to university.
“My hooligans will be a credit to any organization that employs them, and their spoken French is better than yours. Are we having tea, ale, or cider?”
“Cider.”
Goddard smiled, a surprising, wistful expression suggesting that, in the right light, he might have a certain roguish appeal.
“Look after Annie Pearson. She puts up with more than you know from that fop Jules Delacourt, and he’s not half as talented as you think he is.”
“More to the point,” Sycamore said, “he’s not half as talented ashethinks he is, but he brings a certain cachet that the club needs.” Sycamore busied himself slicing cheese, though he’d figured out exactly how he’d start in his recounting of the day’s events to Jeanette.
Orion Goddard referred to the estimable Miss Pearson asAnnienow, and when faced with the prospect of a retreat to France, all Goddard asked was that Sycamore look after her.
Not look after the business, the boys, the real estate, or even Jeanette, but look afterAnniePearson.Well, well, well.
“Don’t cut the bread too thickly,” Sycamore said, “and Miss Pearson looks after herself.”
Goddard tested the blade of the bread knife against his thumb. “I know. Damn it all to hell and back, that much I do know.”
* * *
Ann gainednew respect for soldiers at war, for the Coventry’s kitchen became a battle zone.
The spices were tampered with, such that the jar labeled tarragon contained nutmeg, and the one that should have held nutmeg instead held ginger. Ann only discovered the problem when she’d dusted nutmeg onto a spinach quiche that had to be consigned to the staff hall.
The footmen gobbled up the entire quiche, oblivious to the blunder.
Emptying each jar, washing it thoroughly, and refilling it with the proper contents took most of an afternoon, but Ann used the exercise to teach Hannah about the uses of different flavorings.
The next day, somebody soured the heavy cream, which became apparent as soon as Ann added a dollop to her white sauce and watched an hour’s worth of work curdle.
“I don’t understand,” Hannah said softly as she set a fresh bottle of cream on the counter. “Why would a chef do mischief in his own kitchen?”
