Page 102 of His Duchess in Disguise
“Of course! But I am glad. Even if the only thing that happens is that someone else gets to lift those big pots.”
Mrs. Chambers smiled. “I supposed that is a perk. We have a young man from the village coming in to act as the scullion. Since he has a local family, he will be a day laborer and will not live here at the manor house. Now, there is something that I must say to you. I’m told that he is a good-looking young fellow, but you must not associate with him. He is here to scrub the pots, not for you to have a dalliance.”
“I understand, Mrs. Chambers. Believe me, a dalliance is the last thing on my mind. I’m just glad to have a roof over my head and honest work. I think my father smacked all thoughts of courtship and lovers right out of my head.”
Since the bruise on her face was just beginning to fade back to yellow and green, Emma felt that the bruise should speak very well for her. She was pretty sure that Mrs. Chambers thought so, too, because the plump cook nodded her head. “I’m sure you feel so now. But in a month or two, you might change your mind. If you’ve a mind for such a thing, be sure to talk with me before allowing a courtship. Marriages can be arranged, but getting caught in the linen closet or some other compromising situation can get you turned off without a reference.”
“Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Chambers. I am very happy to be here. Rags and I had the best breakfast this morning that we’ve had in a very long time.” Emma glanced over at her little dog, who seemed quite happy to cuddle on the hearth with the two spit dogs – both of whom were off-duty at the moment.
“It was just porridge,” Mrs. Chambers said, but she seemed pleased. “Now let me show you your duties.”
By mid-day, the new scullion had shown up to work. He was, as Mrs. Chambers had said, a handsome young man. But he had a way about him that Emma could not like, as if he was aware of his good looks and expected every female in the room to be looking at him. He tossed up the spoons and caught them and made a great show of lifting the heavy kettles. Emma might have been more impressed had she not lifted those same pots the night before with only a little help from Robbie.
As it was, she gladly helped Mrs. Chambers inventory the supplies. Emma carefully wrote out the lists that Robbie told them were required. She could not help but hide a smile by bending over the pen and paper, as Robbie boasted of his good fortune.
“I am going to the village with the Duke’s secretary, Mr. Hamilton,” he announced. “I will be showing Mr. Hamilton around and helping him get the best bargains.”
“And what would you know about bargains,” the new scullion scoffed. “You ain’t never had no blunt to speak of.”
“Not havin’ makes ya ‘preciate what ya got,” Robbie retorted. “I din’ have no da to arrange me a cushy job like your’n, so’s I was right glad for what work come my way an’ tha few coins I could earn. I’ve scrubbed those very pots, Matthew Blank. An’ don’ ya fergit it.”
Mrs. Chambers dictated one last item for Emma/Kathy to write down. As soon as Emma sanded the ink on the list, then waved her hand gently back and forth over it to encourage the ink to dry, the cook picked up the list and handed it to Robbie.
“Get along with ya, now,” she said to Robbie. “Don’t keep that secer’tary g’mum waitin’ on ya.” Then she turned to the newly hired scullion. “Your job, Mr. Blank, is to wash those pots. You get on with it right smart because I need some of ‘um to make dinner. You keep makin’ a production out of it, an’ I’ll send a note up to tha Duke that we needs a different scullion. An’ don’ tell me your fam’ly don’ need tha coin, cause I know better.”
Emma was very glad that Mrs. Chambers gave her a stool and a large tub of carrots to peel and chop, well away from the washing station. The new scullion seemed to be able to settle down then and earnestly scrub the big pots.
Emma was no stranger to scrubbing, scraping, and chopping carrots. She had done it once or twice for Mrs. Able. But she had no idea how difficult a job it could become when cutting so many carrots. It seemed to her she had scrubbed, scraped and then chopped about a million carrots when her knife slipped, and she let out a yelp as she cut deeply into the heel of her left thumb.
At her cry of pain, Mrs. Chambers turned from the bread dough she was pounding down and exclaimed at the blood flowing from Emma’s hand. “Kathy! What in the world have you done to yourself!”
Heedless of the dough on her hands, the cook grabbed up a kitchen towel and wrapped it around Emma’s hand. “Matthew!” she called out, “You run upstairs and fetch Mrs. Noddicott! Tell her to send for the doctor.”
Matthew took one look at the blood spurting from Emma/Kathy’s hand and Mrs. Chambers holding fast to the girl’s hand just below the cut. He dashed up the stairs and into the housekeeper’s office without knocking, nearly bowling the Duke over in the process.
“Matthew Blank!” Mrs. Noddicott scolded. “You go right back out that door and knock properly.”
“No time!” he gasped. “The kitchen maid cut her hand, bad! Mrs. Chambers says send for the doctor.”
Captain Arnault, who had been sitting in a corner with a stack of papers in front of him, said, “My company surgeon is closer and more likely to know what to do if the cut is bad. I’ll run and fetch him.”
Matthew and the Duke quickly moved out of the doorway to make room for the captain, who hastily descended the kitchen stairs. The Duke hurried after him, followed by Matthew and then Mrs. Noddicott.
By the time they arrived, the towel wrapped around Emma’s hand was soaked through with blood. It mixed with the dough on Mrs. Chambers’ hands as she tried to slow the bleeding and puddled on the floor. Emma was pale, and every freckle on her face seemed to stand out like a star.
“Get me a fresh towel,” the Duke snapped, taking over holding back blood flow to the wound. “Mrs. Chambers, go wash your hands, then bring me back a fresh scoop of flour.
Matthew fetched a towel from the scullery area while Mrs. Chambers got a basin of water from the laundry room and began washing the bloody, sticky mess off her hands. Mrs. Noddicott folded the fresh towel lengthwise, wrapped it across Emma’s palm, and applied pressure to the cut itself. At the Duke’s gesture, she momentarily laid the towel back so that he could access the cut.
“Fool girl,” the Duke growled sprinkling flour across the wound, “How did you manage to cut yourself there?”
“It was a really hard carrot,” Emma said faintly. “I picked it up so I could cut into it better.”
“Oh, Lord!” said Mrs. Chambers. “You picked it up? Why didn’t you have it on the cutting board?”
“Cutting board?” Emma sounded puzzled. “We didn’t have a cutting board. I always cut the carrots against my thumb over the pot. That’s how Mrs. Able did it, too.”
“And she was cutting the carrots with a peeling knife. Mrs. Chambers, I thought you said she was knowledgeable and careful. This is a ham-handed mess!” Mrs. Noddicott spoke bruskly, but her hands were gentle as she pressed the towel firmly over the cut once more
