Page 10 of A Moveable Feast
“Yes, get on with it,” Armitage echoed. “And cease shouting in the hallways. I have work to do.”
I could smell his breath from where I stood, and the quantity of wine on it. No wonder he’d so quickly realized I had none on mine.
“If I am not subject to ridiculous accusations, I can commence with my own duties. Good day, Mr. Armitage.”
Armitage grumbled something, retreated to the butler’s pantry, and slammed its door. I heaved a sigh—I’d been doing much of that today—and returned to the kitchen.
All three young women paused to watch as I came in. My coat had been placed neatly on the coat rack, and I assumed Tess had hung it there for me. I felt a bit better already—my rage at Mrs. Seabrook and Armitage seemed to have helped clear the substance from my blood.
“I suggest we ignore further interruptions,” I instructed. “We have much to accomplish. Jane, when you’ve done the carrots, I’ll show you how to store the greens to keep them fresh for tomorrow.”
As both maids bent over their tasks, I stepped to the sink in the scullery and seized the cup I’d taken from Mrs. Morgan’s room before Mary could drop it into the sudsy water.
Mary regarded me with perplexity, but I hurried past her back to the kitchen, surreptitiously sliding the cup into a drawer in the dresser.
I moved to the table and began to sort what was in the basket, but my legs trembled, and I had to sit down quickly to do it.
Somehow, we managed to finish our preparations that afternoon, Tess and I recreating what we’d done in my kitchen and carefully storing the pastries and tarts we’d brought with us.
I mixed bread dough and kneaded it, letting it rise for baking in the morning, plus broke off a small piece to roll into buns for the kitchen staff’s supper that night.
Apparently, a meal wasn’t required for the household that evening, as his lordship and his son, Lord Alfred Charlton, had gone to their club. Lady Babcock was out with her stepdaughter, Lady Margaret, who was quite a beauty and would likely marry anyone she chose, according to Mary. Only the staff needed to be fed, and I knew I could prepare a good supper for us all.
As I worked on this and tomorrow’s feast, I felt much better, the effects of the laudanum wearing off. I wasn’t certain what I’d do with the unwashed cup I’d hidden, but it was evidence I hadn’t muddled my head with drink.
Mary, who’d quickly grown comfortable with me and Tess, chattered away about Lord Babcock and his family. It was common knowledge that Lady Babcock was his lordship’s second wife, and that the son and daughter of the household, both in their twenties, were children of the marquess and his first wife.
Lord Alfred was being groomed to step into the marquess’s shoes whenever Lord Babcock popped off. Lady Margaret, as Mary had mentioned, was quite beautiful and had any number of suitors. Lady Margaret sometimes came down to the kitchen, sweet as you please, to ask for a dish to be made for tea with her friends, or to snatch a tidbit, as she’d been doing since she was a child.
Mary had no use at all for the second Lady Babcock. It seemed no one did, though she’d been Lord Babcock’s wife for the past twenty years.
I did not condone gossiping in the kitchen, but I admit I didn’t stop Tess asking questions. Nor did I make myself not listen to the answers.
“Lord Alfred will likely toss her ladyship out on her ear when he inherits,” Mary said with confidence. “Stands to reason. She ain’t their mum, is she?”
“Is Lord Babcock likely to fall off his perch any time soon?” Tess asked with unfeigned curiosity.
“Could be,” Mary said. “He’s seventy, if he’s a day.”
“That’s no great age,” I said as I competently rolled out dough for the buns and tucked the edges under. “Not in these times. Patent medicines can do wonders.”
“Lord Alfred loves his dad, that’s for certain,” Mary went on. “Is ever so gentle with him.”
Jane, who’d listened to much of the conversation in sullen silence, let out a snort. “That ain’t true. Lord Alfred wants to be marquess, not just a marquess’s son.”
“Lord Alfred is too kind for that,” Mary said insistently. From the flush on her cheek, I deduced she had a fondness for Lord Alfred.
“You think the best of everybody, Mary,” Jane sneered. “’Cause you’re a fool.”
“Now, Jane, mind your tongue,” I admonished. I agreed with her that Mary was a bit too quick to trust, but Jane’s philosophy seemed to be to dislike everyone on sight.
I wondered what had happened to give Jane such anger. The likes of us had to drudge for a living, and while some complained, others did it cheerfully and managed to live a happy life. I concluded that more than hard labor had turned Jane bitter.
“Lord Babcock must have had his children later in life,” I mused. “If Lord Alfred and Lady Margaret are not yet thirty.”
“His first wife had trouble carrying little ones,” Mary said. “Lost a few before Lord Alfred and Lady Margaret came along, and it was touch and go with both of them. That’s how the first Lady Babcock died, so it’s said. Trying for another child.”
“How very sad,” I said in sudden sympathy. “That must have been difficult for the family.”
