Page 5 of A Moveable Feast
I sent Tess a soothing glance and departed the kitchen, turning left in the passageway to where the larder was most likely to be. Most servants’ areas in this part of London were laid out in a similar fashion, and I quickly found the linen cupboard, laundry room, and larder.
Pattering footsteps sounded behind me, and Mary caught up to me on the larder’s threshold.
“Don’t mind Jane,” she said apologetically. “She’s all sourness at the best of times. What can I show you, Mrs. Holloway?”
“Thank you, Mary.” I softened my tone, grateful for one friendly voice. “I need to see all the produce you have stocked, plus we’ll need plenty of cream and the best fresh herbs. Where are her spice boxes?”
“I don’t know about any of that.” Mary stood in the middle of the larder, regarding the jumble of crates and the shelves as though she’d never seen them before. “Mrs. Morgan don’t let me in here much. There’s some flour, there.” She pointed to a large sack that had leaked to the stones, staining them white. “We’ll need that for the bread, won’t we?”
I was already rooting around the shelves, uncovering bags of such dried foodstuffs as rice and macaroni, but no produce at all. A wooden box marked Cheese held nothing but moldy bits that needed to be discarded. I did discover a few pots of spices, but they must have been ancient, because they barely had any odor. I was grateful I’d remembered to bring some of my own.
I turned to Mary, who had her hands wrapped nervously in her apron. “Why won’t Mrs. Morgan allow you into the larder? What exactly do you do in the kitchen?”
“I sort things and stir what Mrs. Morgan tells me to stir,” Mary said. “Mostly I scrub what dishes she’s done with.”
“Don’t you have a scullery maid for that?” I asked in surprise. Lord Babcock was a marquess, who ought to have a servant for every conceivable task under the sun.
“I were a scullery maid. But Mrs. Morgan said she needed more hands, so I was brought into the kitchen. I still have to do the scullery work. Jane is more of the under-cook. Mrs. Morgan lets her chop the vegetables. She won’t let me near a knife, except to wash it.”
“I see.” I was glad I’d stood up to Mrs. Bywater and brought Tess along. “Do you have any idea where Mrs. Morgan keeps her vegetables? In the kitchen itself?” The larder was a much better place for storage, as it was generally always cool, free of drafts, and not heated by the stove, but I’d already seen that this kitchen was not very efficient.
“Don’t know.” Mary looked troubled. “Sorry, Missus. Mrs. Morgan don’t show us much, only expects us to do what we’re told.”
No wonder Jane wore a perpetual scowl while Mary existed in a state of bewilderment.
“It is no matter, Mary,” I said. “We’ll muddle along.” I’d found nothing in the larder I wanted to use and gestured her out. “Let us see what she’s begun in the kitchen for tomorrow’s dinner.”
“Not much, I think.” Mary trotted after me, still trying to be helpful. “Mrs. Morgan’s been so very ill.”
“Nothing contagious, I hope,” I said as though I wasn’t worried, but truth to tell, I was. What had laid the cook so low, so quickly?
“Mrs. Seabrook says no,” Mary said. “Just an ailment. Her ladyship has been nursing her ever so kindly.”
“Huh.” Jane heard her as we entered the kitchen. “Her ladyship is likely trying to pry the old besom out of bed. I’m surprised her ladyship let you come at all, Mrs. Holloway. She don’t like those she don’t know.”
“You shouldn’t talk about the mistress like that.” Mary darted a glance behind her as though someone would overhear and report directly to Lady Babcock. And possibly, they would. Servants in unhappy situations sometimes strove to better their lot by telling tales on others.
Tess, who’d put herself on the opposite side of the table from Jane, frowned in agreement with Mary. Tess always had plenty to say about the family she worked for, but I had the feeling she’d be contrary to anything Jane uttered.
“I’m certain her ladyship is doing all she can,” I said firmly. “Where are the vegetables, Jane? I want to sort what I need for tomorrow.”
“Some tatties over there.” Jane pointed with the tip of a knife to a crate in the corner. “Some cabbages too, but they don’t look nice.”
“I see.” I bit back sharper words. “What has Mrs. Morgan planned for the meat? Ham? Roast lamb? Capons for one of the courses?”
“She hadn’t gone to the butcher’s afore she fell sick,” Jane informed me. “So, I don’t know, do I?”
“Well, what were you planning to give the upstairs for Easter dinner?” I demanded. “Boiled rice and old cabbage?”
“Don’t ask me, missus,” Jane returned. “I’m a kitchen maid. If you don’t need me help, then I’m off.” She started to untie her apron.
“No, you will stay right here.” The time for friendly cajoling had passed. “Fortunately, I brought plenty of my own foodstuffs. You will help Tess sort it, and I will go to the markets and find what I can, though there won’t be much left by now.”
Jane glared at me defiantly, but after a time under my stern gaze, she took her hand from her apron ties. “Yes, missus,” she said sullenly.
“Mrs. Morgan went to the market yesterday morning,” Mary offered, her voice faint. “But I don’t know what she did with the things.”
Tess shook her head at me. I guessed she’d had a poke about the kitchen in my absence and found nothing of use.
