Page 9 of A Moveable Feast
The answer came to me at once. The tea. I’d had a swallow of Mrs. Morgan’s tea after she’d fallen asleep, finding the taste strangely bitter.
Good heavens. Lady Babcock had dosed Mrs. Morgan’s tea with laudanum.
Had she thought this might help the cook get well more swiftly? Possibly. Some believed that laudanum and opium were the best cure for any ailment. Perhaps this was Lady Babcock’s usual remedy, and Mrs. Morgan had known full well what was in the tea Lady Babcock had carried into the room.
But then, Mrs. Morgan had eyed Lady Babcock in trepidation and begged me not to leave her.
Watch out for her.
Daniel had given me a sharp look when I’d mentioned Portman Square. He’d assured me he hadn’t been on the trail of a criminal there, but he hadn’t explained what had made him uneasy.
Was Lady Babcock a mad poisoner, with the police poised to arrest her the moment anyone in her household died?
I pushed myself from the railings with a laugh. What nonsense. If Lady Babcock were a poisoner, Daniel would have warned me outright.
Lady Babcock might simply have been trying to nurse her cook. The amount of laudanum I’d swallowed in the tea hadn’t been enough to send me unconscious before I made it down the stairs. Even now, I could still walk and think, the drink slowing me only somewhat.
Still, I longed for a good nap, and cursed Lady Babcock for not bothering to mention that she’d laced the tea with an opiate. My own foolishness for drinking it.
Keeping close to the railings, in case I had to hold myself up again, I continued along the street and around the corner to Lord Babcock’s townhome. I took the stairs down to the kitchen carefully, balancing myself against the rather slimy brick wall.
The kitchen bustled with activity, I was pleased to see. Both Tess and Jane were chopping things, and Mary busily washed pots and crockery in the scullery.
“I managed to get some vegetables.” I set my basket on the table with exaggerated care then fumbled with the buttons of my coat, which fell to the floor before I could catch it. “Tess, please start on these onions. Jane, you will clean and chop the carrots. I need them in tiny bits, to make the sauce more robust.”
Jane studied me with her usual scowl, but she didn’t argue.
I tried to hang my coat on a hook, missed, and tried again, my fingers trembling.
“Whatever is the matter with you, Cook?” Mrs. Seabrook had swept into the kitchen and now stared hard at me.
“Nothing.” I concentrated again on getting my coat onto the hook. Almost there.
“Good Lord.” Mrs. Seabrook’s glare seared me. “You’re tipsy. Of all the things I’ve been saddled with in the last week, now the mistress’s silly friend brought in a drunk cook. Her ladyship will hear of this.”
So saying, Mrs. Seabrook marched from the kitchen, heels clattering on the slate floor as she made for the backstairs.
Chapter 4
I hurried after Mrs. Seabrook the best I could. My coat, which had fallen once more, remained in a heap on the floor.
“I am never drunk,” I declared as I caught up to her. “I was foolish to go up to Mrs. Morgan, is all. I drank tea meant for her, which I believe had a drop of laudanum in it.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Seabrook turned on me. “None use laudanum in this house. Her ladyship has medicines from her doctor, but she’d not dispense them to the servants. There’s naught wrong with Mrs. Morgan, in any case. She’s malingering. She and her ladyship have been quarreling something fierce, probably over the menus. They don’t see eye to eye. Mrs. Morgan decided to dodge cooking what she didn’t want by pretending to fall sick. Her ladyship has been contrite ever since.”
“No, no, Mrs. Morgan is quite ill,” I insisted. “Could scarcely lift her head from her pillow. There was laudanum in the tea, I’m certain of it, but I will be fine in a trice. I shake off these things quite quickly.”
Armitage had emerged from his butler’s pantry as we argued. “Nay, she’s tipsy all right,” he said to Mrs. Seabrook. “I told her, cooks what use wine in their sauces only want a good tipple from the bottle.”
“I am not drunk!” I shouted at the pair of them. “You can smell my breath, if you don’t believe me.”
Mrs. Seabrook and Armitage leaned to me, prepared to do just that. Armitage drew back immediately, his tone dropping to a mutter. “Well, some learn to hide it.”
Mrs. Seabrook continued to eye me suspiciously. “I’ll keep silent for now. You get back to the kitchen and produce that meal for tomorrow. If I find you nodding off over it, I’ll send you away and tell your mistress to give you the sack. I mean it.”
I drew myself up as much as my lingering stupor allowed. “I do not tipple, as I have stated. The meal will commence, Mrs. Seabrook. You look out for Mrs. Morgan and see her well again.”
“Not my place.” Mrs. Seabrook stuck her nose in the air and made for the housekeeper’s parlor. “Get on with it, Cook.”
