Banquet of Lies (21 page)

She shook her head.

“And you’re not going to tell me what you were doing?”

She shook her head again.

“If you tell me, I can help you.”

She reached up a hand between them, and her fingers hovered, just near his chest, without touching him. “I don’t know that you can. That it is wise . . .”

The kitchen door slammed open, caught by the wind, and Jonathan nearly dropped the pots.

She eeled under of the cage of his arms, and when he straightened and turned, she stood demure, eyes downcast, more than an arm stretch away.

“Your lordship?” It was Harry. He looked between them
with no suspicion, just working out what to do, a genuine smile on his face. He stepped forward and tugged the pots out of Jonathan’s hands.

“Pots for outside my room,” Madame Levéel told him. “If you could go round the side and put them there?”

Harry gave a nod and disappeared around the corner, whistling cheerfully.

“This isn’t finished.” He would not keep skulking, jumping with guilt whenever someone came near them.

“I know.” She fiddled with her apron. “When it
is
finished, I hope you’ll find it in you to forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?” he asked, but her lips were drawn tight together, and she was glaring at the kitchen door.

Edgars stood watching them. The look he sent Madame Levéel was shuttered, and it made Jonathan uneasy.

“Your lordship.” He gave a little bow without meeting Jonathan’s eyes.

“Thank you for carrying the pots for me.” Madame Levéel drew herself up and marched to the door, forcing Edgars to step aside to get out of her way.

“I would like to talk to you after dinner tonight, Cook,” Jonathan told her, with no give in his tone.

She paused in the doorway and looked back at him. Gave a brief nod, and disappeared amid the fragrant scent of roasting lamb and rosemary.

Edgars didn’t follow her, standing, unsure, on the threshold. “You aren’t coming in this way, my lord?” he asked in a sort of hushed horror.

“The world won’t come to an end if I do, but no, I’ll go round the front.”

Edgars nodded, relaxing his stiff pose a little, and drew back into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

Which would make it the second kitchen door slammed in his face today alone. And just think, he could have been sitting in his study, reading reports.

Jonathan threw back his head and laughed.

T
onight, when Aldridge called her in after dinner, she would tell him the truth.

Gigi took her carving knife and began to slice the lamb, pink and tender.

Her reasons for not doing so already were good. She had spent the last nine years being trained to say nothing to anyone, and to understand that some secrets should never be told. That only those who asked for their help could be given or sent the information they were seeking; that to give it to anyone else could endanger lives and ruin nations.

But no one could blame her for seeking aid in these circumstances. How could they?

With Dervish gone, she had no way of knowing who to trust, and the time was approaching when the letter would lose its importance because it was not in the right hands and thought lost, and every sacrifice would have been for nothing.

She would not let that happen. Her father deserved more than that.

She laid the slices of lamb in a fan around the tower of potato gratin in the center of the plate. There were minted peas in a beautiful Chinese bowl and honey-glazed carrots roasted with tarragon.

“I can’t even think, that smells so nice,” Babs said, coming in from outside, a coal bucket in hand.

Rob lifted the tray. “At least you can knock off now, and ’ave some.” He tipped his head in her direction. “Mind Babs only has her share, Cook.”

Babs was washing at the sink, and Gigi saw the moment when she decided to flick water at Rob.

“If,” she said, standing directly in front of Rob, shielding him, “my food gets even one drop of water on it”—she stared Babs down—“the person responsible will have bread for dinner.”

Babs ducked her head. “Sorry, Cook.”

“All right.” She shooed Rob up the stairs and turned back to the table. Mavis was standing at the rear stairs, and the look on her face made Gigi go cold.

“What is it, Mavis?”

“I done a wrong thing.” She looked down and twisted her apron like it was a chicken’s neck.

“We all do the wrong thing now and then.” Gigi walked toward her. The girl’s fear was palpable, and she knew that gut-wrenching feeling all too well. She drew Mavis away from the stairs and led her to a chair.

The girl collapsed.

“What is it, Mae?” Babs crouched down beside her, and when she didn’t answer, looked up at Gigi, a little frown of worry on her broad, open face. “I’ll get Iris.”

Gigi nodded. Iris had taken Mavis under her wing from the start. If anyone could get the story out, it was her. Babs rose and disappeared up the stairs, and Gigi poured some tea, loading the cup with sugar.

“I’m sure whatever it is, we can fix it, Mavis. You don’t need to worry so.” She pressed the cup into Mavis’s hands and rubbed her shoulder.

“I broke his lordship’s wooden box, the little one on his chest of drawers, while I were putting away his laundry.” She shuddered out a sob. “Cracked, it did. Right down the middle, split right open, and now it’s s . . . s . . . smashed.” She shook, her chest heaving.

“It was an accident, Mavis. Lord Aldridge will understand.”

She raised red-rimmed, puffy eyes to Gigi’s face. “Mr. Edgars don’t. He were angry.” She looked toward the rear stairs. “He sent me down while he puts things to rights. But the box can’t be put to rights. There’s no savin’ it.”

Babs came down the stairs from the hall with Iris in tow, just as Edgars came down the rear stairs on the opposite side of the kitchen.

He’d worked himself into a high rage, and Gigi thought of Rumplestiltskin again as he stomped down the last few steps.

“You are a clumsy, ham-fisted waster.” The finger he pointed at Mavis shook. “Now I have to explain to Lord Aldridge what’s happened to his box.”

And Lord Aldridge wasn’t exactly pleased with him at the moment. Edgars was cornered and, like any wounded animal with no place to go, he was lashing out.

Gigi might have felt some sympathy, as she was partly responsible for his predicament, if the person he’d been lashing out at wasn’t the most defenseless person in the house. She put both hands on Mavis’s shoulders and drew herself up. “I’ll explain to his lordship. It was an accident.”

Edgars moved his gaze slowly from Mavis to her, and he dropped his arm. “I am quite capable of doing my own job, Cook. And I’ll thank you not to interfere in it.” He said each word through clenched teeth.

“If you were interfering with Mavis as you’ve been interfering with the rest of us all day, you’re probably the reason she knocked that box, because I’ve never known her to be clumsy before.” Iris spoke into the dead, cold silence of the room.

Babs gasped audibly at her nerve, and Edgars took a step back, as if he’d been struck.

“That is
enough
of undermining me. Enough cheek out of all of you.” He pointed his finger at Mavis again. “You’re sacked, and you can thank your friends for that. And Iris, one more bit of cheek from you, and you’re out, too.”

He tugged hard on his waistcoat and walked past them to the main stairs. “Now excuse me, while I go and explain to his lordship that the antique box he inherited from his mother is smashed beyond repair.”

Iris and Babs shuffled out of his way as if he were contagious, and they stood in silence until he was gone.

Gigi knew she must look like the others. Completely shocked.

“Mavis, I’m so sorry,” Iris whispered. “I should’ve kept me mouth shut—”

“No.” Gigi sighed. “It was me. Offering to speak to his lordship like Edgars couldn’t do the job. I thought I’d be doing him a favor, but he thought I was saying he wasn’t up to it.”

“What will I do?” Mavis stared down at her hands. “I’ll get a beatin’, I go back ’ome with no job. No food for me there, anyways.” She rocked a little. “What’ll I do?” She looked up at them, eyes wide, not expecting an answer. Already defeated. Bracing for that beating, because where did she have to go, but back home?

“
Du calme. Du calme.
” Gigi rubbed her shoulders, thinking furiously. “You’re going into a new job. Right now, tonight. You can start tomorrow.” Gigi knew there were some risks to what she was about to do, but Mavis had lost her job because of her mistake. Her poor navigation of the belowstairs waters.

“What?” Mavis sat looking at her, agape.

“Go pack your things while I write a note for you to take with you. Your new position is at a house a few doors down, so you’ll still be on the same street.” She turned to see Iris and Babs staring at her. “Well, go help her. I’ve got dessert to get ready in ten minutes, and coffee after that.” She clapped her hands in impatience. “
Allez!
”

“What house?” Babs asked, her voice hushed.

“Goldfern. Now go.” She flicked her fingers at them, then went into her sitting room and pulled out a piece of paper. From the kitchen she heard the soft murmur of voices, and then footsteps up the rear stairs.

She bit down on her nail, thought through what she should say. Eventually she decided on two letters: one for Mr. Greenway, her father’s lawyer, and one for Mr. Jones, the caretaker at the house, whom she’d never met.

They had better treat Mavis kindly when she arrived, or they would regret it.

T
his was what he’d smelled when he’d come through the kitchen, just before he’d caught Madame Levéel in his study. Jonathan stared down at the crème brûlée before him, took up his spoon, and cracked the thin layer of caramelized sugar on top. It made the perfect crunch.

He dipped in his spoon and came up with smooth custard, dotted with tiny vanilla seeds. He put it on his tongue and forced himself not to close his eyes.

He had an audience.

Edgars stood, stiff and vibrating like a tuning fork, and from their uneasy expressions, Rob and Harry didn’t know why.

Most likely Madame Levéel again.

For the first time, Jonathan considered that it might come down to either his butler or his cook.

Who would he choose, if it were up to him?

Edgars had nearly fifteen years’ service to his family, and having Madame Levéel elsewhere would mean he would no longer be pursuing a servant. No longer have to wonder if she would choose differently, if the power balance between them was different.

But he would no longer eat her food.

He looked down at the crème brûlée.

It would be worth it, to have her.

I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.
What had she meant by that?

There was a knock at the front door, and Edgars flinched at the sound. He disappeared out into the hall, and Jonathan took another spoonful of crème brûlée while he still could.

“A message for you, my lord, from Lord Durnham.” Edgars returned carrying a silver tray with a note, his mouth a thin, sour line.

Jonathan ripped the note open and frowned at the message. His planned chat with Madame Levéel would have to wait until later.

“I’m going out, Edgars. I won’t be back too late, I hope. Please tell Cook I’d still like a word, if she would wait up.”

Edgars’ lips looked like they were about to disappear. He didn’t respond.

“Edgars?” He kept his voice low but didn’t try to hide the menace in it.

Edgars’ scalding gaze slid away. “Yes, my lord.”

If the decision came down to Edgars or Madame Levéel, perhaps it would not be so difficult, after all.

Jonathan scooped up the last of the crème brûlée as he stood. “Be sure to give Cook my highest compliments on the meal.”

“N
ow, give the note to Mr. Jones,” Gigi told Mavis, who stood shivering and miserable, holding the rough hessian sack with all her worldly possessions in a white-knuckled grip.

Her eyes were dry now, but shock still shook her in tiny, shuddering trembles. She’d had a quick dinner after she’d collected her things, and had hardly eaten anything. Gigi had never seen her less than famished, and it made her burn that Edgars had scared her badly enough to make her lose her appetite.