Emily Hendrickson (19 page)

“I think you might persuade me,” he said with a roguish grin. “I like the way you soothe my fevered brow.”

Elizabeth digested this suggestive taunt, vividly recalling the kiss that had followed, then decided to prudently ignore it. “Perhaps Filpot will allow her into your father’s bedroom. She does have a way about her.” Elizabeth still felt hurt at being excluded from the room where she had spent most of the past days.

“That has a grim sound.” He spoiled his frown by a magnificent sneeze.

“Off with you. Now,” insisted Elizabeth with a shooing motion as she backed away from him, then turned to hurry along the north corridor to her room.

Rose greeted her with a look of dismay as she saw the wind-tossed appearance of her usually neat mistress.

“Help me tidy up some. I have no desire to have anyone else see me so disheveled.” She gave a horrified glance in the looking glass at her rumpled self, then hurriedly divested herself of her pelisse and bonnet.

Elizabeth allowed Rose to straighten her gown and then repair the damage to the arrangement of her curls.

“Filpot will not permit you in the earl’s room?” she inquired as Rose brushed Elizabeth’s hair.

“No, miss. Said I was not needed. Hadlow, he thinks that Filpot a smarmy sort of fellow.” Rose threaded an aqua ribbon through Elizabeth’s curls, then stood back to survey her work. “I suspect something havey-cavey is going on.”

“Indeed.” But then. Rose was given to seeing ghosts and all manner of spectral creatures. “It may be that the earl caught Lord Leighton’s cold and has truly taken a turn for the worse.” She shared a worried look with her maid.

“I do hope ‘tis nothing serious, miss.”

Elizabeth did too. Over the days she had grown exceedingly fond of the old gentleman, and did not wish anything to happen to him.

“The food has been handled only by you and Hadlow?” she said with sudden concern, wondering if something had managed to slip past them.

“Yes, miss. The cook don’t like it by half, she don’t. Muttering something about her special herbs for the earl and the like. I fancy my own cooking to hers, and I’m no cook,” She grinned at her mistress.

Once she was restored to a respectable appearance, Elizabeth turned to her maid, studying her open face. “I want to send off a request for Purvis. Could you see that one of the footmen takes it to Montmorcy Hall for me? Then I intend to visit the kitchens.”

“Oh, miss, be that wise?” Rose wore a horrified expression on her face at the mere thought of her dear mistress going into such a place.

“I have been in the still room at my aunt’s home, and the kitchen as well. Come now,” Elizabeth chided,

She wrote a careful note for her aunt, explaining why she needed Purvis to come. Then she gathered a shawl and bravely marched down the stairs to the hall. Sidthorp was nowhere to be seen. The house was as quiet as a tomb.

“Peagoose,” she muttered to herself, “you shall be as bad as Rose if you keep this up.”

At the door to the kitchen she paused, watching the preparations for the evening meal. Across the stone-flagged floor the kitchen maid bustled about. A high dresser was loaded with platters of all sizes. Several Windsor chairs stood along the wall, and in the center of the room a wide wooden table was littered with vegetables ready for the pot.

A closed range stood on the far wall. The open fire was covered by a hot plate, waiting for the pots and sauce pans. The ovens sent out a welcome heat which would undoubtedly become oppressive by the time dinner rolled around. The pot of soup on the back of the stove smelled dreadful, and Elizabeth did not look forward to dinner if that was the beginning of the meal.

A rusty tin hastener was set in front of the fire, a joint of beef suspended from the dangle spit. One look revealed why the meat was often underdone on one side and overcooked on the other. The bottle jack by which the roast was to revolve worked only sporadically, if at all.

Elizabeth wondered why Mrs. Sidthorp as housekeeper didn’t insist that the cook maintain a higher standard of cleanliness—seeing to it that the pots and utensils were polished and things worked properly—when the cook entered from the scullery room.

She was an enormous woman. Her grimy mob cap perched atop frizzled gray hair, her many chins rested on a massive bosom, while a none-too-clean apron was tied around her girth. And she was undoubtedly the meanest, most foul-tempered-looking woman Elizabeth had ever set eyes upon. Little raisin-dark eyes peered suspiciously at Elizabeth, making her hard pressed not to shudder.

Small wonder that meek little Mrs. Sidthorp daren’t chastise the cook. Cook would most likely pop her in a pot and be done with it.

“Who be you, and what do you in my kitchen?” Cook demanded, arms akimbo.

Elizabeth stood her ground. “I wished to make a tisane for Lord Leighton. His cold bothers him dreadfully. Where is the still room?” This should have been the province of the housekeeper, and Elizabeth could only hope it proved in better condition than the kitchen.

Before the cook bothered to answer, the scared little kitchen maid tugged at Elizabeth’s sleeve. “Please, miss, it be this way.”

Ignoring the glare from Cook, Elizabeth gratefully followed the maid into a small room where the smell of herbs and spices scented the air. The herb chest drew Elizabeth’s gaze. “Thank you,” she murmured to the maid, dismissing the girl.

An inspection of the chest revealed the usual assortment of herbs, from what Elizabeth knew of the matter. Purvis would have a better idea if something was missing, or if there was a substance that ought not be here. The spice chest was locked up, a not unusual occurrence, for spices were expensive and easily purloined. Sugar was kept out and available, a sign of an affluent household, for Elizabeth knew many kept it under lock and key as well.

Up on a shelf, Elizabeth spotted the missing book— the
Family Herbal
by Thornton. She walked back to the kitchen door, watching the cook for several minutes before she observed that there were no cookery books to be seen on the two small shelves next to the dresser. Most households had at least one cookery book, along with the Bible and a few other works for the staff to read, if they were able. All Elizabeth could make out was a dusty copy of the Bible and another book, presumably sermons, from the look of it.

“You cook by memory?” Elizabeth inquired in a gentle voice.

“Cain’t read, I cain’t,” Cook replied in a huff and a wheeze. It was clear that a cook who could not read would not bother to take a book, conceal it in the scullery, with the intent of using the knowledge therein to poison someone. For that matter, the woman could not read the other book.

“Howere, I can cook with the best of ‘em,” she asserted, and Elizabeth warranted that there was not a soul who would argue with the intimidating woman, even if the meat was overdone and the soup utterly dreadful.

“But I don’t take kindly to people snooping in my kitchen,” the cook said, picking up a meat cleaver. “That Hadlow, sneaking about here, says he fixes somethin’ fer the earl. Hmpf. I’s sp’osed to use my special herbs for him, I am.” The cleaver was plunked down with a thump, and the woman began to plop vegetables into a pot.

“Special herbs?” Elizabeth inquired in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. The peculiar taste of much of the food might be discovered if those herbs could be identified—and tossed away.

Cook, seeing the strange miss getting overly curious about the doings of her kitchen, clammed up and turned her back on the guest.

Deciding it was unlikely that she would learn anything more, Elizabeth left the room and proceeded back to her room. She had the foresight to bring a pot of tea with her, along with two cups. She and Rose often shared a pot of tea while at Penhurst Place, for Elizabeth found a household of gentlemen not always to her liking.

“Rose,” Elizabeth said with a half laugh as she entered her room, “I quite see why you looked so horrified when I spoke of going to the kitchen. What a dreadful woman. How do you suppose she ever came to be here in the first place?”

Rose poured the tea and they each sipped for a moment before Rose timidly said, “I think she crawled out of the wall one night and has been here ever since.”

Elizabeth chuckled at the unlikely tale, then fell silent. If Cook was not involved in poisoning the food, who was?

Chapter Eleven

“I declare, this rain has been more tiresome than the snow,” Hyacinth said, an adorable pout on her pretty mouth.

“I believe it looks to clear this morning. John Coachman said his rheumatism is better, which he insists is a reliable sign,” Lady Chloe offered in hope of soothing her impetuous cousin. Hyacinth had paced about the house like a caged animal. No doubt the lack of gentleman callers had something to do with her restlessness.

Aunt Bel ignored them, consulting her collection of superstitions to discover if there was anything to be found regarding rain, other than references to building an ark. “Do you know,” she said to no one in particular, “that the superstition regarding red hair goes back for centuries?”

With this she captured Hyacinth’s attention, for she insisted her hair was not the least red, although she did admit her hair might be a bright chestnut.

“ ‘Twas said that the red-haired Danes who wrought such havoc in our land brought about the feeling that a red head covered a violent disposition.”

“Pooh,” Hyacinth snapped, “that was hundreds of years ago. I fail to see what the Danes might have to do with anything.” She idly picked at the keys of the pianoforte, playing the same melody she had heard on Elizabeth’s music box.

Since Lady Chloe thought the notion about red hair was a deal of nonsense, she said nothing, merely stood by the window and stared at the avenue leading up to the house as though by that means she might conjure up news.

“Well, I will admit,” Hyacinth continued, “if we do not find something different to amuse us, I might contemplate violence of a kind.” Her fingers crashed in a discordant sound to reflect her mood.

In her position by the window. Lady Chloe tensed, catching sight of a coach making its careful way up the avenue.

“I believe you are to have your wish, cousin. Visitors are coming.”

Hyacinth bounced up from the bench, dashing to Chloe’s side. “Who? Can you tell? Oh, I do hope it is Lord Norwood.”

A little smile curved Chloe’s lips. While she sympathized with her cousin, she also thought it no bad thing that the exquisite Hyacinth discover there were men impervious to her charms. She had known far too much success for her tender years. It would do her good to experience a bit of neglect, especially from the man Hyacinth had made such a dead set at. It seemed to Chloe that her cousin had exhibited a want of good conduct in dealing with the marquess. Norwood was no youth to be dazzled by a lovely face. Hyacinth needed a lesson.

“I do not think it to be Norwood’s coach. There is no crest on the panel.” Hyacinth drooped against the window surrounds, then perked up. “At least it is someone. I wonder who.”

“We shan’t troop down to the entry hall to find out,” cautioned Chloe. “Even I know that to be bad form.”

“Hyacinth has such a lovely voice. Why do you not sing up a song while Chloe plays for you? I shall listen, for I am very accomplished at that, you know,” Aunt Bel suggested with a twinkle in her eyes.

Hyacinth hastily selected, then began to sing a pretty country tune suited to her light soprano.

Gibbons presented himself in the doorway and announced, “The Viscount Leighton and Miss Elizabeth, my lady.”

Elizabeth entered the drawing room at David’s side. She had removed her outer things, wishing to change while here. David looked complete to a shade in a dark blue coat, white marcella waistcoat, and gray pantaloons tucked into his boots.

“How is everything at Penhurst Place?” Aunt Bel begged to know. “Your father? Is he any better? I have prayed he would improve with Purvis to attend him.”

“About the same,” he replied. “She says even less than Filpot, and that is precious little.”

“Odd, that,” Aunt Bel declared. “I felt certain that Purvis would have your father on his feet in a trice.”

“She is a treasure, make no mistake. My arm is as good as new, and that ague that threatened me completely gone,” he politely assured Lady Montmorcy. He turned his attention back
to the girls.

“We have come with a proposition. After all this dreadful weather, you must be as anxious for diversion as we are. Why do we not venture down to Dorking? I feel sure there is something one of you ladies must desire from the shops, and it would be a nice change.”

Hyacinth whirled about in delight, facing her aunt with a pleading look. “Please, dearest Aunt Bel?”

Not to be ignored. Lady Chloe added her appeal.
“Oh,
do say we may go, Mama.”

While they discussed the things that might be purchased on such an expedition, David waited at Elizabeth’s side.

“ ‘Tis very kind of you to offer amusement for us,” Aunt Bel said most properly. “It has been dreadfully dreary for everyone, especially the girls.”

He chuckled. “With Uncle Augustus demanding everyone play billiards with him, and Jeremy quibbling with Egbert over scoring, it is a welcome change for me and Elizabeth as well. I’ll wager she is about to take up billiards just to challenge my uncle.”

As she had considered that very thing, she chuckled in response. “Indeed. It is either billiards or something quite drastic. Although I have been greatly worried about the earl, they allow me to do nothing and that becomes tedious.”

An elusive expression crossed David’s handsome face before he replied. “Yes, well, he did seem better, and then he changed. I fear I cannot give you details.”

To her utter distraction he captured her hands and tenderly kissed the inner wrist of each. “I shall look forward to a day spent away from all the troubles at Penhurst Place and in your lovely company.”

Uncomfortable, Elizabeth tugged her hands free, putting them behind her in an effort of striving for calm.

His lips twitched, almost breaking into a smile, then he said, “What a blessing it is that I possess unlimited patience.” With that, he turned away from Elizabeth. He walked to where Aunt Bel perched on a striped satin sofa, fingering her locket watch.