A Dreadful Splendor (21)

I slipped on my bonnet, tying the ribbon under my chin, and made my way down the grand staircase. I heard Mr. Pemberton in the study. I immediately changed direction and took the servants’ passageway to the lower floor.

The kitchen was busier than the last time I had visited. There were several staff at their own workstations. I spotted Flora rolling out a rectangle of dough. A pile of apple peels and cores filled a bowl. There was a sweetness in the air that made my mouth water. I regretted missing lunch.

Flora met my gaze. She bit her lower lip and exchanged a quick glance with an elderly lady who was lifting the lid off an enormous pot. A cloud of steam enveloped her, and I caught the heady aroma of beef and wine. Again, my stomach reacted. The woman came over to me, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is there something I can get you, Miss Timmons?”

“No, I just followed my nose, I’m afraid,” I said, hoping to put them at ease with a compliment. She smiled, then looked down at my gloves. I’d forgotten to hide the one with the rip in the seam.

“Actually,” I said, “I wonder if I might borrow some needle and thread for mending. In London we don’t get the cold fresh wind like the country.”

Mrs. Donovan stepped into the kitchen with hardly a sound, but the temperature of the room seemed to drop. She gave the cook a stony stare. “Mrs. Galloway, your soup needs tending.” She held out her hand to me. “I shall do the mending. It’s my duty to make sure your needs are met.” Her expression was flat as her eyes raked over my outfit. “I will see if I can find you more appropriate attire for the weather.”

“Thank you,” I said, struck by her capacity to offer assistance and be insulting at the same time. “I was hoping to walk the gardens.” Then I added, “As soon as possible.”

She smiled stiffly. The cook, Mrs. Galloway, went back to her pot, watching coyly over her shoulder.

“I’ll do this at once,” Mrs. Donovan said. She slid away like a snake down the hall, disappearing into one of the many doors off the corridor.

The entire kitchen seemed to let out a breath, and the easy bustle resumed. I had a notion the staff wouldn’t mind seeing Mrs. Donovan accused by Audra’s ghost.

I went to Flora, hoping I could amend whatever unease still lingered between us. She appeared as awkward as I felt. I’m sure she was also replaying Mr. Pemberton’s criticizing words. She abandoned her dough and pulled a tray of pastries out of the oven.

“That smells scrumptious,” I told her. The look of desire must have been apparent on my face, because she beamed back at me.

“Hand apple pies, I calls ’um. It’s a recipe of my own.”

Mrs. Galloway cleared her throat from across the room.

Flora sighed. “With a bit of Mrs. Galloway’s help.”

“Someone will be lucky to enjoy those,” I said.

Smiling, she tucked one into a cloth and passed it to me. “A walk outside will be more enjoyable with this.”

“It will,” I said, fighting the urge to eat it all at once. “Thank you.”

She leaned closer and said, “I’m sorry ’bout what happened in the library with his lordship. It was me fault.”

“I was the one who spoke out of turn. Pay no mind.”

The others moved about, discussing meal preparation and making an order for the village market in Wrendale.

A door closed roughly from down the hallway. Moments later a boy appeared, red-faced and smiling. He took off his cap and slipped it under his arm, then blew into his cupped hands a few times. “Good day, ladies,” he said. “One o’ the mares is soon to have her foal. We’re making a list of names. Know any good ones, Flora? You’re smart like that.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to name a horse, fool.” She tossed him one of her apple pies.

He juggled it between his hands a few times. “Are you trying to burn me to death, woman?” He had half of it gone in two bites. Finally, he noticed me. “Oy, hello, miss.”

“Never mind flirting, Joseph,” Mrs. Galloway said. She pointed down the hall. “Be a dear and fetch some peach preserves from the cellar pantry, would you? That door sticks something awful this time of year.”

His face lost all color.

“It’ll be worth two more pastries,” Flora tempted him.

He gave her a weak smile, then finished the apple pie by pushing the rest into his mouth. I watched as he walked down the corridor and disappeared through a doorway.

“Why doesn’t Joseph like the pantry?” I asked.

“It’s so old,” Flora said. “And too close to the cliff. They say the ocean’s crumblin’ away at it.”

I put my hand on the counter, feeling the floor pitch as I imagined the castle toppling into the salty water.

Joseph returned with an armload of jars, which Mrs. Galloway took to the sideboard.

“I see you survived,” Flora joked.

“Aye,” he said. “I think you lot stick that door on purpose so you won’t have to go down there yerselves. I can hear the ocean, I tell ya! The waves lapping right up to the wall, I bet. One of these days Mrs. Galloway will go down there looking for her preserves and get eaten by a shark.”

Flora laughed and tossed a handful of flour at him. The easy teasing continued. The boy was the same height as her, but he took great effort to stand taller. His eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen. The attention was genuine.