To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(77)

The water in her kettle soon began to steam, and she dropped in the jointed rabbit Mr. Pynch had found in the pantry. A lady’s maid was a superior servant, and it wasn’t part of her duties to cook, but there wasn’t anyone else about to prepare their supper. No doubt Mr. Pynch knew how to make a rabbit stew—and a better one than she was attempting—but he was busy finding rooms for their mistress and master.

Sally threw some chopped carrots into the kettle. They were a little withered, but they’d have to do. She added some little round onions and stirred the whole thing. It looked a bit of a mess at the moment, but maybe it’d perk up once it had stewed a bit. She sighed and sat in a nearby chair, wrapping her shawl tightly about her shoulders. The fact was, she didn’t know much about cooking. When she’d been a scullery maid, she’d mostly washed dishes and cleaned. Mr. Pynch had given her the rabbit, carrots, and onions and told her to boil them, so she did. They’d had no help from that nasty red-haired man, Wiggins. He reminded Sally of a troll from a fairy tale, he did. And he’d disappeared the minute Mr. Pynch’s back was turned, leaving the Renshaw servants to stumble about in an unfamiliar house.

Sally got up and peered into the simmering pot. Perhaps she ought to add something else. Salt! That was it. Mr. Pynch would think her a ninny if she didn’t know enough to salt a stew. She went to a big cupboard standing in the corner and began to rummage. It was nearly empty, but she did manage to find the salt and some flour.

Ten minutes later, she was trying to knead a bowl of flour, salt, butter, and water, when Mr. Pynch walked into the kitchens. He set down his lantern and came to where she was battling the dough, then stood silently at her elbow looking into the bowl.

She glared up at him. “It’s dumplings for the stew. I tried to do it like I’ve seen Cook do, but I don’t know if I have, and for all I know, it may taste just like glue. I’m not a cook, you know. I’m a lady’s maid, and I’m not expected to know how to cook. You’ll just have to be content with what I can make, and if it turns out terrible, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“I’m not cƒ="3canomplaining,” Mr. Pynch said mildly.

“Well, don’t.”

“And I like dumplings.”

Sally blew a lock of hair out of her eyes, feeling suddenly shy. “You do?”

He nodded. “Yes, and those look perfectly fine. Shall I carry the bowl to the hearth so you can drop them into the stew?”

Sally straightened her shoulders and nodded. She rubbed her hands to get most of the dough off, and Mr. Pynch picked up the big crockery bowl. Together they went to the fireplace, where he held the bowl while she carefully dropped spoonfuls of dough into the stew. She covered the kettle with an iron lid so the dumplings would steam and turned to Mr. Pynch. She was conscious that her face was sweaty from the heat of the fire. Strands of her hair had come down and were sticking to her face, but she looked him in the eye and said, “There. How’s that?”

Mr. Pynch leaned close and said, “Perfect.”

And then he kissed her.

MELISANDE PILED BLANKETS on the floor and watched her husband pace the room. He was agitated tonight, as if at any moment his control would break and he’d leave the room and run. Was that what Sir Alistair had been doing, riding so late and in the dark? Was he trying to outrun demons as well?

Yet Vale stayed, and she was grateful for that. He hadn’t answered her question about Spinner’s Falls yet. He drank from a glass of whiskey and paced the room, but he stayed with her. There had to be some comfort in that.

“It was after Quebec, you see,” he said suddenly. Facing the window, he might not have even been talking to her, save for the fact that she was the only other person in the room. “It was September, and we’d been ordered to Fort Edward to spend the winter. We’d already lost over one hundred men in the battle and left another three dozen behind because they were too wounded to march. We were decimated but thought the worst was over. We’d won the battle —Quebec had fallen to us—and it was only a matter of time before the French would be forced to surrender entirely and the war would be ours. The tide had turned.”

He paused to gulp from the whiskey and said softly, “We were so hopeful. If the war ended soon, we could go home. That’s all we wanted: to go home to our families. To rest a bit after battle.”

Melisande tucked a sheet about the blankets. It was a bit musty from the press where it’d been stored, but it would have to do. As she worked, she thought of a younger Jasper, marching with his men through an autumn forest half a world away. He would’ve been elated after a battle won. Happy at the prospect of going home soon.

“We were marching down a narrow trail, with rugged hills on one side and a river on the other that ran along a cliff face. The men were only two abreast. Reynaud had just ridden up to me and said he thought we were too strung out; the tail of the marching column was half a mile back. We decided to inform Colonel Darby, to request that we slow the head to let the tail catch up, when they struck.”

His tone was flat, and Melisande sat back on her heels to watch him as he spoke. He still faced ƒHe hethe window, his back broad and straight. She wished she could go to him, wrap her arms about him and hold him close, but it might interrupt the flow of his words. And she sensed that, like lancing an infected wound, he needed to let the festering corruption drain away.