The Winter Sea (Slains, #1)(17)

It was a long and well-scrubbed kitchen, with a massive hearth at one end and a flagstone floor, and one long table, very plain, at which a young man, roughly dressed, was sitting with a pipe between his teeth, chair tilted back, his booted feet crossed at the ankles. He hadn’t seen Sophia yet, because his eyes were for the girl who had been singing and who, having perhaps reached a place in her song where the words were forgotten, had happily changed to a hum while she laid out a tray with clean dishes.

And at the hearth, a woman, middle-aged, stood with her broad back turned to both of them, and stirred at something in an open kettle. That something, to Sophia, smelled like barley, and her stomach gave a hungry twist, and so she said, ‘Good morning.’

The humming stopped. The young man’s chair thumped down, and all three heads came round in mild surprise.

The girl spoke first. She cleared her throat. ‘Good morning, mistress. Were ye wishing something?’

‘Is that broth?’

‘Aye. But ye’ll be having more than that, the day, for breakfast. I’ll be serving in the dining room in half an hour’s time.’

‘I…could I please just have a bowl of that, in here? Would that be possible?’

The mild surprise grew more pronounced. Sophia stood uncomfortably and sought the words to tell them she was not accustomed to a great house such as this, that hers had always been a simple life—not poor, exactly, but not far above their own place in the order of society—and that, to her, this clean and cheery kitchen had an air of home about it that the dining room did not.

The older woman, who till now had stood in silence at the hearth, looked Sophia up and down and said, ‘Come have a seat, then, mistress, if it pleases ye. Rory, shift your great and useless self and let the lady sit.’

‘Oh, please,’ Sophia said, ‘I didn’t mean—’

The young man, Rory, stood without a protest, and with no change of expression to betray what he might think of this intrusion. ‘Time I got on with my work,’ was all he said before he left by the back corridor. Sophia heard the swing of hinges followed by the slamming of a door that sent a wave of chill air swirling through the kitchen’s warmth.

‘I didn’t mean that anyone should leave,’ Sophia said.

‘’Tis nae your doing,’ said the older woman firmly. ‘’Tis my own. The loon would sit there half the morning if he thought I’d let him do it. Kirsty, bring a bowl and spoon, so I can serve our guest her morning draught.’

Kirsty looked to be about Sophia’s age, if not a little younger, with black curling hair and wide eyes. She moved, as Rory had, with the kind of swift obedience that came not out of fear, but from respect. ‘Aye, Mrs Grant.’

Sophia sat and ate the hot broth, saying nothing lest she might disrupt these women more than she already had. She felt their eyes upon her as they moved about their work, and she was glad when she had finished and could push away the bowl, and thank them.

Mrs Grant assured her it had been no trouble. ‘But,’ she added, carefully, ‘I dinna think that it would please the countess if ye were to make a habit of it.’

Sophia glanced up, hopeful that the servants might already know what place she was to have within the household. ‘Am I then to take meals with the family?’

‘Aye, of course, and where else?’ Mrs Grant asked, ‘with ye being kin to the countess?’

Sophia said, slowly, ‘There are many levels of kinship.’

The older woman looked at her a moment, long, as though she sought to read behind those words, and then she hoisted another kettle onto its hook and said, ‘Nae to the Countess of Erroll, there aren’t.’

‘She seems a good woman.’

‘The best of all women. I’ve workit in this kitchen thirty years, since I was ages with Kirsty, and I ken the countess’s ways mair than most, and I’ll tell ye ye’ll nae find her equal on God’s earth.’ Her sideways glance smiled. ‘Did ye think ye’d be put into service?’

‘I did not know what to expect,’ said Sophia, not wanting to bare all her longings and fears to a stranger. The past was the past, after all, and what cared these two women for how she had struggled since losing her parents? She showed them a smile of her own. ‘But I see I have come to a good place.’

Again Mrs Grant’s eyes searched hard for a heartbeat before she said, ‘Aye, that ye have. Kirsty.’

Kirsty turned round.

‘They’ll be missing our guest in the dining room, presently. Best ye should show her the way.’

‘Aye,’ said Kirsty. ‘I’ll do that.’

Sophia stood, gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

The creases on Mrs Grant’s face that had looked stern beforehand now seemed to have been carved by smiles. ‘Ach, ’tis nae bother, mistress. Just mind now that ye eat your meal at table, else they’ll ken that I’ve been feedin ye in secret.’

In the end, Sophia found she had no trouble eating everything that Kirsty served. The four days’ ride from Edinburgh had left her feeling ravenous, and Mrs Grant’s good cooking rivaled anything she’d eaten at the Duke of Hamilton’s own table.

If the Countess of Erroll had wondered at Sophia’s late arrival to the dining room, she made no comment on it, only asked her in a friendly way if she had found the chamber to her liking.