speaking to a cook. A damned good cook, as it so happens.”
I warmed to Cynthia’s praise even as her words alarmed me. Defending a friendship with me was not the way to prevent her parents from shunting her home.
“If this cook has taught you the appalling manners I am now observing, I am not surprised Isobel is unhappy you trot down to the kitchen at every chance,” Lady Clifford said. “The woman is probably a harpy from the backstreets.”
“Honestly, listen to you both. Mrs. Holloway is worth ten of you. Do not bleat to me about the backstreets, Mummy. You know you lived in them before Papa managed to finagle his way into his lofty title and empty house.”
“Cynthia, darling . . .”
Lady Clifford’s words trailed off as thumping footsteps headed for the hall—Lady Cynthia stamping out in anger.
I quickly rounded the corner to the servants’ staircase and started up the four flights to the attic floor, where I had my chamber. I did not pause to catch my breath until I was in my small bedchamber and had shut the door behind me. I leaned against it and inhaled heavily.
My chest was hollow with worry that Cynthia’s parents would prevail. Not only would I miss Cynthia, but sequestering her in the country would only break her. She needed independence, a direction, not a foolish husband to stifle her spirit. Nor did she need to molder away in her parents’ rather dank household until her youth and looks were gone.
While I’d told those in the kitchen that it was not our place to interfere with an earl’s and countess’s wishes for their daughter, I had no intention of doing nothing. I would have to be covert and discreet, but I would act. My show of acceptance had been for those, like the footman Mr. Davis had been admonishing, who might carry the tale above stairs.
I unfastened and carefully removed my best gown, fluffed out my petticoats, and donned my gray work dress. I had recently sewn on new cuffs and collar, white and starched.
Back down the stairs I went. When I reached the ground floor, I peered about cautiously, but saw no one. I heard voices murmuring in the drawing room, but the double doors were now closed. Of Cynthia, there was no sign. I hoped she would do nothing drastic. A few months ago, she’d packed a bag and walked out of the house, and would have run away entirely if Miss Townsend hadn’t talked sense into her.
By the time I reached the kitchen, Tess had returned to the sauce, and Mr. Davis was holding forth about his dislike for people who considered themselves quality but behaved like spoiled children. Mrs. Redfern regarded him in disapproval, but Elsie and Charlie, the bootboy, listened with interest.
“There isn’t time for all that, Mr. Davis,” I told him on my way to the stove. “We have work to do. Tess, the sauce is not thickening because you did not cook the roux enough. A little arrowroot will help, but next time, make certain the butter is bubbling but not browning, nor is the roux dry.”
“Yes, Mrs. H.” Tess scattered in a spoonful of arrowroot from the jar on the shelf near the stove and continued to stir. Charlie ducked into his corner, and Elsie returned to the sink.
“We must convince the Bywaters to allow Lady Cynthia to remain here,” Mr. Davis said, not budging from the center of the room.
“How will we do that?” Tess asked over her shoulder.
Mrs. Redfern sniffed. “It is none of our affair, Mr. Davis. I would be sorry to see her go, but—”
“It is our affair,” Mr. Davis snapped. “They will marry off Lady Cynthia to some insipid sprig to strengthen their family’s standing, and I’m certain they’ll make sure he’s a rich sprig. Lady Cynthia needs to be here, where we can look after her.”
“You warm my heart, Mr. Davis,” I told him.
I tied on my apron and looked over the recipes Tess had chosen. Salmon with capers, hens in béchamel sauce, artichokes, salad, carrots in dill sauce, and a rhubarb tart. Good choices, if a tad ambitious.
“You said there was nothing we could do,” Tess reminded me as she whisked the béchamel. “That you weren’t even going to try.”
“I said I doubted Mrs. Bywater or Lord and Lady Clifford would listen to me. I did not say I would not give the matter vigorous thought.” I began to separate strands of fresh dill. “I wonder