gets on well with Miss Pearson, and she cannot bide under my roof much longer.”
Not a by-blow, then. “An émigré’s offspring?”
Goddard took up the second knife and balanced it across his index finger. “Hannah’s antecedents are humble and, as far as I know, thoroughly English. Miss Pearson is willing to take her on, but you must approve the arrangement lest your fancy chef cause difficulties.”
Monsieur Jules Delacourt was largely responsible for the renown attached to The Coventry Club’s kitchens, and Sycamore avoided crossing him.
“You and Miss Pearson have discussed the matter?” As far as Sycamore knew, Ann Pearson and Orion Goddard had met only the once, and in passing, months ago. And yet, here was Goddard all but insisting that Miss Pearson be assigned an assistant.
Miss Pearson, not the renowned Jules Delacourt.
“Your undercook and I have discussed the particulars. You need not part with any coin, but I want signed articles of apprenticeship for Benny’s… for Hannah’s sake.”
A rap on the door heralded the arrival of lunch, which was fortunate, because Sycamore honestly did not know how to react to this request—demand?—from Goddard.
The footmen set two trays on small folding tables, bowed, and withdrew. The aroma of good, hot food reminded Sycamore that he was hungry. He took the second wing chair and prepared to tuck in.
“Might we wash our hands?” Goddard asked.
Well, yes, of course. “There’s soap and water in the breakfast parlor,” Sycamore said. “Shall we take our trays in there?”
Goddard picked up his tray and gestured toward the door, as if Sycamore were the guest and Goddard the host.
They tended to their ablutions, Goddard doing a thorough job, and then settled at the table. When Sycamore would have reached for his tankard of cider, Goddard bowed his head. Some muttering in French ensued while Sycamore’s stomach growled.
“Amen,” Sycamore said, flapping his table napkin over his lap. “I didn’t know the army put such fine manners on a fellow.”
“It doesn’t.” Goddard lifted the cloth covering his dish and sniffed. “How soon can Hannah take up her post?”
The kitchen had created magnificent hot sandwiches, piles of thinly sliced smoked ham with slabs of melted cheddar between toasted bread. Cold cider was the perfect beverage to wash down such fare, and bowls of hot apple compote awaited he whom the sandwiches had not entirely satisfied.
“I haven’t said Hannah can take up a post,” Sycamore countered. “I know many families embark on shared business ventures, but an apprenticeship can quickly become problematic.”
Goddard ate with peculiar delicacy, the crumbs all falling onto his tray, his pace deliberate. “Hence the need for written articles” he said. “I want Hannah to have genuine credentials when her term of service is up. These sandwiches were not made according to any recipe devised by Ann Pearson.”
“There are recipes for sandwiches?”
“Nor was the apple compote.”
“How can you tell?”
“The sandwiches have not even a hint of mustard, no dried onion, not so much as a pinch of basil. Miss Pearson is a firm believer in spices.”
Sycamore took another bite. “How would you know what my undercook believes in?”
“She told me so. What must I do to get you to provide Hannah a job with Miss Pearson?”
Sycamore munched for a moment. “Why not apprentice her to Delacourt? He’s the outstanding talent in my kitchen. The whole staff considers themselves lucky to work with him.”
Goddard slanted a look at Sycamore, and exactly how did a man’s gaze manage to be pitying when that man gazed out of only a single eye?
“Delacourt will take offense at your hiring him an apprentice he hasn’t chosen for himself—a female, no less—and Hannah honestly knows little of what goes on in a kitchen. She will need a patient instructor, not a half-drunk, self-adoring drill sergeant. Decide what the price for this favor will be, and I will gladly pay it.”
Sycamore took a considering sip of his cider and wished Jeannette were on hand. The price should be regular calls on Jeanette, but she would not want her brother coerced into socializing with her. Sycamore did not need coin—which Goddard well knew—but Goddard had to have something useful to offer.
Something Goddard would value. Something Sycamore valued as well, lest the exchange be insulting to Goddard.
“How is it Hannah is among your dependents, Colonel? Is she the by-blow of a fellow officer?”
“Most of my fellow officers will have nothing to do with me. Hannah, Benny to her familiars, is among the infantry I employ in furtherance of my business interests.”
“She is one of your urchins.” London