room. A large stainless steel refrigerator stood ajar while a woman looked for something inside.
“What’s the matter, Mr. David? You need another muffin to tide you over till lunch? Come back for another one, has ye?” Her voice was tinged with a faint British accent. Closing the door, she turned to see Marnie standing in the doorway. “Oh, good morning, Miss Marnie.”
“Good morning,” Marnie said awkwardly. “Mrs. . . . . Grady, is it?”
“Mrs. Grady, yes,” she answered as she held a bowl of eggs and a package of butter. She was a woman whose ample, apron-wrapped figure advertised her cooking skills. Her hair was a shade of red that only came from a bottle. She looked as if she didn’t know what to say.
“I didn’t quite understand David when he told me your name. You’ve heard, I guess, that I have amnesia and don’t remember anything about my life.”
“I heard that, yes. My goodness, we’ve all been talking about it.” No longer caught by surprise, the cook’s words flowed. “Mr. David probably called me Mrs. Gravy, didn’t he?”
“Er, yes, he did. Then he said Mrs. Grady. I wasn’t too sure about it.”
“He was just a little tyke when I came to work for the Barretts, and he thought my name was Mrs. Gravy. He learned the right of it when he got older, but he still calls me Mrs. Gravy. It’s our little joke, it is.”
She set the items on the island. “You’re a bit hungry, I wouldn’t doubt. Want me to whip you up some eggs? Or pancakes, maybe?”
“I don’t want to cause you extra work, Mrs. Grady. I can see you were getting ready to bake something. I can fix my own breakfast.”
“It’s no trouble, dearie, no trouble at all. If you like, you can have one of my blueberry muffins. Mr. David is fond of them.”
“That sounds wonderful. With a glass of milk, perhaps?”
Mrs. Grady fetched a tumbler from a glass-paned cabinet and went back to the refrigerator for milk.
“And are you remembering anything? Anything at all?”
“No. Not really. Thank you,” Marnie said as Mrs. Grady placed a glass of milk and a plate with a muffin on it before her. “Mm. Blueberry,” she said with a mouthful. “Delicious.”
“I put me up plenty of blueberries in the freezer, I did. Last summer it was. Mr. David especially likes ‘em, and I wanted enough to last till next summer.” She sat on a stool at the island and began peeling apples that sat in a large bowl.
“I’m making my apple cake. It’ll be ready for supper. Lunch’ll be in a couple of hours. Mrs. Ruth and Miss Celeste are eating at the club—the country club, that is—so it’s soup and sandwiches for Mrs. Tucker and Jonathan—and you, of course.”
“That’ll be fine with me. I don’t want to put you out any.”
“Won’t put me out none. I keep soup in the freezer, too. I can heat up how much I need at the drop of a hat. Days when nobody is home, I spend putting up extra.”
“I haven’t met Mrs. Tucker yet.” She thought it better not to mention she had met Jonathan but hadn’t known he was her son until this morning.
“You haven’t . . . er . . . no, I guess you don’t remember her, either.”
“David said she is Jonathan’s nanny, and she has been gone. Someone named Celeste has been taking care of Jonathan?” she asked.
“You might say that,” Mrs. Grady replied enigmatically. “Mrs. Tucker’s sister passed away, and she had to go be with her in her last days and make arrangements. Miss Celeste is an old friend of the family who volunteered to stay and watch after Jonathan.” She sniffed loudly, giving the impression she didn’t care for the situation.
Marnie didn’t want to get into a gossip session with the cook, although she had no doubt she could be greatly informed and entertained by the woman’s tales if she so chose.
“Thank you for the delicious muffin, Mrs. Grady. I’ll just wash these dishes. Then I’m going to explore this floor of the house. I’m hoping something will trigger my memory, get my mind to recall my past.”
“No need to wash them, dearie. Just put them in the sink, and I’ll load them into the dishwasher when I put my bowls in. Thank you for offering, though. That was very thoughtful of you, it was.
“Now, mind you, don’t go down the east hall. That’s the hall to the right past the swinging door.