“I don’t think contamination happens that way.”
“Then how? I was ever so careful to keep the pots and spoons and whatnot separate. Instructed Kezia—that’s the scullery maid—to wash them all thoroughly afterward too.”
“Some strange accident, then?”
“It must have been. I don’t know how else to explain it. Her ladyship must be furious. And I’m too old to find another place.”
“She does not blame you. She mentioned you are loyal and know better, but she did wonder if the kitchen maid, perhaps ...?”
“Clara prepared that last batch of broth as I instructed, but that was yesterday, before the lobster was delivered.”
“Clara also heated a cup of broth for me this evening when I requested it.”
“I suppose it’s possible she used a pot that had not been thoroughly scoured.”
“And the lobster soup?” Anne asked. “Was it anywhere near the broth?”
“Relatively near, I suppose. For a time. I boiled the lobsters straightaway and set the pot in the larder to cool before removing the meat. Later I finished preparing the soup myself, but I was very careful.”
“Is the soup all gone?”
Guilt colored the woman’s round face. “There is one small bowl left—it’s in the larder. Thought I might reheat it for myself as a treat. But I will dispose of it immediately.”
“I think that wise, Mrs. Pratt.”
“Oh, poor Miss Fitzjohn...”
“PoorMissFitzjohn?” Anne echoed in confusion. “Why do you say that?”
“She plans the menus now her mother is ill. She requested the soup in honor of her cousin’s homecoming.”
“Did she indeed? And the pot of beef broth is still in the larder too?”
“Aye. A batch lasts a few days.”
“Would you mind if I had a look? And smelled it?”
“Of course not. Right this way.” Picking up a lamp from the table, Mrs. Pratt led Anne into the cold larder and pointed out the two vessels.
Anne went to the broth pot, lifted the lid, bent, and smelled. Did it smell of fish? After the vile smells she had experienced in Lady Celia’s room, it was difficult to tell.
Mrs. Pratt, who was far more accustomed to subtle kitchen smells, took a whiff as well. She wrinkled her nose. “It does smell of fish. How on earth ...?”
Anne walked over to the bowl the cook had pointed out and lifted the small plate used to cover it. Only a little soup remained, but even so the smell was evident and distinct.
Mrs. Pratt followed her and sniffed the bowl in dismay. “That does smell similar. I still don’t understand how it happened. My kitchen and scullery maids know better.”
“Does anyone else come down here? Other servants or the family?”
Mrs. Pratt gazed upward in thought. “Miss Katherine and her cousins come down from time to time. I didn’t see anyone today, though I suppose it’s possible someone visited the larder while we were all busy in the kitchen or scullery.”
The kitchen maid came into the larder and drew up short at finding the two women there.
Mrs. Pratt turned to her. “Ah, Clara. Any idea how lobster soup found its way into Lady Celia’s broth?”
The girl’s eyes widened into saucers of shock. “What? No, ma’am. It can’t be. I would never. You told me how sick it makes her.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, better go to bed if you’re through for the night. Or did you need something in here?”
