Anne’s stomach twisted. If Dr. Marsland disapproved of the younger man being late to church and employing two servants, how had he reacted to all this? Anne hoped he would not send Dr. Finch packing.
Anne abruptly excused herself and went to the kitchen to retrieve the teakettle. When she returned, Miss Lotty sent Ursula a significant look and said, “Now, let’s speak of more pleasant things.”
Miss Birt shrugged. “Very well. Anne, you stitching up that worker at King’s Mill is the talk of the town—well, after the doctor’s love child, that is.”
Miss Lotty huffed a sigh and shook her head.
11
When Anne went down to the kitchen for Lady Celia’s luncheon tray the next day, it was not yet waiting for her at the pass-through window.
Noticing her there, the kitchen maid, Clara, lifted a wait-one-minute finger, set down the pestle she was using to crush herbs, and disappeared into the cold larder.
She returned a few moments later carrying the tray and set it on the ledge before Anne. The tray bore a glass dessert dish, a plate of cucumber salad, and a small ceramic vase of flowers.
“We made iced cream to tempt Lady Celia’s appetite. Had to keep it cold. Now, just let me add the chicken soup.” Clara went to the pot on the stove, spooned out soup, sprinkled herbs over it, then added it to the tray, along with a bread roll and butter.
“Thank you, Clara. Looks lovely. The flowers are a nice touch.”
“Can’t take credit. Mrs. Pratt added them, I expect.”
Anne smiled at the young woman. “Well, the food looks good too.”
She turned and walked away, carefully balancing the tray as she walked up the many stairs.
Entering Lady Celia’s room a few minutes later, Anne set the tray on the bedside table and greeted her patient. “You are in for a treat today: iced cream.”
“Thatisa welcome change after gallons of barley water and calves’ foot jelly.”
Anne chuckled. “I can well imagine.”
The warmth in the room on that June day felt oppressive. “Are you certain I can’t open a window? It’s so warm in here your iced cream shall melt before you’re ready for dessert.”
“Then perhaps I should eat it first.” A hint of a smile graced the older woman’s face.
Anne smiled back. “Good idea.”
“I suppose a crack will be all right.”
“Excellent.” Anne went to the window, lifted the latch, and pushed it open a few inches.
“Just a crack! I detest flying insects.”
“Very well.” Anne adjusted the window, and a lovely breeze came in, even through the narrow opening.
“Ah, much better.” She returned to the woman’s bedside and helped her sit up a bit, adjusting the pillows behind her.
She picked up the salad in one hand and the dessert dish in the other. Teasingly, she asked, “Which shall it be?”
Lady Celia lifted her spoon and clinked the dish of iced cream.
“Shall I help?” Anne asked.
“This, I think I can manage.”
They talked companionably while Lady Celia ate a few bites, and then Anne offered her the soup and salad.
“No salad,” Lady Celia said. “I don’t think my stomach is ready for that.”
