Determined to make her gratitude known, she followed the woman into the kitchen and came up short.
Every surface was covered in flour, water bubbling over the side of a large pot on the woodstove, and a teetering stack of pans hung off the edge of a counter. Most notable, however, was how empty the massive kitchen was; Mrs. McTaggart had no help.
Placing the hamper on the floor out of the way, Edith hurried to grab two towels from beside the stove to remove the pot from the burner. “Was there an accident?”
“Knowing the lass’s pa, I’d wager it must of been an accident.” Mrs. McTaggart snorted. “No woman with her wits about her would lie with yon Gregory McTaggart on purpose.”
Edith choked down a laugh. “Pardon?”
The woman snatched a knife from the counter and wrestled with a plucked and beheaded chicken, beginning the arduous task of cutting it up. She shot Edith a dark look.
“Did you no’ listen to anythin’ I said, Sassenach? I’ve a meal for six that willna cook itself. I cannae stand ‘round jabbering when my help has run off and another is sick in bed.”
“Oh, dear. You’ve no one to assist?” Without waiting for a reply, Edith grabbed an apron from a peg on the wall and donned it. “Tell me what needs to be done.”
Mrs. McTaggart grunted, and Edith could barely keep a straight face. Like mother, like son, apparently. The woman muttered something in Gaelic, and when Edith stared in bemusement, Mr. McTaggart’s mother sighed. “You need to stay out of the way. I cannae have you underfoot.”
The scent of baking bread on the verge of burning filled the kitchen. Edith grabbed the same towels she’d used for the pot and pulled the golden loaves from the oven. “I won’t be underfoot. I know my way around a kitchen. Just tell me what you need, and I can do it.”
“And how do you know your way ‘round a kitchen, lass?”
Edith placed the loaves away from the stove to cool. “That was my job at the brothel. I cooked and cleaned to earn my keep.”
Mrs. McTaggart’s knife thwacked against the cutting block. “The brothel? In the name of the wee man! You worked in a brothel?”
Heat seared Edith’s face, and she ducked her head, too humiliated to look at the other woman. “I thought Mr. McTaggart would have told you.”
“My Fergus is no’ loose wit’ his tongue.” Mrs. McTaggart wiped her hands on her apron and then stalked toward her. Edith braced for a reprimand, but the woman’s hands were gentle on her shoulders. “What happened, lass? No woman chooses that sort o’ life unless she has no other choices. Dinnae be ashamed.”
Edith blinked back the unexpected tears blurring her vision. “I lost my position as a seamstress, and all my family was buried. I had no place to go, but Lady Thorne’s sister took me in. She convinced the madam I could be of service in the kitchens. I swear, I was never…one of her girls.”
Mrs. McTaggart frowned. “It wouldna matter one way or another to me, Mistress Gallagher. If the menfolk took better care o’ their lasses, no’ one would be without a choice of where to go. How did you land on the streets?”
Edith squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. She wasn’t as ashamed of living at Madam Montgomery’s house of ill repute as she was about wasting her virtue on Jimmy Gibb, silver-tongued devil that he was. Her mother had warned her away from men like him, but her mother had been dead for two years when Jimmy came sniffing around her skirts. Without anyone to care about her, Edith had been lonely. And stupid.
Mrs. McTaggart’s light touch at Edith’s chin caused her eyes to fly open. The older woman’s green gaze radiated kindness and warmth, her smile encouraging. “Well, never you mind about that, Mistress Gallagher. You’ve put it behind you, and there it should stay.”
Edith tentatively returned her smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
As quickly as Mrs. McTaggart’s gentleness appeared, it vanished, and she returned to her task. “I willna refuse your help now that I kin you can cook. The potatoes need peeling the rest o’ the way. You can find a knife over there.”
Edith followed the direction of her nod and discovered a bowl of potatoes and a knife beside it. “Yes, ma’am.”
They worked in companionable silence for the next hour. Once Edith had the potatoes on to boil and Mrs. McTaggart had prepared the chicken for frying, the cook dismissed her. “You should dress for supper, lass. I can handle it from here.”
As Edith placed the apron back on the peg, Mrs. McTaggart called to her. “I’m sorry for earlier, Mistress Gallagher. I was a bit frazzled when you found me.”
Edith shrugged and smiled. “I didn’t notice.”
The kitchen at Aldmist Fell was one of the few places she felt at ease and capable. In truth, she was more suited to work at Mrs. McTaggart’s side than to dine with nobility.
“Thank you for allowing me to help. It was good to be in the kitchen again.”
Mrs. McTaggart tossed a leg and thigh into the heavy iron skillet on the stove, intent on her task. “I was happy to have you. You’re a good woman.”
“For a Sassenach?” Edith teased.
“For anyone, lass. Didnae forget it.”
