“I told you I could smell a good cup of tea even in sleep,” she said with a smirk as she poured for them.
“When will you tell me about my father?” he asked as he set the tray on another table to make room for the cups. Paddy hadn’t been able to find the man who’d given Eli life. The wretch had used a different name when he “married” Eli’s mother, but he had hoped to learn more from his grandmother.
“I’ll tell you when I have one foot in the grave. I don’t know why you persist in finding him.” Her eyes shone with pain. “He abandoned you both. The lickpenny doesn’t deserve to set eyes on you.”
Eli held back a smile, always amused by his grandmother’s colorful terms when she was agitated. “I want to look him in the eye and tell him I did well despite him. I want him to know how Ma died. I want to know if I have any half sisters or brothers.”
“Yes, yes.” Grandmama sighed, then yawned. When she looked up at him, her gaze grew hard. “But you don’t want to find justice. He was the instrument of my girl’s death. He should be charged with bigamy and transported. When you decide to do that, then I’ll tell you what I know. You’re a kind man, Elijah. It suits you, but there are times when a man must harden his heart.”
CHAPTER 2
Thursday, February
Mayfair, London
Clara Alberts hurried down the steps, pushed back her hood, and quickly hung her cloak on a hook. She grabbed an apron hanging nearby and tossed it over her head, tying the strings in the back. “Sorry I’m late, Henri. There was an accident near St. James’s Park, and the crowd was terrible.”
“Not to worry, mademoiselle. You are free help, non?” The tall, handsome bald chef smiled at her over his shoulder. “I need the vegetables pared and diced, s'il te plaît.”
Clara glanced over the knives in Chef Henri’s open satchel and chose the small paring knife. She began with the carrots, then the turnips. She loved coming here, learning the basic skills and French techniques needed to acquire a position with a prominent household.
“Your sauce for the duck yesterday was exquisite.” Henri put his fingers to his mouth and kissed them, tossing his hand into the air. “I am so proud of you. I’ve never known someone to absorb information so quickly. I believe you have great promise, Ruby.”
She blushed at his praise. “I’m so thankful you took me under your wing.”
They had met at the market, and Clara had commented on the fact that he did his own shopping. The weekly meetings had turned into a friendship of sorts, discussing the best vegetables to pair with certain meats, what fruits were tastiest for particular desserts, and how no one ever appreciated the time it took to prepare a fine dish.
Five months ago, Henri was lamenting about losing his kitchen assistant. Lady Gosset had left for the Continent for six months, and Lord Gosset refused to hire anyone without her consent. Clara had offered to help in exchange for lessons to improve her own skills. A grateful Henri had accepted.
Her first day would always be etched in her mind. The Gosset kitchen was equipped with the best of cooking utensils, including a large cast-iron closed range dominating one wall. A metal hot-plate covered the fire box, and it had rings for pans and kettles to rest upon. There were movable panels on the front of the grate, so a roast could be cooked in front of the fire. Two ovens, one on each side of the fire-box, allowed multiple meats to be roasted at once.
It had taken her a month to manage the flues and dampers that controlled the heat. Clara had been in awe of the modern equipment and well-stocked pantry. It was her dream to one day manage a kitchen like her friend Henri.
“There is an inquiry for a cook in Hatton Garden. You came to mind when I read it,” he said mildly, not looking up from the sauce he was stirring on the stove. “I think you should apply.”
Clara stopped mid chop. “Are you sure? Do you think I’m ready?”
Henri laughed, a deep warm sound that filled the room. “I am your instructor, no? It is a temporary position, the Season only, for a French count. You will make him feel like he is at home in France.”
“I will speak to my father,” she said, trying not to jump up and down with excitement. This would be her first position to put her on the path to her dream. “You will provide me with a reference?”
“Of course, Ruby. It will be my way of saying thank you. What would I have done without your help these past months? The master does not want to hire an assistant, yet he expects the same quality meals while his wife is gone.” He picked the pot off the stove and turned, still stirring. Approaching Clara, he held out the wooden spoon and waited for her to taste it.
“It needs a tiny bit of salt, I think,” she said, licking her lips.
“Exactly. How many assistants would know that?” He set the pot on a back burner, then bent to check the meat inside the oven. “How is your papa?”
She scraped the onions, carrots, and turnips into a bowl. “He seems fine, but something is bothering him. I can’t put my finger on it. Of course, he says there is nothing wrong.”
“Perhaps it is only growing old, knowing you will leave the nest one day soon.” Henri shrugged his shoulders, his brown eyes twinkling. “Many men do not like to show their emotions, especially when they feel it is selfish. He knows his time with you is short.”
“How do you mean? I’m not going anywhere.” But Clara understood. She was nineteen. Most girls she knew were married or at least courting someone.
“You are in love with food,” said Henri with a laugh, “but a man will come along who will be more tempting than the perfect soufflé.”
“Never!” Clara admonished but grinned. She loved this place, with its whitewashed walls and glazed bricks by the sink and stove for easy cleaning. Shelves lined another wall with copper pots and pans, and platters, bowls, and baskets needed to serve the dishes. The actual dining service was kept in the butler’s pantry along with the wine chosen daily. Dried herbs hung in a corner, the scent of rosemary, thyme, sage, and mint mixed with the yeast from rising dough.
“I’ll check the custard in the larder and see if it’s setting properly,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and setting the bowl of vegetables to the side on the large oak table. Satisfied the custard was coming along well, she grabbed some butter to make crust for the mince pie. Then she stepped into the pantry for flour and sugar.
