“Together? The two of us in the kitchen?”
“I know there are knives in there. I’ve seen them. I shall endeavor to control myself. Can you?”
“Oh, I think I can manage.”
Phoebe stood and waited for Fiona to join her. They walked into the kitchen together and looked over what Ellie had begun preparing. Phoebe checked the oven. There were six potatoes inside, none close to being fork ready. The chicken stock on the stove had not yet begun to simmer. She handed Fiona a long wooden spoon and pointed to the pot. “Give it a stir.”
Fiona did. “What are we having?”
“I think she had baked potato soup in mind. We can manage that.” She checked the bread drawer. “There’s plenty here that we can warm.”
“The men will want meat.”
“You’re right. The smokehouse. I’ll be right back.” She returned minutes later with a three-pound fillet that Les Brownlee cut down for her. She laid it on a dishtowel on the table and wiped it down, then trimmed it and removed the fat. “Les will be bringing in more vegetables from the root cellar.”
“Les? Which one is he?” When Phoebe gave her areproachful look, Fiona removed the spoon from the stock and used it to emphasize her point. “They all look alike. Same hats. Same shirts. Same boots. It’s worse in the winter. Same scarves. Same coats.”
“Les Brownlee is the one with the narrow face and the weak chin.”
“Oh. Well, I know him. The chin is an unfortunate distinguishing feature.”
Shaking her head, Phoebe put butter into a skillet and set it on the iron stove. The butter hadn’t started to melt when Les appeared at the back door with a sack of vegetables from the cellar. Phoebe relieved him of his bounty and thanked him before he left. “Do you want to clean and cut these?” she asked as she placed carrots and onions on the cutting board.
“I’ve got my hand full stirring the stock,” said Fiona.
Phoebe chose a lethal-looking chef’s knife with a six-inch blade and placed the hilt solidly in the hand Fiona wasn’t using for stirring. “I’ll take the spoon. You should put on an apron. They’re hanging in the pantry. Get one for me.”
“Have you always been this bossy?” asked Fiona.
“Yes.” Phoebe thought Fiona accepted the answer with surprising equanimity. Maybe they could breathe the same air for short periods of time. She hoped so because Fiona was now in possession of the knife. When Fiona returned with the aprons, Phoebe put one on before she placed the meat into the skillet. The butter hissed and spat at her.
Fiona scrubbed the carrots and then sat at the table to peel and cut them. “What if I went back to New York with you?”
Phoebe turned away from the stove and stared at Fiona. For a long time the only sounds in the kitchen were the sizzle from the frying pan and Fiona’s rhythmic chopping. When Phoebe finally found her voice, it was a harsh whisper. She pointed to the back door. “Anyone could walk in. Why are you bringing it up again? We settled this.”
“Do you think so? The conclusion seemed one-sided to me.”
“Only because you didn’t get your way.”
Fiona gave no indication whether or not she thought this was true. She said quietly, “It occurred to me that you wouldnot want to make the trip by yourself, not after what happened to you on the journey here. And now that we’ve had this terrible thing happen to Blue, it makes more sense for you to have an escort. Why not me?”
“Why not you?” Phoebe could only shake her head. “I truly do not know where to begin answering that.”
Fiona finished chopping a carrot and scraped the medallions to one side of the cutting board. She chose another. “You must see that the men cannot escort you. They have responsibilities here. Remington was the only one who might have been spared because Thaddeus often sends him to auctions or away on some bit of legal business, but we all know how Remington failed to protect you, and given your feelings for him, it would hardly be seemly for him to accompany you.”
This was so much for Phoebe to absorb that she lost sight of Fiona’s point and fixed her argument on what pricked the most. “You don’t know what my feelings are for Remington.”
“You think so? It hardly requires a leap of imagination to see that you fancy yourself in love with him. Say what you like, Phoebe, but I will remain firm in my views.”
“Then I won’t waste my breath denying or confirming. Let us consider practicalities for a moment. How would we arrange going back to New York?” Phoebe held her gaze steady. “I have no money to purchase tickets or to set myself up in New York once I return. I gave up my lodgings. I have no job to go back to and no promise that one would be made for me.”
Fiona dismissed that with an airy wave, careless that she was holding the chef’s knife in that hand. “None of that should be a consideration. I have money.”
“You? You never have money.”
Fiona shrugged. “I do now.”
“But... but how?”
