The cook is smitten with the old man, thought Drake, amused. The revelation made him look at his boss with new eyes. For the first time, Drake saw beneath the weathered face and realised he was not as old as he first thought.
‘What dark days have you had to endure?’ Timmins asked, returning her smile with an indulgent one of his own.
‘Oh, not me, Mr Timmins. It is the woes of others I speak of, but thank you, your concern warms my heart.’ She mopped her brow. ‘Can I tempt you to an iced fancy? They go down very well with a nice cup of tea.’ She looked at Drake and her smile dropped a little. ‘And who do we have here?’
‘This is Vennor. He has been my apprentice for well over a year now.’
Drake placed the basket of root vegetables he was carrying onto the table for the cook to inspect and retreated to the door. The cook looked them over, selecting several for further examination. Her knowledge and experience made it a speedy task.
‘Very nice . . . as always, Mr Timmins,’ said the cook as she studied Drake over the parsnip in her hand. He had the feeling she preferred he was not present. ‘The boy looks like he could dowith a rest and a slice of cake. He can stay here while we go next door to discuss next year’s supplies.’
‘I had hoped he could be present,’ ventured Timmins.
‘Perhaps another time, Mr Timmins,’ said the cook as she led the way from the kitchen. She turned to look at the head gardener, expecting him to have followed. ‘The truth is,’ she said, giving him a doleful look, ‘last spring I had problems with my curly kale. It is a matter best discussed alone . . . over an iced finger and a cup of tea.’
Drake smiled at Timmins’ discomfort. The head gardener was about to protest, when a maid entered carrying a tray laden with remnants of a meal, although it was unclear what the meal had been. The cook’s flirtatious demeanour disappeared at the sight of it.
‘Did they force her to eat it?’ The jarring question shocked Drake and wiped the smile from his face.
The maid shook her head. ‘Not this time, Mrs Beecham.’
‘Thank the Lord for small mercies.’ She turned to Timmins, her smile less broad. ‘This way, Mr Timmins. This way.’ Timmins raised his eyebrows at Drake and obediently followed her.
Drake remained by the kitchen door, his gaze rooted on the plate on the tray. Cook had said ‘her’. Who was she talking about? He had to ask. The maid looked up at his question, surprised to find she was not alone. In any other circumstances Drake would have found it amusing when her pale cheeks flamed red, but the subject of Mrs Beecham’s question was all he could think about.
‘Who are you?’ asked the maid.
‘My name is Drake. I work in the gardens.’
‘I’m Tilly,’ replied the girl, self-consciously touching her hair, just as Mrs Beecham had done not a few minutes ago. ‘I’ve not seen you here before.’
He jerked his head towards the basket of vegetables. ‘You may see more of me from now on.’ Tilly smiled shyly as the blush on her cheeks rose to inflame the tips of her ears. He had not meant it as a flirtatious promise, but she had taken it as such. ‘Who was Mrs Beecham talking about?’ asked Drake again.
‘I am not sure if I should tell you. We have been warned not to gossip.’
Fingers of fear trailed up Drake’s spine. What was happening in the house that the staff had been instructed not to speak of it? Did it involve Evie? Drake tried to keep his mounting concern in check, as it would do neither Evie nor himself any good if their friendship was discovered. However, he had to know or Mrs Beecham’s remark would eat him up inside.
‘Mrs Beecham brought up the subject in front of me,’ he reasoned. ‘She does not appear to think I should not know.’
Tilly remained reticent. If she would not tell he would find out another way. Drake prepared to leave.
‘No matter,’ he said, reaching for the door. ‘I will ask one of the other maids.’
To his relief, Tilly suddenly changed her mind. ‘If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone else?’
Drake turned to look at her. ‘I promise.’
Tilly smiled shyly under his steady gaze. ‘She was talking about Miss Evelyn.’
It was as he had feared. A hundred questions came to mind, scrambling for attention but he was unsure how much interest he could safely show. Instead he stood there, dumbly staring at Tilly as she quietly set about clearing the tray. She glanced up and found him watching her, her smile broadened, pleased to have his interest. Manners told him he should return the smile, but he just couldn’t.
‘Did Mrs Beecham offer you some cake?’ asked Tilly.
‘She did, but I’m not hungry.’ It was true. He felt sick.
‘I will wrap you a slice so you can take it with you,’ offered Tilly. She selected a knife, sliced into the fruit cake on the table and carefully began wrapping it in baking parchment.
‘Why did Mrs Beecham ask if she had been forced to eat it?’ asked Drake. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
