Laura walked with him to the stables and watched as the pair rode away to the home farm, the dogs at their heels. Was Nathaniel going to see Mallory? He hadn’t mentioned the man again.
Returning to the house, she went downstairs to the kitchen to consult the cook about the weekly menu. It hadn’t appeared on her writing desk in the morning room, which was a cozy chamber she’d appropriated for her correspondence since the weather had turned breezy andcool.
As she entered the kitchen, everyone came to attention. Laura was pleased to note that it looked orderly and clean. A tasty aroma rose from the oven. She was suddenly aware of the fuss she caused. The scullery maid dropped a pot she was scrubbing into the sink and wiped her face with a soapy hand, her eyes like saucers. A kitchen maid leapt up from destalking a colander full of berries and fell into a stumbling curtsey. The cook, Mrs. Madge, paused with flour up to her elbows and a rolling pin in herhand.
“Milady.” Mrs. Madge grabbed a towel and hurriedly wiped herhands.
“Good morning, Mrs. Madge,” Laura said. “I’d like to discuss the menus. It’s his lordship’s birthday in three weeks. We plan a celebration.”
Having thought it through during the night, she had discussed this with Nathaniel at breakfast. She suggested inviting the vicar and his wife, the two spinster ladies from Thrompton, Misses Parthena and Orpha Fairfax, Cilla, and another couple who lived some miles from the village who were friends of Nathaniel’s she had yet tomeet.
“I don’t know about Cilla,” Nathaniel had said, after approving of her othersuggestions.
“But why not Cilla?” She could not believe it was a matter of class. While Nathaniel’s rank lent him a certain air and consequence, he was never arrogant orsnobbish.
“She may not be comfortable in such company,” he said. “But ask her if you must.”
“She can always decline.” Laura wanted a friend there, someone sheknew.
“I’ll come right up and bring my receipts,” Mrs. Madge said. She put a hand to her white mobcap, her face lined with more than advancing years, perhaps some unknown sorrow. However, she was an excellent cook and confidently knewit.
“First, I’d like to inspect the wine cellars,” Laurasaid.
Mrs. Madge’s eyes widened. “Oh! As you wish, milady.”
Laura resisted a smile. Rudge generally presided over the choice of wine, but this was her first dinner party. It was going to be special. Her father had taught her a good deal about wine as she was growingup.
She followed Mrs. Madge’s black bombazine back along a stone passage and down a short flight of steps. The ceiling lowered and the granite walls seemed to close in. Laura held her skirts up above the damp floor, breathing in the musty air. Beyond the wine cellar, the steps continued down into a black well.
“Where do they lead to?” Lauraasked.
“The cellars. There’s a door at the very bottom, opens out onto the water’s edge, milady, but it’s a long, damp walk and is seldom used.”
They entered a cobweb-strewn cavern filled with shelf upon shelf of dusty bottles ofwine.
The young kitchen maid who had been preparing the berries appeared. She clutched her apron. “Mrs. Mallory, what should we do next with the pie?”
“Leave it, girl,” Mrs. Madge said crossly. “I’ll return in a moment.”
Laura widened her eyes. “You’re Mrs. Mallory?”
Mrs. Madge nodded. “I’m not called by that name here. The lass is new from the village.”
“Are you a relative of Theo Mallory?”
Mrs. Madge wiped her palms on her apron. “He’s my son.”
“I met him recently.”
The cook put her hand to her cap. “He’s a man you can trust, milady. He won’t cause any trouble here.” Her face creased into lines of distress. “He never did.”
Laura turned away to examine the bottles. “This for the meat courses, this for the fish, and this will be perfect for the dessert wine.” Remembering her father’s elaborate dinner parties, she choseChambertinLatourchampagne. She trailed along the rows and chose another, a sauterne, while dying to question the woman further about her son.
“I’ll make a note of these, milady. And tell Rudge.” She sounded as though it was the last thing she wanted todo.
“Thank you, Mrs. Madge.”
Mrs. Madge shifted her feet and clutched her apron in her hands. “If that’s it, milady, I’d best return to my pie.”
