“And whilst you are in the kitchen, would you mind asking for someone to light my fire?”
“Yes, my lady,” she said, and bowed before leaving the room.
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, Hattie arrived to light the fire, and Miss Vaughn brought in another breakfast tray. Cordelia was famished and opened the lid expectantly. On the plate there were two pieces of burnt bacon, something that might have once been a sausage, and a squat muffin. She picked up the muffin and it was as hard as a baseball. The only thing that looked edible was the glass of orange juice. Cordelia picked it up and took a drink. It was so sour that she could barely swallow it.
She picked up the brittle, burnt piece of bacon. “Well, Miss Vaughn, I think I may have found your starving hog.”
Miss Vaughn shook her head, but Hattie laughed. Cordelia glanced at the young maid—they were probably the same age. Hattie sobered and lowered her eyes.
“I am sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“Don’t be sorry, Hattie,” Cordelia said. “I’m glad that someone laughed at my joke. Was your breakfast burned as well?”
“No, my lady,” Hattie said. “But I ate two hours ago.”
“I think my slices of bacon might have been fresh then,” Cordelia said. “Miss Vaughn, I feel awful asking you again, but would you please take the tray back to the kitchen and get me a cup of tea or coffee and a biscuit?”
Miss Vaughn slammed the lid down on the tray. “I will get your food myself this time, my lady, after I shove this sausage down Cook’s throat.”
Hattie laughed again and covered her mouth.
“I suppose I’ll have to talk to Hibbert about it,” Cordelia said.
“Not the butler,” Miss Vaughn said, shaking her head. “Cook and the rest of the females on the staff report to Mrs. Norton. She’s the one you need to have a word with.”
Cordelia didn’t look forward to speaking to the old battle-axe but nodded. “Very well.”
“Come, Hattie, you’ve got coal to fetch.”
Hattie bobbed a curtsy to Cordelia and followed Miss Vaughn out.
Miss Vaughn returned a third time with the breakfast tray and although meager, it was at least edible. There were three small jam tarts and a pot of tea with a teacup. Cordelia thanked Miss Vaughn and quickly devoured the jam tarts and sipped two cups of tea until her insides finally felt warm.
Meanwhile, Miss Vaughn filled her claw-foot tub full of hot water in the new bathing room. Cordelia half sighed, half sobbed as she sank down beneath the bubbles. At last, she was warm. But inside, she still felt cold, unwelcome, and unloved at Ashdown.
In the countryside.
In England.
19
Cordelia sat alone in the carriage with a basket of tins. Mrs. Norton explained that it was her responsibility to ladle the leftovers from lunch and bring them to the less fortunate in Petersley Village. The housekeeper gave her a few tins, but Cordelia had asked for more so she could separate the vegetables from the meats and the sweets.
“The previous Lady Farnham never separated the food,” she said. “The hungry do not care.”
“But I do,” Cordelia had countered. “Why not give them the very best I can? So, please get me more containers, and I will separate the different dishes into them.”
Mrs. Norton did bring more tins but with an air of one who had been grossly injured. Cordelia ignored the housekeeper’s airs and made the packages as nice as she could.
“Ma’am, I am sure you are not aware that my breakfast trays have been inedible,” Cordelia began. “I believe that Cook is your subordinate, and I would like you to talk to her.”
“To reprimand her.”
Cordelia cleared her throat. “Remind her, perhaps. I should hate to have to dismiss any of my husband’s loyal staff, but I am the mistress of Ashdown Abbey now and I will not brook insubordination. Nor incompetence.”
Mrs. Norton bared her yellow teeth like an angry dog. “I understand, my lady.”
