“Oh—no,” I replied lightly. “They are perfectly suitable, though getting Auntie up and down the stairs five times in a day is not without its anxieties. Twice, she almost fell, but that was before I understood just how to support her.Now,I would say I have the knack of it, and moreover, she never complains.”
We went downstairs and met Penny coming toward us with a look of grim determination on her face as she carried the tea tray.
“Let me help you,” I said, rescuing the poor child. It was just like Mrs. Smith to relegate this chore to the girl after my terrifying announcement that I had brought the man who would eventually decide their fate to look them over. “How have you been faring, Penny?”
She was in a quake and stammered, “Well, miss! We did not know—that is, the gingerbread you sent was beyond anything!”
“Was it?” I reached in my reticule for a few coins. “Fetch yourself another dozen and take them to your mama.”
“On Sunday, miss?”
“Yes. I shall tell Doreen to take you with her when she goes home.”
The girl, in a fluster of disordered joy, bobbed and ran to the kitchen while I served our tea. We had been lucky to catch Mrs. Smith unawares. She managed only to put bread and butter on the tray, which we ignored, and I was obliged to stretch out the cream between us. I poured and served with placid unconcern as though this were commonplace fare at any respectable house.
“I am sorry this room is cold, but I am sure the servants are sparing the firewood as a means of economy,” I said reasonably. “Shall we meet the cook and backhouse man?”
The fire in the kitchen was roaring though there were no pots on the stove. Mrs. Smith met us with a look of defiance, and after a blunt curtsey to Uncle Gardiner, she said, “And if I had known you was coming, miss, I would have made biscuits at least.”
“Would you? What is this?” I asked, casually lifting the lid of a cold pot on the table—and then, incredulously, “Was this what you served the girls for breakfast?”
“There is precious little in the larder—”
“Oh? Mrs. Reynolds told me otherwise; she sent Sam two days ago with two dozen of eggs and a rind of bacon. Even if she did not, are there no oats in the cupboard? Well, never mind. I shall see to it that you havesomethingfit to eat for supper. Is Smith in the yard?”
Everything was just as I hoped it would be: the shed dilapidated, a pile of rubbish not yet disposed of, the firewood low in the woodpile, and Smith limping toward us ankle-deep in mud.
“Smith, this is my uncle Gardiner. Here, take this purse and fetch bread, oats, potatoes, and cabbages. And a chicken or some marrow bones from the butcher. And a dozen of eggs. Will you remember?”
He smiled. “Bread and potatoes, miss.”
“And oats and cabbages, a chicken and eggs. In time for cook to make up a soup for supper, if you please.”
I was out of all patience even if he was pitiable and old, for I was certain the Smiths, taking the lion’s share of Mrs. Reynolds’s delivery, were feeding the maids gruel.
None of this was lost on my uncle, and his expression became increasingly closed. Thinking I had offered him a suitable defense for my actions, I could not have asked for anything more. But then the sky opened and offered the piece de resistance: the doorknocker sounded with unmistakable intent.
“Mrs. Edmonton,” I said, opening the door to her. “You are back from your holiday?”
She trundled in, met my uncle with undisguised curiosity, and sat down. “This house stinks as always. I wonder Mrs. Jennings tolerates it.”
She then proceeded to educate us with regard to persons not to be trusted in Lambton, beginning with the obvious—the chandler—and ending with the innkeeper on the grounds there were mice in the walls that kept patrons up at all hours of the night with their chewing. No one with whom she did any business, and a few with whom she did none, were spared her criticisms. I let this go on for ten minutes, and feeling it had been a sufficient sampling for my uncle, I interrupted her and stood up.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Edmonton, but we must be going.” I went to the stairwell and called, “Doreen! Come down and see our neighbor out if you will.”
Not waiting for the maid, I escorted the lady inexorably toward the door so that, when the girl finally did arrive, we had little left to do save push her outside and close the latch.
“That, sir,” I said briskly when we were again alone, “is Mrs. Jennings’s only company.”
“No one else comes?” he asked, incredulous.
“Mrs. Burke did not welcome anyone because of Mrs. Jennings’s debility, and in time, it has been understood by those that even remember she lives here, that she does not like visitors.”
“Well at least she hassomeone,” he said dubiously, still inclined to think the situation was salvageable.
“Hmm…Lady Pembridge, the squire’s wife, promptly informed me that Mrs. Edmonton has her money from a brothel though she has turned respectable. Still, it does not seem she is in good odor with anyone as you may have guessed by her conversation. No one will receive her from what I can gather.”
“What?”
