massive
Jacques had found himself a bed. When Callie peeked into Madame's chamber, the
duchesse seemed to be resting quietly, her breathing shallow but regular. Barely visible in
the shadows, Trev slept in the bedside chair, propped against the wall at an
uncomfortable angle.
Callie paused. His mother must have passed a difficult night, if he had sat up with her
for all of it. As she closed the door, trying to keep it from squeaking, she resolved to find
at least a maidservant and a cook by dinnertime, even if she had to gird herself to beg
Dolly for the loan. The situation for hiring in Shelford was dire, with the opening of a
large new pottery not four miles from the town. Even Shelford Hall had felt the pinch in
trying to replace the increasing number of staff who had left since the new mistress had
taken management of the house. But Dolly had only looked coldly uninterested when
Callie suggested that wages might be increased to compete with the manufactory's lure.
Callie was entreated to calm her anxiety about a pack of disloyal servants and concern
herself with more refined topics.
It was still dark outside when she set the teakettle on the hob and arranged rashers of
bacon in the skillet. She stared down at the sizzling meat, deep in thought as she
considered where best to begin inquiries. The innkeeper, Mr. Rankin, might have news of
a prospective cook, since he was on the post road and received all the intelligence first.
And Miss Poole always had her finger on the pulse of the young girls available in the
district, looking out for help in her mantua-shop. A girl too clumsy to do good
needlework would be perfectly useful at Dove House.
"Good morning."
A husky voice made her look round quickly. She dropped the big fork and turned as
Trev stepped down into the kitchen, his black hair tousled and his neck cloth hanging
rumpled and loose.
"That smells delicious," he said. "And the cook is a charming sight too." He leaned
against the wall wearily. "If there is coffee to be had, I believe I may be able to carry on
to the next hill."
"Coffee," Callie said, flustered to find him down so soon. "Oh yes. Let me look out
some berries from the pantry. Good morning!"
He smiled. "What can I do to help you? I'll carry out a violent raid on the rosebush, if I
can unearth it in that jungle of a garden."
"No, do sit down, if you don't mind to eat in the kitchen." She waved at the scarred old
table. "There's bread and butter. I fear your mother passed an uneasy night?"
His brief smile evaporated. He stood straight and came to the table to sit. "She was
better after midnight, I think. I don't know. Perhaps it's only a bad spell, and she'll be
recovered presently." He looked up hopefully.
Callie kept her gaze averted, setting the skillet off the grate. "I pray so. When I saw her
a month ago, we sat up in the parlor, so perhaps with better nourishment she'll find her
strength." It was too difficult to admit that she feared the duchesse was failing badly.
He ran his hand through his hair. "I'll send Jacques to London today. I want a man of
reputation to attend her."
Callie laid bacon on a plate. "Let me fetch the coffee-berries."
When she came back to the kitchen, he was gone. But by the time she had roasted the
berries on a fire shovel and ground them, he returned. His great, tall manservant ducked a
shaved head through the door after him. Jacques didn't linger to eat but only made a very
creditable and gentlemanly bow to Callie before he went out the back door. She glanced
after him. He was dressed neatly but oddly for a servant, in billowing yellow trousers and
top boots, a colorful scarf tied about his throat. She had not noticed the night before that
both of his ears were thickened and distorted in shape. If he had not been so well
mannered and gentle in his moves, she would have thought he had been one of those
horrid pugilists, the ones who came into the country for their illegal
Jacques had found himself a bed. When Callie peeked into Madame's chamber, the
duchesse seemed to be resting quietly, her breathing shallow but regular. Barely visible in
the shadows, Trev slept in the bedside chair, propped against the wall at an
uncomfortable angle.
Callie paused. His mother must have passed a difficult night, if he had sat up with her
for all of it. As she closed the door, trying to keep it from squeaking, she resolved to find
at least a maidservant and a cook by dinnertime, even if she had to gird herself to beg
Dolly for the loan. The situation for hiring in Shelford was dire, with the opening of a
large new pottery not four miles from the town. Even Shelford Hall had felt the pinch in
trying to replace the increasing number of staff who had left since the new mistress had
taken management of the house. But Dolly had only looked coldly uninterested when
Callie suggested that wages might be increased to compete with the manufactory's lure.
Callie was entreated to calm her anxiety about a pack of disloyal servants and concern
herself with more refined topics.
It was still dark outside when she set the teakettle on the hob and arranged rashers of
bacon in the skillet. She stared down at the sizzling meat, deep in thought as she
considered where best to begin inquiries. The innkeeper, Mr. Rankin, might have news of
a prospective cook, since he was on the post road and received all the intelligence first.
And Miss Poole always had her finger on the pulse of the young girls available in the
district, looking out for help in her mantua-shop. A girl too clumsy to do good
needlework would be perfectly useful at Dove House.
"Good morning."
A husky voice made her look round quickly. She dropped the big fork and turned as
Trev stepped down into the kitchen, his black hair tousled and his neck cloth hanging
rumpled and loose.
"That smells delicious," he said. "And the cook is a charming sight too." He leaned
against the wall wearily. "If there is coffee to be had, I believe I may be able to carry on
to the next hill."
"Coffee," Callie said, flustered to find him down so soon. "Oh yes. Let me look out
some berries from the pantry. Good morning!"
He smiled. "What can I do to help you? I'll carry out a violent raid on the rosebush, if I
can unearth it in that jungle of a garden."
"No, do sit down, if you don't mind to eat in the kitchen." She waved at the scarred old
table. "There's bread and butter. I fear your mother passed an uneasy night?"
His brief smile evaporated. He stood straight and came to the table to sit. "She was
better after midnight, I think. I don't know. Perhaps it's only a bad spell, and she'll be
recovered presently." He looked up hopefully.
Callie kept her gaze averted, setting the skillet off the grate. "I pray so. When I saw her
a month ago, we sat up in the parlor, so perhaps with better nourishment she'll find her
strength." It was too difficult to admit that she feared the duchesse was failing badly.
He ran his hand through his hair. "I'll send Jacques to London today. I want a man of
reputation to attend her."
Callie laid bacon on a plate. "Let me fetch the coffee-berries."
When she came back to the kitchen, he was gone. But by the time she had roasted the
berries on a fire shovel and ground them, he returned. His great, tall manservant ducked a
shaved head through the door after him. Jacques didn't linger to eat but only made a very
creditable and gentlemanly bow to Callie before he went out the back door. She glanced
after him. He was dressed neatly but oddly for a servant, in billowing yellow trousers and
top boots, a colorful scarf tied about his throat. She had not noticed the night before that
both of his ears were thickened and distorted in shape. If he had not been so well
mannered and gentle in his moves, she would have thought he had been one of those
horrid pugilists, the ones who came into the country for their illegal
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