epergne?”
Rats! That wasn’t that uncommon a piece, was it?
“A silver or gold centerpiece? With little baskets or bowls or candleholders?” she said hopefully.
“Naaah,” he said after much consideration. “Don’t think so. Happen the captain doesn’t like things in the middle of the table. He says it gets in the way of seeing people.”
Good point
, Maddy thought grudgingly, remembering all the dinner parties when she was closed in by flowers and candles and unable to see anyone across the table. And the ones across the table tended to be the most interesting, even if you were supposed to confine your conversation to the guests flanking you. “Surely there’s something low we can use. The table looks too… austere.”
Wilf just looked at her, and she had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t understand the word. And then she remembered dusting a beautiful ceramic bowl in the salon, one done in shades of blue and red by an artist from a foreign country. The signature was Asian, and she suspected the bowl was Japanese, but not the common stuff that flooded the market. This was something particularly beautiful.
“Don’t worry—I’ve got an idea.”
Fortunately no one had arrived in the salon as yet, though she thought she could hear voices from the front hallway. She snatched up the bowl and dashed back into the servant’s quarters, to the butler’s pantry just beyond the dining room.
Filling the bowl with fresh water, she racked her brains for the sight of the back garden. She’d noticed at least some flowers blooming in the back. She would have to make do.
The spring air was cool and crisp, and something seemed to have dragged the bat’s corpse away, thank God. It was early in the year, but there were daffodils and tulips in bloom, and she cut a handful, hurrying back in to avoid Mrs. Crozier’s evil eye. She arranged the flowers, swiftly and perfectly, so that they floated softly. If there wasone thing she excelled at in the so-called feminine arts, it was arranging flowers. She was ghastly at needlework, hopeless at cooking, but give her a container and flowers and she could create a masterpiece.
They were already in the salon. She could hear an elderly male voice, slightly loud, slightly bombastic, and immediately decided he must be the captain. She set her creation down in the middle of the table and dashed back to the kitchen and Mrs. Crozier’s unnecessary demands.
All should have gone perfectly. Wilf carried course after course up to the dining room while Mrs. Crozier cooked and Maddy scrubbed at the pots and pans and dishes as they were returned to the kitchen. The waste was extraordinary—apparently Mrs. Crozier’s cooking skills matched her sunny temperament, and Maddy dutifully scraped everything into the slop pail.
“We’ll keep that inside for the night, until the farmer comes to get it for his pigs.”
“Why?” she said, looking down at the unappealing mass of foods mixed together. “Are you afraid it will draw wild animals?”
“It’ll draw children, and they’re worse,” said Mrs. Crozier. “Once they know they can find food here they’ll be loitering about all the time, hunting for scraps.”
“You’d rather feed pigs than starving children?” There was no way Maddy could keep the outrage from her voice.
“You can eat pigs once you fatten them up.”
Maddy was, quite fortunately, speechless, or she would have been fired on the spot, never having set eyes on the suspicious captain. Before she could regain her ability to speak and therefore blast Mrs. Crozier with her rage, a loud crash was heard from the dining room.
“Oh, gawd, what’s Wilfrid done now?” Starving, inedible children were forgotten as Mrs. Crozier spun around. “That fool man is always dropping things. You’ll have to go out and help him clean up. And keep your face down—I know what men are like, and eventhough the captain wouldn’t dare to trifle with his own maidservant with his
Rats! That wasn’t that uncommon a piece, was it?
“A silver or gold centerpiece? With little baskets or bowls or candleholders?” she said hopefully.
“Naaah,” he said after much consideration. “Don’t think so. Happen the captain doesn’t like things in the middle of the table. He says it gets in the way of seeing people.”
Good point
, Maddy thought grudgingly, remembering all the dinner parties when she was closed in by flowers and candles and unable to see anyone across the table. And the ones across the table tended to be the most interesting, even if you were supposed to confine your conversation to the guests flanking you. “Surely there’s something low we can use. The table looks too… austere.”
Wilf just looked at her, and she had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t understand the word. And then she remembered dusting a beautiful ceramic bowl in the salon, one done in shades of blue and red by an artist from a foreign country. The signature was Asian, and she suspected the bowl was Japanese, but not the common stuff that flooded the market. This was something particularly beautiful.
“Don’t worry—I’ve got an idea.”
Fortunately no one had arrived in the salon as yet, though she thought she could hear voices from the front hallway. She snatched up the bowl and dashed back into the servant’s quarters, to the butler’s pantry just beyond the dining room.
Filling the bowl with fresh water, she racked her brains for the sight of the back garden. She’d noticed at least some flowers blooming in the back. She would have to make do.
The spring air was cool and crisp, and something seemed to have dragged the bat’s corpse away, thank God. It was early in the year, but there were daffodils and tulips in bloom, and she cut a handful, hurrying back in to avoid Mrs. Crozier’s evil eye. She arranged the flowers, swiftly and perfectly, so that they floated softly. If there wasone thing she excelled at in the so-called feminine arts, it was arranging flowers. She was ghastly at needlework, hopeless at cooking, but give her a container and flowers and she could create a masterpiece.
They were already in the salon. She could hear an elderly male voice, slightly loud, slightly bombastic, and immediately decided he must be the captain. She set her creation down in the middle of the table and dashed back to the kitchen and Mrs. Crozier’s unnecessary demands.
All should have gone perfectly. Wilf carried course after course up to the dining room while Mrs. Crozier cooked and Maddy scrubbed at the pots and pans and dishes as they were returned to the kitchen. The waste was extraordinary—apparently Mrs. Crozier’s cooking skills matched her sunny temperament, and Maddy dutifully scraped everything into the slop pail.
“We’ll keep that inside for the night, until the farmer comes to get it for his pigs.”
“Why?” she said, looking down at the unappealing mass of foods mixed together. “Are you afraid it will draw wild animals?”
“It’ll draw children, and they’re worse,” said Mrs. Crozier. “Once they know they can find food here they’ll be loitering about all the time, hunting for scraps.”
“You’d rather feed pigs than starving children?” There was no way Maddy could keep the outrage from her voice.
“You can eat pigs once you fatten them up.”
Maddy was, quite fortunately, speechless, or she would have been fired on the spot, never having set eyes on the suspicious captain. Before she could regain her ability to speak and therefore blast Mrs. Crozier with her rage, a loud crash was heard from the dining room.
“Oh, gawd, what’s Wilfrid done now?” Starving, inedible children were forgotten as Mrs. Crozier spun around. “That fool man is always dropping things. You’ll have to go out and help him clean up. And keep your face down—I know what men are like, and eventhough the captain wouldn’t dare to trifle with his own maidservant with his
Similar Books
