"How, exactly, did the thyme go missing?" His voice remained calm despite the fact that he was obviously upset with the switch, though Cora could not understand why.
Since it was her job to manage the spices, she stepped forward to answer. "Sir, it was on the shelf yesterday, and today it was not. Perhaps the jar sprouted wings and flew away."
His usual sense of humor did not emerge, and when his jaw hardened, Cora immediately wished her flippancy back. "Forgive me. I did not mean to make light of a serious matter."
"I'm sorry, sir!" Mrs. Caddy said, her voice rising. "I should've asked you first. It all 'appened so fast. I did not think…" Her voice trailed off, and her eyes became watery. "Am I ter be dismissed?"
Mr. Ludlow did not answer immediately, and Cora did not know why. Surely he would not dismiss Mrs. Caddy for such an innocent mistake, not when he had allowed Cora to remain after many more serious blunders.
She walked around the table to stand at Mrs. Caddy's side. It was only fair that she bear most of the blame. "Sir, as Mrs. Caddy said, it was my suggestion to switch the menus. If anyone should be held accountable, it is I. But, pray tell, is there a reason the pork will not suffice for tonight?"
Mr. Ludlow flicked a glance at Cora before returning his attention to Mrs. Caddy. "Under normal circumstances it would not matter in the slightest. But we have a guest with us tonight who will be leaving tomorrow morning—a Mr. Thomas, who happens to have a vicious allergy to cinnamon, which is an ingredient in the apple glaze, correct?"
Mrs. Caddy appeared horrified. "You mean ter say if 'e'd eaten—"
"He would have been rendered unable to breathe, and we would not have been able to get the doctor here in time to resuscitate him. He made his allergy very clear to me when he accepted my invitation, and I assured him that no dish containing cinnamon would be served. He was about to eat a bite when I put two and two together and put a stop to it."
"Great Jehoshaphat," Mrs. Caddy whispered, leaning heavily on the counter. "I about killed a man." Cora never would have imagined her capable of such vulnerability.
Feeling it necessary to intercede once more, Cora put a hand on Mrs. Caddy's shoulder. "But you did not," she said kindly. "Mr. Thomas is alive and well, is he not, sir?"
"Alive, well, and vastly hungry, as are the rest of my guests. Which leads us to the next problem. What are we to serve in place of the pork and glaze?"
Mrs. Caddy's eyes widened in shock, as though she hadn't realized the full extent of the situation until now. "I do not know, sir. All we have is the turtle soup I made for the servant's table."
"Turtle soup," Mr. Ludlow repeated slowly, as though Mrs. Caddy had proposed feeding the men table scraps instead of a hearty and tasty soup. He sighed in frustration and planted both palms on the table. "These are men I hope to do business with at some point, and you are saying that all I can offer them after a near-death experience is turtle soup?"
"Do you not like turtle soup, sir?" Cora asked, wondering at his strong reaction.
"I do not, as Mrs. Caddy well knows."
The cook burst into tears and cowered against the counter, her body trembling in anguish. "I'm sorry, sir! 'Tis all me fault."
For whatever reason, it bothered Cora to see the prideful Mrs. Caddy brought so low. Her heart went out to the woman. She eyed the dinner plates, wondering how the situation could be salvaged.
"Mr. Ludlow," Cora asked. "It is only Mr. Thomas who is allergic, is that right?"
"Yes."
"What if I were to slice him some fresh pork and serve it to him without the glaze?"
"The pork is not cooked with the glaze already on it?" he asked.
"No. They are made separately and the meat glazed just before it is taken up."
"Will it not taste dry without the sauce?"
The conversation served to bolster Mrs. Caddy's spirits. Tears forgotten, she ran to the larder and brought out a jar of applesauce. "There's no cinnamon in this. I'll warm this and serve it on Mr. Thomas's plate. It won't taste as pleasin', but it'll give the pork some flavor and keep it from bein' too dry."
Mr. Ludlow considered her a moment before nodding his agreement. "Very well. But you must make certain Mr. Thomas receives the plate without the cinnamon. I will do my best to explain what has happened and pray that they, like Mrs. Notley, can find some humor in the situation."
Unfortunately, Mr. Ludlow did not seem to find any. He appeared weary, as though his patience was wearing thin with a staff that couldn't see to things properly. He began to walk away, and Cora rushed forward to lay a hand on his arm. When he stopped abruptly and looked down, she immediately pulled it away, realizing she had greatly overstepped this time.
"Forgive me, sir," she said. "I merely wanted to point out that I am responsible for the spices. It was under my watch that the thyme went missing."
"I realize that, Mrs. Notley," was all he said before walking out of the kitchen and leaving behind a housekeeper who had finally gotten a glimpse of the employer the others viewed as formidable.
Cora drew in a deep breath and turned back to Mrs. Caddy, clapping her hands in a forced show of cheeriness. "Shall we get to work, then? If you heat up that sauce, Mrs. Caddy, I will make some new plates with meat hot from the oven. It is not necessarily a bad thing to starve guests a little before feeding them. They will likely be so ravenous that anything will taste like heaven, especially the delectable custard you made for dessert. Mark my words, Mrs. Caddy, all will be forgiven in no time."
Mrs. Caddy nodded, her formerly take-charge attitude renewed. "Thank you, Mrs. Notley. You're a good lass, you are." She gave Cora's arm a firm pat and got to work.
Cora couldn't help the smile that came to her lips as she re-plated the pork. For an upside-down day, it had righted well enough. Hopefully Mr. Ludlow would come to that conclusion as well. But even if he didn't, Cora would leave Tanglewood with the knowledge that she had done what she did not think could be done. She had formed at least a tentative friendship with Mrs. Caddy.
Sometimes miracles did happen.
Jonathan sat in his favorite chair in his study, his attention claimed by the lively flames dancing in the fireplace. The transfixing display of reds and oranges flashed and crackled before him as though laughing and mocking his fiasco of an evening. As the memories returned, burning like flames inside his head, his jaw clenched, and he threw his half drained glass of brandy at the fire, experiencing a moment of satisfaction as the glass shattered and what remained of the drink roared into flames.
The afternoon had begun most promising. Everyone had arrived in a timely fashion, and once Jonathan proposed his idea of repurposing the northern section of Tanglewood for an agricultural venture, all seemed intrigued and interested. They had entered the dining room in like minds, anxious to continue their discussions and move forward with definitive plans.
That's when everything began to go awry.
Not only was Mr. Thomas nearly suffocated by his allergy, but he returned to his room to find it filled with smoke. He immediately called fire, sending the entire house into upheaval, even though it was not a fire at all, merely inadequate ventilation caused by a closed damper. Still, every item in the man's room smelled of smoke, and he refused to abide another moment in a house that seemed intent on killing him. Not even the charming Mrs. Notley, with her smiles, apologies, and quick wit could convince him to remain.
Soon after, Mr. Kent entered his bedchamber, only to run out again because of a putrid smell. While Mrs. Notley and a few maids searched the room for the cause of it, Mr. Hervey discovered a live snake under his bed covers. His frantic shouts caused another ruckus, and it wasn't long before the two remaining men took their leave as well, informing Jonathan that he must learn to manage an orderly household before they believed him capable of managing a business.
Jonathan let them go without argument because he had no argument to give. Had the situation been reversed, he would have thought the same and likely left as well. B
ut that didn't make it any less maddening. Jonathan had spent months researching and polishing his proposal and had tracked down men with both experience and large enough pocketbooks to invest. And now his efforts had come to naught, all because he'd chosen to hire an honest, beautiful, and inept housekeeper.
He leaned forward and dropped his head to his palms, raking his fingers through his hair and wondering what the devil must be done. Mrs. Notley may have proven that she could keep a cool head and cheerful disposition in the midst of adversity, but her lack of experience was proving to be an obstacle that could not be overcome. Jonathan had been a fool to believe otherwise, and now he was left with the unhappy task of having to explain to a kind and virtuous woman that her talents—or lack thereof—were no longer needed.
He should ring the bell and summon her now, but he could not bring himself to do it. Why? He had never before felt such dread at the prospect of dismissing a servant, and he couldn't account for it. Why did it feel as though he'd be sending away a friend that, oddly enough, he'd greatly miss? For whatever reason, his relationship with Mrs. Notley seemed more personal, somehow, even though it was not and never could be.
That alone should be reason enough to dismiss her, and yet… Jonathan frowned at the bell pull, telling himself that she had left him no choice this time. Mrs. Notley truly must go and he must begin the process of hiring yet another housekeeper. Good gads. Did a woman exist who could do the job properly? Other households didn't seem to have such a difficult time filling positions and retaining servants. Why was he? If only Watts would take a wife. A man with his exacting standards would surely pick a woman who would be capable of working alongside him in the role of housekeeper.
Jonathan looked around for another glass to throw at the fire but a quiet knock interrupted his perusal.
He drew in a deep breath and straightened. "Enter," he called, expecting to see Watts.
To his surprise, Mrs. Caddy walked in, looking as skittish as a newborn kitten. Clutched in her hand was a glass bottle containing some sort of dark substance.
What the deuce is wrong now? Jonathan thought in frustration. He needed a long night of rest before he was ready to deal with anything more.
Mrs. Caddy held the bottle out for his inspection. "The missin' thyme, sir."
He frowned as he studied the contents of the jar, wondering why it had suddenly appeared now and not at a more convenient time. "It's not missing any longer, I see."
"No, sir."
"Where did you find it?"
Mrs. Caddy hesitated, and her hands shook as she clutched the bottle to her abdomen. "Sally's room."
"What?" Jonathan's frown deepened. He had expected her to say the bottom of a drawer or at the back of a cupboard, not in a maid's room—a maid who had served him faithfully since he had come to Tanglewood. How the devil had it come to be in Sally's room, and what had prompted Mrs. Caddy to look for it there?
Tears welled up in the cook's eyes, and Jonathan had to stifle his annoyance. He used to think the woman incapable of dissembling, but now he was beginning to wonder if she had lost her senses and would never return to her former brusque self. He prayed this was a momentary lapse on her part and that tomorrow all would be right once again so that he would not be made to search for a new housekeeper and cook. What a ludicrous joke that would be.
"I know I shouldn't 'ave done it, sir, but she was actin' a might strange when I 'appened upon her in the still room earlier, makin' excuses about bein' there and such. It wasn't till later that I gave the matter some thought and wondered if it was 'er who'd done somethin' with the missin' 'erb. I waited for 'er to go out walkin' like she does every night, and when I searched 'er room, I found this tucked under 'er pillow."
Mrs. Caddy paused, still fidgeting. "The worst bit is, I don't think that's all she's done, neither. Only yesterday, Roddy, the stableboy, was talkin' about findin' a snake in the outbuildin', and Sally asked ter see it. I also saw 'er pickin' purple mums the day Mrs. Notley dyed your best cloth the same color, and I spotted Sally in the still room before Mrs. Notley made 'er first batch of preserves. I can't prove nothin' except the 'erbs, but 'tis no secret Sally don't like Mrs. Notley much."
Jonathan leaned forward in his chair, trying to make sense of the woman's ramblings. "I was under the assumption that you didn't care much for Mrs. Notley either."
This had a humbling effect on Mrs. Caddy, for she bowed her head in shame. "Not at first, I suppose. She don't know nothin' about 'ousekeepin'. But she's a good sort of girl who don't deserve to be dismissed for somethin' she didn't do."
Jonathan clasped his fingers under his chin as he considered all that Mrs. Caddy had revealed. It was mostly conjecture, and he had a difficult time believing Sally was responsible for every misadventure that had happened to Mrs. Notley. But the cook had a jar of herbs that had come from Sally's room. That alone made him angry. Had she been trying to sabotage the housekeeper? If so, it should be Sally who left and not Mrs. Notley.
This thought had a perplexing effect on Jonathan. Most employers would be vexed at the prospect of dismissing a well-trained and hardworking housemaid over an incompetent housekeeper, but it felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. How odd. Even without Sally about, Mrs. Notley would still be prone to errors, and yet Jonathan found himself more relieved than worried. It was as though he wanted the mayhem to continue.
No. That wasn't it. The truth was far more troubling. Deep down, Jonathan knew what he wanted most was to keep seeing Mrs. Notley around the house. Her smiles, her lovely face, her laughter, her warmth. She made Tanglewood feel like a home, and he wanted that feeling to remain. As loathe as he was to admit it, Jonathan wasn't ready to let her walk out of his home, or his life, just yet.
And now, thanks to Mrs. Caddy's recent revelations, perhaps he wouldn't have to.
The cook was still wringing her hands and swaying anxiously back and forth as though awaiting a trial of some sort. Jonathan could not figure the woman out. She had done nothing wrong. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mrs. Caddy. If you will be kind enough to leave the herbs on that table there, I will handle things from here."
Ever so slowly, she bent to do as he bid, but when she rose, tears again welled in her eyes.
What the deuce? Jonathan would never understand a woman's emotions. A headache began to creep into his forehead, and he began rubbing his temples to keep it at bay.
"Am I ter be dismissed, sir?" she blurted. "Please tell me now, so I don't keep worryin' and wonderin'."
"Why on earth would I dismiss you, Mrs. Caddy?" Jonathan asked, baffled as to why she would be concerned about such an outcome. Indeed, he felt like increasing her wages. If only she'd cease crying, he might offer to do exactly that.
"I almost killed a man!" she exclaimed with a trembling voice that bespoke even more tears—the gushing sort that made him most uncomfortable.
Jonathan increased the pressure on his temples and mustered as much patience as he could. "You did not almost kill a man, Mrs. Caddy, and I am sorry you have been made to bear such a burden tonight. I ought to have told you about the allergy when we discussed the menu, but I did not. So if anyone is to blame, it is I. Please do not trouble yourself further about the incident. Mr. Thomas is alive and well and now happily ensconced at the inn, where he will stay until tomorrow's coach back to London. You are an excellent cook, and I would not dream of replacing you because of something that was not your fault."
Mrs. Caddy's hand flew to her mouth as tears continued to run from her eyes. At least they were happy tears now, which was a slight improvement. "I don't know what ter say except thank you, sir! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Goodnight, Mrs. Caddy," said Jonathan, anxious to be done with tears of all kinds.
"G'night, sir." She swept from the room, her mood the antithesis of what it had been only minutes before. And at last, peace was restored in the kitchens.
He hoped.
Jonathan w
atched her go with a hint of a smile, but when his thoughts drifted to what must be done now, his smile faded. With a deep breath, he rose to ring the bell that would summon Watts.
The butler soon appeared. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Ludlow?"
"Unfortunately, yes," said Jonathan. "When Sally returns from her walk, would you tell her that I would like a word?"
If Watts was surprised by the request, he hid it well. He bowed politely and said, "Of course, sir. I will notify her right away."
"Thank you."
Jonathan sat back in his chair, mentally preparing himself for another interchange with a servant that would likely not end nearly as well as the last one had. He only prayed that Sally would refrain from weeping.
Cora had only just finished hanging some thyme to dry when an anguished sob sounded from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped down from the stool before peeking out of the still room to investigate. Sally sat hunched over the table, her shoulders shuddering as sobs wracked her body.
Everyone else had gone to bed, and the haunting sound echoed through the room. The combination of the full moon coming through the window and a small candle casting vague shadows on the walls only added to the eeriness. Cora hesitated on the threshold between the two rooms, not sure what to do. Sally would certainly not appreciate any interference from her, yet Cora could not leave the woman to face such despair alone.
She approached tentatively. "Sally? Are you well?" The question was a silly one considering the housemaid was certainly not well, but Cora could not think of a kinder way to intrude.
Sally's shoulders froze for a moment before her head slowly lifted. Tears had stained her cheeks a bright pink, and her red hair splayed around her face in an untidy mess of tangles. She looked utterly wretched and not at all happy that she had been caught in such a state, especially by Cora.
The Rise of Miss Notley (Tanglewood Book 2) Page 7
