Never Kiss a Laird

by Byrnes, Tess

  Mindful of her mission, Sally cleared her throat. “That is an impressive stove, Mrs. White. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a big stove before.”

  “Thank you for noticing, my dear. We just had it installed last spring. Came all the way from London.”

  Sally smiled. Bridget had told her how proud the cook was of her new stove, which Robbie had brought from London on his very first visit in the carrier’s cart. “It must have been difficult to install,” she marveled.

  “Eh, but that is not the half of it. We had the carrier and his lad, and our two footmen and poor Mr. Carr all together carrying it in.”

  “Do you use a local carrier?” Sally asked, feeling very pleased with herself.

  An older woman dressed all in black with a huge ring that bore at least thirty keys on a chain at her waist entered the kitchen, interrupting Sally’s progress.

  “I’m pleased that you have time to take a break, Mrs. White,” the newcomer said wryly. “I myself have been on my feet since luncheon.”

  “Let me give you a cuppa, then, Mrs. Cameron,” Mrs. White replied good-naturedly, and hauled herself to her feet to pour out another cup from the teapot.

  “Thank you kindly, Mrs. White.” Mrs. Cameron dropped heavily onto the vacated chair. “And you must be the girl Mary told me about,” she said, turning her attention to Sally.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sally murmured, trying to assume the mien of a suitable house maid.

  “Well, I can’t deny that we are sorely missing the last girl. It couldn’t be a worse time to be without a maid, with the Laird bringing all manner of visitors to the Castle, and without so much as a day’s warning.” She took a gulp of tea, which seemed to revive her. “I don’t recognize you? What is your name, miss?”

  Sally was prepared this time. “Aileen, ma’am.” She had hoped to have more time to talk with the cook or one of the maids before Mrs. Cameron sent her on her way. Maybe she would be offered another cup of tea before she left, she hoped, and have the time she needed to enlist their help in contacting Robbie.

  “Where have you been working before this?” the housekeeper continued, pouring some of her tea into her saucer, and slurping it down.

  “I was with a family in London, ma’am. But when their last daughter got married and moved away, they no longer required as many maids,” Sally repeated the story that she and Bridget had concocted.

  “Are you a good honest girl? Have you ever been turned away from a position?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sally replied, slightly startled. “I mean yes, I am a good honest girl.”

  Mrs. Cameron looked at her closely. “You seem a likely girl. I’m usually a good judge. And me being in such a state. We had to turn one of our girls away without notice.”

  “What happened?” Sally asked, suddenly very intent.

  Mrs. Cameron noted her concern, and was quick to reassure her. “Don’t you worry, Aileen, the Laird is a very fair employer. This was a very extreme situation. I shouldn’t say, but one of our maids disgraced herself with a young man. I had no choice but to turn her off without a character, as I informed his lordship.”

  “I am sure his lordship would not keep a girl like that in the house,” Sally stated stonily.

  Mrs. Cameron pursed her lips. “The Laird is too kind, by half. I don’t worry him with the details of the staff, and just as well. He’s always trusted me to run the Castle, and so I do.”

  Sally felt a slight lessening of the burden on her shoulders. Perhaps Hugh had not been responsible for the dire straits in which Bridget had found herself, she thought hopefully. She was recalled to her surroundings by Mrs. Cameron, who continued with her questions.

  “And so Aileen, are you able to get right to work?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Sally asked, thoroughly confused. Could the housekeeper be seriously considering hiring her?

  “I have four guests that will all be needing breakfast trays tomorrow morning, all the linens from four guest rooms, and you are in need of work. You can start tonight, and provide me with your references as soon as may be. Mary will show you to your room, and supply you with an apron and cap. You’ll have to help in the kitchen tonight, mind, and tomorrow I’ll talk to you about your daily duties. You’ll get your half-day on Wednesdays.”

  “Uh, thank you, ma’am,” Sally responded, slightly stunned.

  “You just be a good girl, and do as your told, and we will get along just fine,” the housekeeper informed her, as she got to her feet. “Mrs. White,” she addressed the cook. “Here is the extra help you were requesting. Aileen, I’ll meet with you tomorrow morning first thing. No rest for the weary, I’m afraid. I must go see to the bedchambers.”

  Sally felt an almost overwhelming urge to giggle. She tried to school her features into a suitable expression, but could not stop her lips from quirking into a smile.

  Seeing this, the cook patted her kindly on the shoulder. “You’re that happy to get the job, aren’t you, Aileen? And we’ll be that happy to have you, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. White,” Sally said with an irrepressible chuckle. “I was given a ride up to the Castle, and they have been waiting for me. I’ll just send them on their way, and then I’ll be right back.” She made it just outside the door before dissolving into helpless laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. When she was able to speak again she looked up at Miles, who was observing her as if she had gone mad.

  “You are looking at the newest addition to the Laird’s staff, Miles,” Sally grinned.

  “They’ve never hired you to be a maid, Miss Sally?” Miles looked appalled.

  “I’m to start right away, since the Laird has surprised the staff with four visitors. I’m afraid we are responsible for one of them, so it behooves me to help out, don’t you think?”

  “Now Miss Sally, you cannot be serious!”

  “How else are we going to find Robbie for poor Bridget, Miles?” Sally reasoned. “What harm can I come to in one night? And it sounds like Mrs. Cameron is really in need of some help.” She started chuckling again. “Though how I’m going to keep a straight face, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Miss Sally, do give over,” Miles begged. “Climb up into this gig and let me take you home right now.”

  “Take a message to Millie and Bridget for me please, Miles. I must get back. The cook needs me to help with the dinner.”

  “Lord, Miss Sally,” Miles cracked his first smile. “I’d like to see the Earl and his fancy guests sitting down to a meal that you prepared.”

  A peal of laughter escaped Sally. “Maybe we can get you a job as a footman,” she giggled. “Then you can serve the meal that I have graciously prepared! On your way now! And mind you come back for me tomorrow mid-morning.”

  Miles looked more dour than ever, but he snapped the reigns, turned the gig, and headed back away from the Castle, shaking his head the whole way.

  Re-entering the warm kitchen, Sally took the cap and apron that Mary had retrieved for her and, tying one around her slim waist and pinning the other on her head, approached the cook for orders.

  “Now then, Aileen,” Mrs. White rubbed her hands together. “We’ve a deal to do, and not enough time to do it. For the first course I’ve a brace of partridges roasting, and some collops of carp that I will cook in mushrooms and chervil with cream. There are ducklings and some sweetbreads for a remove. Then for the second course I have a haunch of venison, and a raised pie and some quails. There are green beans and cauliflower, but the asparagus is not far enough forward this early in the season.” The harassed woman passed a hand over her brow. “Mary, you get back to chopping those vegetables for me, and Aileen, you can whip this cream, and then get to work on these egg whites.” She led Sally over to a counter, handed her a balloon whisk, and set her to whipping cream in a copper bowl. “I have a charlotte russe, and a rhubarb fool for a sweet, along with tarts, macaroons and jellies. The Earl does not usually want a sweet after his meals, so I have had to
scramble a bit, but I swear his guests will never suspect it,” she said proudly.

  Sally, with her own recent experiences of the challenges of cooking even a very simple meal was a very appreciative recipient of this recital. “I am astonished that you were able to put together such a menu with so little notice,” she marveled sincerely.

  “This is a nobleman’s seat,” Mrs. White informed her, a little sternly. “We take pride in what we set before the Laird and his guests, Aileen. Now you just keep whipping that until it forms billows.”

  Sally swapped the balloon whisk over to her left hand, shaking out her already tired right arm. She looked over at Mary, who was surreptitiously observing her while chopping her carrots.

  “Tell me, Mary,” Sally said in a friendly way. “Have you been at the Castle long?”

  “Four years,” Mary nodded. “Since I were fourteen. I came as a kitchen maid, and last year I became a housemaid. I’m only helping out tonight because of Mrs. White being short handed.”

  “So you were you here when the stove was installed,” Sally mentioned casually, awkwardly trying to get the topic back to the London carrier.

  “Enough chatter,” the harassed cook demanded. “When that cream is thickened, Aileen, you start on that bowl of egg whites.”

  Sally sighed, and turned back to her work. She would have to look for an opportunity to question Mary a bit later. She set the cream aside and began beating the foamy mass in the copper bowl until she thought her arms were going to fall off, and when Mrs. White finally approved the consistency of the egg whites, Sally subsisted into one of the wooden chairs at the table with a sigh.

  “I have not been in the way of doing such work, Mrs. White,” she smiled up at the industrious cook. “My arms feel as if they were made of lead!”

  “No time for that now,” the cook replied bracingly. “Get upstairs with these silver bowls and give them to James. Through that door there, and straight down the hallway. The dining room will be on your left.”

  Sally took up the heavy silver serving dishes and gratefully made her escape. She had only been a housemaid for fifteen minutes, and already her arms felt like jellies. She pushed through the green baize door that separated the servants’ area from the main house. Sally looked around with great interest, and decided that Rupert was right about the sumptuousness of the Castle. There was a thick carpet on the floor that silenced her footsteps. Even the walls of the hallway that led to the kitchens were covered in silk, and dotted with oil paintings of men on horses, and spaniels at the hunt. On her left a door stood open, and she glimpsed a highly polished table, set with crystal goblets, china and flowers.

  “Oh good, put those down here,” a liveried young man called out when he saw her. He came forward and took some of the bowls from her, and directed her to a large side board. The young footman observed her curiously, and Sally eyed him in return. He was probably about her own age, Sally considered, but considerably taller. The tight livery he wore accentuated his unnaturally thin stature, and the green of the jacket complimented his red hair. When he spoke, a very prominent adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat. “I’m James, by the way. You must be Aileen.”

  “Yes. How do you do,” Sally replied, forgetting her role.

  “Ooh, how do you do,” the young man mocked, sketching a deep bow. “My, aren’t we fancy?”

  Sally grimaced inwardly. “Nice to meet you,” she tried.

  James gave her a more friendly look. “You could be the Queen of England and we’d still be happy to see you,” he confided. “I thought Mrs. Cameron was going to have a stroke when she found out we were to have three more houseguests. Normally we’re prepared even with our winter staff, but just now the other footman has gone to see his sick mother in Aberdeen, and one of the maids was turned away.” He looked up at Sally. “You’ll have to serve at dinner, you know, along with me and Mr. Carr. That piece of information was Mr. Carr’s turn to have a stroke. We’ve never had a maid serve at dinner before.”

  Sally turned a little pale. “I’m serving at dinner?” she repeated in a horrified tone. “Isn’t there anyone else? What about Mary?”

  “Mary went into hysterics at the idea. It took half an hour for her to stop. Mr. Carr even considered one of the grooms. But he broke two crystal goblets the first time he tried to carry a tray, and Mrs. Cameron banished him back to the stables. The only bit of good news all day was that of your arrival. Mr. Carr is so grateful for another body that he is graciously overlooking the fact that you’re just a housemaid. You’d better get back to the kitchen and eat your own meal before we are needed.” He consulted his pocket watch. “Dinner in less than an hour,” he proclaimed as one might mention a death in the family.

  Sally walked back to the kitchen with dragging steps, seriously considering emulating Mary’s hysterics. Mrs. Cameron pounced on her, and set her to basting the partridges and quails, all the while giving her a string of instructions.

  “You always serve from the left. Start with Miss Riding, who will be on the Earl’s right. Proceed around the table from there, and don’t look up, you keep your eyes on the food. No matter what you hear the Quality say, you keep on working, and you do not listen in to their conversation.”

  Sally nodded as the litany went on. Mrs. White was putting the perfectly roasted birds into covered dishes, along with a succession of vegetables, bread rolls, raised pies, all of which James was competently ferrying up to the dining room. The succulent smells in the air were starting to make her stomach growl, and she realized that she had not eaten since lunch. Fortunately, Mrs. White had assembled a hasty meal of leftover game pie for the staff, and Sally received her portion gratefully. Even the worry about how she was going to get through dinner was not enough to dampen her appetite.

  Distraction in the form of Mrs. Cameron interrupted her thoughts. “They are coming to table,” she announced in a harassed voice. “James is serving the soup, and Aileen, you must be prepared to go in to help serve directly.”

  Sally gulped and realized that her knees were actually shaking. She only hoped that Rupert would not betray her when she appeared in the dining room dressed in Bridget’s black maid dress. Her sense of humor came to her rescue, and when Mrs. White handed her a covered dish containing perfectly roasted potatoes, turnips and brussel sprouts in an herbed butter, Sally was trying not to giggle as she resolutely trod down the hall, pushed through the green baize door, and approached the dining room. Pausing outside the open door, she took a deep breath, shaking her head slowly in disbelief of what she was about to do. She put one hand up to straighten her maid’s cap, almost tipping the cover off her bowl of vegetables as she did so, made a quick recover, and entered the room.

  It was an impressive chamber; the wood panels on the walls were ornately carved and the white plastered ceiling edged with gilt. The room blazed with hundreds of candles, causing the facets of the mullioned windows to sparkle. Masterpieces hung on the walls, and the intricately carved chair backs shone with their recent polishing. Sally surveyed the seated guests.

  Clarissa Riding looked even more impressive close up than she had appeared riding the dashing white mare. She wore a sea-foam green gown that made her wide-open eyes glitter like emeralds. Her pale gold hair was secured with a jeweled pin on top of her head, but two ringlets had been allowed to fall over one delicate, sloping shoulder. Her face was a perfect oval, her nose small and straight, and her rosebud mouth an alluring, pert pink. She looked impossibly lovely, and Sally was acutely aware of her unflattering black stuff gown, and that she had not so much as seen a mirror since much earlier in the day. She stiffened her spine and glanced at her brother’s back, and then past him to a well dressed middle-aged couple. She assumed they were the lovely girl’s parents, and moved on towards the figure seated at the head of the table, and there she was stopped in her tracks. Sally had seen the Earl in his riding clothes, she had seen him disheveled in her own bed, but she had not seen him in full evening dress, and
he took her breath away. His dark locks had been carefully arranged, a snowy white cravat cascaded over his chest, and his broad shoulders were encased in a severe black jacket. A single ruby twinkled in the folds of his neck cloth, competing for brilliance with the glint in his deep brown eyes. The planes of his face were accentuated by the dark attire, and to Sally he looked more handsome than ever.

  Hugh turned to the door and saw Sally holding a covered tureen and dressed in Bridget’s black dress, and his mouth fell open and he dropped his soup spoon. James hurried forward to provide him with a clean one, and Hugh murmured a distracted thank you. Their eyes met, and Sally regained her senses and shook her head with a very small but compelling message.

  At that moment Rupert looked up from his soup, saw the stunned look on his host’s face and turned to see who had caused it.

  “Dash it!” he exclaimed. ‘I say!”

  “Rupert,” Hugh warned. “You are neglecting your lovely dinner partner.” He stared at Rupert, who gulped noisily, but followed his host’s lead.

  “Er, I say, my apologies, Miss Riding,” Rupert put one finger into his collar, and pulled, shifting his chin side to side. “How did you find the soup?” he blurted at random.

  “Delicious,” Clarissa enthused, setting down her spoon.

  “Just what I was about to say,” Rupert stuttered. “Don’t know when I’ve ever enjoyed a bowl of soup as well.” He leaned back in his chair, allowing James to remove his bowl, raising his serviette to dab at his suddenly damp forehead.

  As James cleared all the soup bowls away, Mr. Carr lifted the covers off the bowls and platters on the table. The tempting aromas of Mrs. White’s carefully prepared first course filled the air.

  Sally, mindful of her instructions, moved to where Miss Clarissa Riding was seated. James lifted the cover from the bowl she carried, and handed her a large silver spoon and fork, and then went to the sideboard to pick up his platter. Sally had seen this done countless times. She took the large utensils in her right hand, forming them into a sort of pincher. Standing correctly to the left of Miss Riding, Sally reached into her bowl for a perfectly roasted potato. She scooped with the spoon, and then used the fork to balance it, and as she lifted, she lost her grip and the potato fell back into the bowl.