by CJ Archer
It was late when Orlando returned to Stoneleigh, and supper had finished. Cook and Bessie were in the scullery washing pots and Hendricks was helping Farley into bed. Susanna had retreated to her rooms. Orlando knew because he'd seen light coming from her window and he thought he saw her face peering out but couldn't be sure.
"It's about time," Cook said when he entered the scullery. She wiped her hands on her apron and led him back to the kitchen. "It's been dark for hours. Supper's cold."
"I've had cold suppers before," Orlando said, pecking her on the cheek. "It's never stopped me from eating every last crumb."
Cook chuckled and whacked him lightly on the arm with a trencher before handing it to Bessie who'd followed them from the scullery.
Bessie forked slices of mutton onto it from a pot warming on the hearth. "We've been worried about you."
"Worried about me?" He laughed. "That's new."
"You never had anyone worry about you before?" Cook asked.
He thought about it. "My mother used to. She said I ought to keep my mouth shut more and do as I was told." Hughe and the others worried too of course, but only rarely and they never admitted it. They never fretted if he didn’t return one night, but they would search for him if he failed to show at a designated meeting time and that in itself was a comfort.
"Seems her advice worked," Cook said, piling peas on his plate beside the mutton. "You always do as the mistress tells you."
"That's because she's a fair mistress." And ravishing and because he needed to work at Stoneleigh so he could investigate her. He took the trencher and sat down to eat.
"Aye, she is fair, but I'll warn you she's in a bit of a state tonight. Don't be surprised if she's harsh with you."
"Harsh with me? Why?"
"Because she was worried about you, fool." Cook chuckled and replaced the lid on the pot.
"She was?" Well, well. Could she possibly be thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her?
But his thoughts bent toward the carnal, not the emotional. The only reason he thought about Susanna was because he wanted to bed her, and once he'd done that, he could focus better on his job. There were too many distractions where she was concerned, and it was time to put a stop to them. Once he scratched that particular itch, the other thoughts that plagued him would go away.
He intended to scratch it tonight.
"We were all worried," Bessie added. "Don't stay out so late next time without telling us."
"Yes, ma'am."
Cook grunted and pointed a wooden spoon at him but then she broke into a smile. "Ah, you're the devil you are, with those dimples and blue eyes. I swear you just have to twinkle them at me and I'll believe everything you say. No wonder the girls in the village are all a-flutter over you."
"They are? I hadn't noticed."
"Course you haven't."
"Where were you today anyway?" Bessie asked.
"I went for a walk," he said.
"All afternoon and into the dark?"
"I got lost."
Both women seemed to accept his explanation, something for which he was grateful. He didn't like lying to them. It was akin to lying to his mother and although he'd done it easily enough as a young lad, after his father died, guilt stung his conscience every time he told her he was going to practice archery out at Finsbury Fields when instead he visited a girl or attended the theatre.
"I better go see if the mistress needs help," Bessie said. "Will you be sleeping in her parlor tonight, Mr. Holt?"
"No, he bloody well will not," growled Hendricks from the doorway.
Cook and Bessie both looked to Orlando. "I think that's up to the mistress to decide," he said, slicing his mutton.
"I protest! The mistress...she..."
"Don't worry, Mr. Hendricks. I didn't ravish her last night or the night before. What makes you think tonight will be any different?" God, he hoped it would be different. Another sleepless night with an aching groin and unwelcome thoughts about a more permanent arrangement between himself and Susanna would be too much. He put down his knife and regarded all three of the servants seriously. "I'm exhausted," he said, quite honestly. "I haven't slept properly for two nights. If you think me capable of doing much more than falling into a deep sleep, you over-estimate my manliness."
Bessie's eyes widened, and Cook let out a raucous laugh that made her whole body wobble. Only Hendricks continued to scowl. "If you are so exhausted, what use are you sleeping in her parlor? An intruder will walk right past you if what you say is true."
"Even in my deepest sleep, I'm always alert to unusual sounds. It's a skill that has served me well on my travels. I could not have survived without it."
Bessie covered a small squeal of horror and bustled out of the kitchen. Hendricks said nothing but he too walked off. Orlando exchanged a glance with Cook who shrugged, then he returned to his supper. He was starving. Spying on Monk all afternoon without being seen was tiring. The man was active, riding out with Lynden, walking around the gardens, chatting to the other servants. Unfortunately Orlando had learned nothing from his efforts. Monk was as much a mystery as ever.
