I had seen the kitchens briefly the day before, when I’d come in from the gardens, but I had been too nervous and confused to notice much. Now I could see that the kitchens were in the basement, but they had taken advantage of the slope of the land around the house, so one long side of the kitchens was completely above ground, giving lots of sunlight as well as access to the kitchen gardens. When Mistress Leone and I entered, there were several maids bustling about in their neat black and gray uniforms, a blonde boy of about twelve fetching and carrying for them, and two older boys running in and out with armloads of firewood. I looked for Clara, but there was too much activity to pick out one person I had only known for a few minutes.
The cook was plump enough to inspire confidence in her abilities without being fat. She wore a gray cap on her gray curls and a large white apron over her black dress. When Mistress Leone led me in, the cook was in the midst of supervising some chopping, the cleaning of fish, and the washing of berries. It took Mistress Leone two tries to get her attention, the first a polite, “Mrs. Boswell?” and the second a discreet cough.
“Whoever that was, wash your hands at once. Mistress Leone, what brings you down? Why, you must be the guest. Jane, that’s not fine enough. Clara told me about you.”
“Miss Ella, allow me to present Mrs. Boswell.”
I extended my hand again. Mrs. Boswell smiled at me. “Very pleased to meet you, my dear.”
Over Mrs. Boswell’s shoulder, I spotted Clara by the oven. She had just tipped a small piece of chicken into a brown clay bowl and was ladling porridge on top of it. I was considering whether or not to say hello to her, when I felt Mistress Leone’s gaze on me. I glanced over and saw Mistress Leone and Mrs. Boswell were exchanging a look I could not interpret.
“Is one of the staff ill?” Mistress Leone asked.
Mrs. Boswell seized on that. “Yes, Tim, the pot boy. He’s down with a bit of a cold. Nothing serious. Clara was going to bring him a tray. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned to ask why there were raspberries on the floor and why no butter had been brought out. “You will have to excuse me, my lady.”
Mistress Leone gestured for me to follow her out. As I passed through the door, I thought I heard someone calling for Tim, but I was so busy trying to keep up with Mistress Leone, I couldn’t be sure. Once we were on the stairs, she said, “The library next, I think, and we’ll go on from there. The master always did like an evening spent in the library, even when he was a boy.”
I thought about what Mistress Leone had said as I trotted down the hall behind her. If Mistress Leone had known him when he was a child, the master couldn’t be that old, not much older than me. Maybe he could be Panther’s hero.
Chapter 9
The tour took the rest of the afternoon and included everything from a ballroom covered in dust sheets to the well-kept cellars. I knew I would never remember my way around, or the names of the dozens of servants who were presented to me. By the time I was left at the door to my room, I was ready for a rest. Hopefully my mind could sort out all the new information on its own, and maybe I’d be able to find my way at least to the library on my own. I could hear the wind whipping around in the garden and hoped Footstool would be waiting for me in my room. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be alone here during a storm.
Instead of Footstool, Phoebe was waiting for me, smoothing out a forest green gown with gold trim. “Have you had an enjoyable day, my lady?” Phoebe didn’t wait for an answer, but started undoing my laces and getting my clothes changed.
“Yes, very.”
Phoebe seemed to have all her attention on my clothes, not what I was saying, and answered absently. “Did you explore the whole house?”
“Yes, Mistress Leone showed me everything except for one door.”
Phoebe smoothed the sleeves of the dress. “The mahogany one to the left of the main staircase?”
I nodded. So Phoebe was listening, even though she didn’t seem to be. I filed that away in my mind for later use.
“That’s the master’s suite. Very private. All of his equipment is in there. No one goes in, except with Mistress Leone’s express permission, and then only to tidy up.”
That didn’t explain the black curtain, but it did prove that Panther could not be hiding in there. And he hadn’t been anywhere else in the house. Which left the grounds. There must be a guest house of some kind on the property. I just had to figure out how to find it.
Phoebe gave the skirt a final smoothing. “There’s still plenty to see in this place, although the castle is much larger, of course.”
“Of course.” There didn’t seem to be any other answer.
“I’ll see about your hair now.” In a few efficient moves, Phoebe had brushed part of my hair up and arranged the rest to curl down my back. She added a tiny tiara, then stood back to admire her work. I thought it was a bit much, but she seemed pleased. “If the master were coming, we would be more formal.”
This seemed formal enough — I was already wearing a tiara after all — but I didn’t say anything. “I will escort you downstairs tonight. Not that I think you will get lost…”
“But I probably will.”
Phoebe smiled a bit and briskly led me down the hall.
*
When I entered the dining room, I was even more convinced that things were more than formal enough. The table could have seated one hundred people easily, with plenty of room left for servants to move around. The room was lit by two chandeliers and large silver candlesticks placed down the center of the table. The floor was tiled in an elaborate pattern of vines and leaves. I was tempted to look under the table to see if the pattern continued hidden from view, but the footmen in black and silver livery who were lined up along the wall would have thought it strange, even though I was quite certain they would never have shown their amusement with so much as a raised eyebrow, and the pattern most likely continued. Eight maids, who did not seem to have a purpose beyond seeing the new guest, slipped out as soon as I entered.
Only two places were set at the table, with gold-edged chargers and large silver place settings, all of such obvious quality they did not need further ornamentation. Phoebe led me to the chair to the right of the head of the table. I wondered who would sit at the head since I’d had the definite impression that the master was not in residence.
No one had taken the head seat by the time a footman leaned over the chair on my right with a tray of flaky pastries. I served myself. He did not put any on the second plate.
A second footman came forward and showed me a bottle of wine. I understood he was asking for my approval. I was not about to second-guess whoever had chosen it, either Mrs. Boswell or Grigsby, I was certain. I nodded, and one of the glasses from the glittering row in front of me was filled. The footman stepped back. When nothing else happened, I decided it must be time to begin.
The pastry was filled with diced chicken and spices. I recognized cinnamon at once; it took longer for me to recognize dates and honey. I was sure there was more, but I had finished it before I could identify anything else. The remains were removed as soon as I had put down my knife and fork.
The second course arrived quickly: salmon with lemon, a salad of greens with vinaigrette, and new potatoes with herbs. Another footman brought another bottle of wine, and I wondered how much I was expected to drink.
Again, the food was excellent. After so many days of conserving food, I enjoyed feeling I could eat as much as I wanted. By the time I had finished my salmon, I felt full for the first time since I had passed through the mirror. I put down the knife and fork, leaving some potatoes and salad on my plate.
The footman hesitated a moment before he came to take my plate. “You have finished, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.” I noticed the footman’s expression and added, “It’s delicious, but I’m getting full,” to be certain Mrs. Boswell would not take the unfinished plate as an insult to her cooking.
“I see.” He took the plate away.
There was a pause this time, and it was Grigsby who came to the table. I wondered if my being full was somehow a difficult situation requiring a more experienced hand.
Grigsby was polite as he asked, “My lady, do you wish to continue with the meat course or go directly to the finishing courses?”
Another meat course? I didn’t think I could face that. “Would it be all right to skip it?” I felt I needed to explain, in case Mrs. Boswell thought I was being critical of her food. “Where I come from, we don’t eat like this, I mean…”
But Grigsby didn’t need an explanation. “I understand, my lady. Until I started serving in a noble household, I had not seen a meal with more than three courses either. I will inform Mrs. Boswell.”
“It won’t cause a problem, will it?”
“Not at all. There are several young footmen who will view your portion as a welcome second helping. Or third.”
I hadn’t expected the servants to eat like this, even in a noble household, and I was fully expecting to feel guilty about it once the memory of being hungry myself had faded.
Grigsby smiled at my expression. “You’re surprised, I see, which is not surprising. His highness is very generous. We do not eat meals as elaborate as those sent to the master’s table — that would cause Mrs. Boswell and her staff too much work — but they are not dissimilar.” He bowed and left for the kitchens.
After a few more minutes, the first footman returned with a plate of lightly dressed salad and three kinds of cheese, which I would have called Swiss, Camembert, and Stilton if the regions that produced them had not been on the other side of the mirror. The cheese was followed by a small piece of dark chocolate cake with raspberry sorbet.
As the footman took the last plate away, I wondered what I was supposed to do next. I folded up my napkin, being very careful with it to stall for time. Before I had finished making all of the pleats even, Mistress Leone had arrived.
“My lady, I have taken the liberty of ordering you tea in the library. I hope that is acceptable.”
Every uncomfortable moment seemed to be smoothed over before I thought of it. “Perfect, thank you.”
“I will escort you there tonight.”
I followed Mistress Leone’s candle to the cedar paneled library I had seen earlier. The fire had been lit and by its cheerful light I could see two deep armchairs with a table between them.
Mistress Leone used her candle to light several beeswax candles in front of the mirror on the mantle and on the table by the armchairs, making it bright enough to read comfortably.
With the increased light, I could see that a tea kettle covered in a knitted cozy had been left on the table between the two chairs. Beside it, a small wooden box had been left open, revealing small tins of different kinds of tea. One chair had a book on the seat and embroidered slippers near the hassock. That had to belong to the master. I couldn’t help wondering what sort of books he read, but Mistress Leone was still there. I chose a tea that smelled good and fixed a cup.
By the time the tea was steeping, Mistress Leone had finished lighting the candles and was waiting by the door. “Is everything satisfactory, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Then I will leave you and send a footman. He will get you anything else you require and will guide you to your room when you are ready to retire.”
As soon as Mistress Leone was out of the room, I went to the master’s chair and picked up the book. I glanced at the page that had been marked with a piece of embroidered ribbon.
“The laird leaned over the body. There was a faint scent of bitter almonds. ‘This was not natural.’
“The magistrate followed his gaze. ‘But my liege, if he was murdered, then he could not have killed the others.’
“But the laird was too deep in his own thoughts to respond.”
I put the book back on the chair, careful not to lose his place. By the time the footman arrived, I was at the bookshelves, candle in hand, looking at the spines.
The books were arranged in an idiosyncratic order, but it didn’t take long for me to figure the system out and find a section of books with the same green and gray covers as the book on the chair. I selected one with a good title, hoping it was another murder mystery, even though that probably wasn’t the best thing for me to be reading in a strange house with a storm brewing outside and the black-draped Bluebeard room next to mine. I settled into an armchair with my tea and read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I felt around on the table for something to mark my place. As I was about to fold the edge of the page down, I found a piece of blue ribbon embroidered with a row of rabbits dropped onto the book.
“Thank you.”
The footman had already returned to his post by the door.
I stood up with my book and looked for a place to leave it. I wasn’t completely sure where I’d found it on the shelf, or if I would find it again when I put it back.
“Leave it on the table,” the footman whispered. I barely saw his mouth move.
“Thanks again.”
He smiled at me.
I left the book on the table and went to the door. The footman picked up a candle and led me up the stairs and to my door, where he stopped and bowed again.
“Thank you again — ” I hesitated, wondering if it was all right to ask his name.
“Henry, my lady.”
“Thank you, Henry. Good night.”
Phoebe was waiting for me, with my nightgown laid out and a bath filling in the next room. She wasn’t very talkative as I prepared for bed, and seemed ready to leave as soon as she decided I no longer required assistance.
As Phoebe was leaving, Footstool slipped around her and into the room. He settled down in front of the fire and seemed ready to sleep.
“Good night,” I murmured as I got into bed. I was worried that the pounding rain and occasional crashes of thunder would keep me awake, but I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.
*
The next morning, I woke up with the sun on my face. For a moment I thought I was back outside, in the forest, with Panther. But when I reached out toward the soft warmth surrounding me, I felt velvet, not fur, and I knew where I was. I stretched, enjoying the soft sheets and cozy blankets until the sun made it too hot to stay under the covers. The same robe had been left at the foot of the bed, so I put it on and went to the window.
The garden was beautiful. The sun was glittering off all the rose bushes. Even the forest looked less threatening. I couldn’t see a guest house, but there had to be one somewhere on the grounds. If not, where was Panther, and why couldn’t I see him?
“My lady, are you ready to dress?” Phoebe was there, in her proper black dress.
I hoped Phoebe hadn’t been waiting hours for me to wake up. “Yes, thank you.”
The dress Phoebe chose for me was simple by the standards of the house, made of fine cotton in a pale lavender with a skirt that stopped just above the floor and deep ruffles on the elbow length sleeves. When she had me dressed and coiffed, Phoebe stepped back for a final check of her handiwork. She seemed satisfied and said, “Mrs. Boswell has breakfast set up in the breakfast room.”
I didn’t want to sound like I expected breakfast delivered to me every morning. “Wonderful.”
Phoebe nodded and left without giving me directions. Maybe she thought I would remember my way around from yesterday’s tour. I didn’t.
I was saved by Footstool, who led the way to the breakfast room without being asked. It was a wonderful room to be in in the morning. The sun was shining through the windows and the view of the rose garden was even better than the one from my room.
Breakfast had been set up on the long table near the door. I filled my plate and brought it to the table by the window, where I could look over the garden and try to figure out where Panther could be.
I was considering whether or not I wanted another slice of toast when Mistress Leone came in. She followed my gaze to the window.
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“My lady, would you like to tour the grounds?”
That was perfect, even though Mistress Leone had mistaken my reason. “Yes, I would.”
“Very good; I will send Phoebe for your cloak.”
I finished my tea and went into the hall. Phoebe was already there, with the cloak draped over her arm. “I’ll take you out to see Clive. He’ll show you around.”
I followed Phoebe to the side door. As we passed the staircase, Footstool left my side and started to climb. I was tempted to call him back. I wanted a second mind remembering where we went, and Footstool had already shown he was better than I was at remembering the way around the house, even without Mistress Leone’s tour, but I didn’t want to call to him in case Phoebe wondered about him. I didn’t know what the staff thought Footstool was. For that matter, I didn’t know what I thought Footstool was, and I didn’t want to have to explain that.
Phoebe led me to the garden door. We passed Grigsby on the way out. Phoebe curtsied to him. “Sir, have you seen Clive?”
Grigsby looked over the two of us. “Planning a tour of the grounds, my lady? He’s in the round shed.”
“Is it all right to go there, sir?”
“Oh yes, yes. Everything’s fine. You won’t disturb him.” Grigsby smiled at me. “Enjoy yourself, my lady.”
Phoebe led me across the back lawn to a round stone building with slits for windows and an oak door that had been propped open with a couple of rocks. Phoebe called inside, “Clive? Are you there? I’ve brought Miss Ella.”
“Come in.”
The room was almost empty; a coil of rope, a watering can propped against the wall, and a few tools were all I saw. Clive was arranging rakes against the wall. He stopped when we entered.
“Mistress Leone wants you to show Miss Ella around.”
Clive grinned at us. “Sure thing. I’m done here.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Anything in particular?”
I didn’t want to say anything that would suggest I was looking for Panther, so I shook my head.
“The gardens first then.”
Ella and the Panther's Quest Page 7