by Sandra Heath
Tentatively they discussed the possibility of preparing the entire feast in the hotel’s own kitchens, although of course this would necessarily mean very plain fare indeed; but the merest hint of such a thing had immediately reduced the cook to hysteria, and the idea had been hastily abandoned. The day wore on, and Caroline knew she must accept that all was lost.
Meanwhile the duke’s decision about the banquet had been fanned around London like a forest fire, the story being carried initially by the excited assistant at Hoby’s, and then by the guests in the dining room at the Oxenford when Hal had imparted the tidings to the horrified Mr. Bassett. Within hours of the duke’s announcement to Caroline, it seemed that the whole of London knew about it. It was at this point, with the short March afternoon drawing to a close, that Mr. Jordan called upon Caroline, delighted at having heard about the banquet’s removal to the Lexham. He had been conversing with an associate at his club when he had overheard some others talking about what had happened at Hoby’s and subsequently at the Oxenford.
It seemed that when Hal had informed the unfortunate Mr. Bassett of the news, Gaspard Duvall himself had been nearby and had heard every word. The chef had been so staggered by what he had heard that he had halted in his tracks, causing the waiter who had been following him to drop the tureen of consommé he had been carrying. For a while there had been pandemonium in the usually superior and discreet dining room, and the chef had once again taken to his bed with a headache!
Mr. Jordan repaired immediately to tell Caroline what he had heard, and he chuckled as he related the tale. His smile faded, however, when he perceived that far from being overjoyed at her triumph, she was pale and wan. “My dear, whatever is wrong? Here I am, because of the most wonderful news imaginable, and you look more miserable than I have ever seen you before!”
“I have reason to be unhappy, Mr. Jordan,” she replied, gesturing to him to sit in a comfortable chair close to the fireplace in her drawing room.
“I don’t understand. Did the duke or did he not say that he wished the banquet to take place here instead of the Oxenford?”
“Oh, that is true enough.”
“Then why are you not dancing a jig?”
“Because I will not be able to hold the banquet here, or hold anything else for that matter.”
“You jest, surely.”
She explained in detail all that had happened. “So you see, Mr. Jordan,” she finished, “the banquet is quite out of the question. Lady Chaddington has seen to that. I tried to tell the duke and Sir Henry, but neither of them would listen. Now I must tell Miss Seymour that she has no wedding feast, and I must face the fact that my high-flying plans for this house will come to nought.”
He listened in growing dismay. “Oh, my dear Miss Lexham, I’m so sorry. But surely something can be done to save things? I am certain that Miss Seymour would be agreeable to a plain feast if she was to be acquainted with the facts—”
“Oh, of course she would, Mr. Jordan, but I would not be. I could not and would not ask her to put up with anything less than perfection for her wedding. She deserves the very best, for she is truly an angel; I can no longer offer her anything approaching the best, and that is the end of it.”
“I did not mean to offend you, my dear,” he said gently.
She smiled. “I know.”
“It grieves me very much to think that your fine venture will come to nothing after all. Oh, I admit that in the beginning I was less than enthusiastic, but I had truly come to believe that you would make a resounding success of it all. But for the machinations of a jealous, spiteful woman, you would have done it, wouldn’t you?”
“You are a very dear friend, Mr. Jordan.”
At that moment they both heard swift, excited steps approaching the door, and Caroline detected the chink-chink of Mrs. Hollingsworth’s keys. It was quite out of character for the housekeeper to run anywhere, and even more out of character for her to burst unceremoniously into Caroline’s private apartments, but this is what now happened.
“Whatever is it, Mrs. Hollingsworth?” cried Caroline, getting up in alarm.
“Oh, madam, such wonderful news!”
“News?” Caroline’s tentative fingers crept to touch the vanished necklace.
“We have a chef after all!” Mrs. Hollingsworth’s eyes danced with delight and her smile made her whole face glow.
“We do? Who is he?”
“The chef, madam!” Pink with pleasure, the housekeeper stood aside, beckoning to someone waiting in the antechamber.
Caroline stared as two men entered; it was Gaspard Duvall and his dour entremettier, Boisville!
The chef advanced, his step as light and bouncy as ever, and he seemed to have fully recovered from his headache. His mustard-colored coat was oddly bright in the dying rays of the afternoon sun, and he removed his beret with a flourish as he bowed over her hand.
“Good evening, Mademoiselle Lexham. Forgive me for calling so unexpectedly, but it gives me great pleasure to be able to say that I can now accept your kind offer and I am immediately at your disposal.”
She continued to stare, totally taken aback by this latest development. At last she found her voice. “You-you mean you wish to be chef de cuisine here after all?”
He smiled, glancing fleetingly at his silent, unsmiling companion. “Mais oui, mademoiselle, but then I always wished to come here. Unfortunately it was not immediately possible.”
She did not know what had happened to change that state of affairs, she only knew that by some miracle all her problems had been solved. “Oh, Monsieur Duvall, you have no idea how overjoyed I am to hear you say this!” She could almost have run to hug the beaming little chef.
Mr. Jordan was delighted. “Providence has smiled upon you, my dear Miss Lexham, and no one could be more pleased than I!”
Mrs. Hollingsworth was scarcely less enthusiastic. “Now Miss Seymour will have the finest feast imaginable after all, and then there will be the banquet! Oh, madam, I’m so pleased for you!”
Caroline smiled too, but she could not help noticing how surly and silent Boisville remained. Not once did a smile or any other emotion touch his motionless lips, and such lack of expression was somehow chilling.
Gaspard Duvall spread his hands and smiled quizzically at her. “It is settled then, mademoiselle? I am your chef de cuisine?”
“Of course you are, monsieur.”
“Then I and my entire brigade de cuisine will commence first thing tomorrow, and I will immediately put my mind to the carte for Miss Seymour’s wedding feast. The dishes I had in mind before will not do now, for there is no time to acquire the necessary ingredients, but I promise to produce a feast which will be worthy both of the occasion and of my good name. After that, I will turn my thoughts to the banquet, oui?” He cleared his throat a little and then smiled once again.
“Welcome to the Lexham Hotel, Monsieur Duvall,” said Caroline, “And you, Monsieur Boisville.” She inclined her head at Gaspard’s assistant, but she felt uneasy as she did so. There was something about the entremettier which she could not like in the slightest.
His response was toneless. “Merci, mademoiselle.”
It was with some relief that she turned to the chef once more. “I think we have much to discuss, monsieur, so if you would please be seated?” She indicated a vacant chair.
Mr. Jordan immediately made his excuses and departed, after congratulating her once more upon this excellent turn of events, and soon Caroline was seated with the chef, Boisville, and Mrs. Hollingsworth while matters of the size of his brigade de cuisine and their accommodation and so on were gone over in a little more detail.
Gaspard pronounced himself quite willing to forgo the usual method of payment for his services, and instead to take something of value from the house at the end of six months. He brushed aside any other difficulties that seemed to offer themselves, quite determined to take charge of the Lexham’s fine kitchens.
Boisville sat stiffl
y and did not speak once. His presence was oppressive and Caroline detected Mrs. Hollingsworth glancing uncomfortably in his direction. Caroline was at a loss to understand why a man as lighthearted and cheerful as Gaspard Duvall should want such a gloomy and disagreeable person at his right hand. There was something else she found disturbing, and that was the distinct impression she received that whenever Gaspard was required to make a decision, no matter how small, he first secretly sought Boisville’s silent consent.
When she first received this impression, she told herself she imagined it, but it persisted until she knew she was not mistaken. She was reminded of the first occasion she had seen the two men together, in the garden at the Oxenford. She had thought then that Boisville seemed more the master than the subordinate; now she thought it even more.
At last the discussion came to an end and the two Frenchmen departed, leaving a very different atmosphere behind them than had existed before their arrival. Mrs. Hollingsworth stood with Caroline at the window, watching the chef’s bright yellow carriage roll away across the courtyard, its color visible even though darkness had almost completely fallen now. “I’m so glad things have turned out this way, Miss Lexham.”
Caroline smiled. “I’ll warrant you are. You positively glowed the entire time he was here.”
The housekeeper blushed a little. “I will not pretend that I don’t find him the most charming of gentlemen. Nor will I pretend that I don’t find his sour companion Boisville decidedly unpleasant.”
“He certainly isn’t full of the joys of spring,” agreed Caroline, closing the shutters and drawing the curtains.
Mrs. Hollingsworth smiled again. “So, Lady Chaddington hasn’t won after all. She’ll be positively pinched with rage when she hears what has happened now.”
Caroline looked swiftly at the housekeeper. “Miss Seymour is not to learn of Lady Chaddington’s intriguing.”
“I understand, madam, for she is to marry Sir Henry.”
“Yes, so it would not do at all for anything to be said. We will just let her know that Monsieur Duvall is to come here after all, and we will say nothing concerning Gunter’s.”
The housekeeper nodded and prepared to leave to go about her tasks, but at the door she paused. “Miss Lexham? Why do you think the chef changed his mind?”
“I don’t really know.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth grinned then. “And nor do you care?”
“Something like that, for I’m only too glad that he is to come here after all. His reasons simply do not matter.”
Not long afterward Jennifer returned to the hotel, accompanied by her brother. Caroline happened to be in the vestibule at the time, and so was able impart the good news immediately.
“Oh, Jennifer,” she cried, hurrying forward in a rustle of turquoise lawn. “I have something very exciting to tell you. We have a chef after all and so you will have your feast à la français as you’ve always wanted!”
Jennifer had been a little withdrawn, but now her eyes brightened with delight and she clasped Caroline’s hands. “Oh, can it truly be so? After what Marcia told me about Gunter’s, I was fearing dreadful news would be awaiting me, and instead it was all untrue!”
“Untrue?” Caroline still smiled, but she stiffened inside.
“Yes, she was most distraught, she told me that she had heard that Gunter’s could not do the feast after all because of a prior booking. She said that she was so upset for me that she personally went to all the reputable caterers to see if one of them could take the feast on, as a special favor to her, but none of them could. There, I knew she was fibbing to be spiteful!” Jennifer cast a knowing, arch look at Hal.
Caroline spoke up quickly. “Well, perhaps in part it is true, for Gunter’s did indeed back out of the arrangement, and I was very worried indeed, but now all is resolved and the problem at an end.”
Jennifer smiled. “Tell me, who is the chef? Will I have heard of him?”
“Oh, yes, you certainly have heard of him,” replied Caroline. “He is none other than Gaspard Duvall himself.”
Jennifer gasped with instant delight, but Hal’s reaction was more puzzling. For a moment he seemed almost stunned, until he realized that his silence was mystifying his sister, at which he smiled and congratulated her upon getting what she wanted once more and Caroline upon this welcome reversal of fate. His words were spoken warmly enough, but there was something behind them, something Caroline did not understand. For an incredible moment she wondered if, as in the past, he was fully aware of everything Marcia had done, but then she immediately discarded such thoughts, for Hal would never, never have been party to anything that would have brought such chaos to his sister’s wedding plans.
No, on this occasion Marcia had worked alone and had gone to considerable lengths to conceal her tracks, for her plotting struck a little too close to the Seymours for comfort. This being so, whatever it was that lay behind Hal’s reaction now, it was not that he had known what Marcia had done. What was it then?
Jennifer hugged him. “Oh, I’m so happy again! Only one thing spoils it all for me.”
“And what is that?” he asked, smiling at her.
“That you persist in remaining at the Oxenford. I have asked you to come here and now I ask you again, Hal. You are my only brother, you are to give me away at my wedding—I want you here, close to me, not beleaguered in that odious place!”
“If that is truly what you want,” he replied suddenly, “then with Miss Lexham’s permission, I will do as you request.”
Caroline could not help staring at him as he said this, for with a sudden clear insight into his thoughts, she knew that this decision had nothing to do with his desire to please his sister. Unlike the trusting, ingenuous Jennifer, Caroline knew that his actions were brought about by the removal of the banquet to the Lexham—and from that, she deduced that it had something to do with Gaspard Duvall. Stunned at this realization, she did not at first hear him when he addressed her.
“Miss Lexham?”
“I beg your pardon?” She brought her thoughts back with a jolt. “Did you say something?”
He seemed faintly amused. “I asked you if you would be able to tolerate my presence beneath your roof.”
“You are always welcome here, Sir Henry.”
He sensed something in her manner, but he said nothing more, turning back to his sister and kissing her farewell. “I have to go now.”
“Go? But I thought you were going to take supper with me.”
“I forgot that I have an appointment, but I am sure Miss Lexham would be pleased to sit with you and listen to your interminable rattle.”
Jennifer pretended to be cross. “You are a beast, Henry Seymour, and I hate you.”
He smiled and tweaked her cheek. “Good night, kitten.”
“Good night.”
He looked at Caroline. “Good night, Miss Lexham.”
She inclined her head. “Sir Henry.”
For a moment his shrewd glance rested thoughtfully upon her, but then he hurried out to the courtyard where his carriage had not yet departed.
“Oh, dear,” said Jennifer suddenly, “I forgot to ask him.”
“Ask him what?”
“If he would apologize to Marcia for me.”
“Apologize?”
“When she came to me about Gunter’s and the wedding feast, I wasn’t exactly forthcoming; in fact I was decidedly cool. Now it seems that she was telling the truth, and I have a conscience. If I misjudged her about this, perhaps I have misjudged her about other things—oh, not about the way she has behaved toward you, for that was unforgivable, but I didn’t care for her before you came to Town.”
Caroline said nothing to this, for Jennifer’s original assessment of Marcia, Lady Chaddington, was the more accurate.
Jennifer linked arms with her. “So, Monsieur Duvall is to come here after all. How splendid! I insist that you join me for supper, Caroline, and we will celebrate with some iced champagne.”
> Chapter 24
The speed with which all recent events had taken place at the Lexham was the talking point of society, and the following day, the day Gaspard Duvall and his entire brigade de cuisine removed themselves from the Oxenford, saw a constant to-ing and fro-ing of elegant carriages as ladies and gentlemen came in the hope of enjoying luncheon, and later dinner, at the new hotel.
After the desolation and uncertainty of the day before, for Caroline it was like a dream come true. She felt like the legendary King Midas, for everything she touched did indeed appear to somehow turn to gold—and consequently she had great reservations about such luck, for things had not gone well for King Midas....
Gaspard’s arrival in the Lexham’s kitchens had an immediate and electrifying effect upon everyone at the hotel. Such was his genius that he was straightaway able to create a dazzling menu from the ingredients already available; such was his immense charm that he drew a warm response from everyone, even the meanest kitchen boy, and everyone did his utmost to please him. He was one of those rare beings, a man of acknowledged brilliance, feted and adored by society and yet totally unspoiled, and therefore swiftly worshiped by all those over whom he held sway.
Within an hour of his arrival, he had the kitchens running exactly as he wished, and he was delightedly experimenting with the wondrous Rumford closed ranges. He sang as he worked, which at first astonished the more staid British, but they soon accepted this French eccentricity, and even came to join in occasionally. Watching him, Caroline began to wonder if maybe she had been wrong to believe Hal’s decision to come to the Lexham had something to do with the chef, something sinister.
Gaspard’s influence was not only felt in the kitchens; he swiftly offered his advice to Caroline where the dining room itself was concerned. Having come from Paris, city of the world’s finest cafes, a place where it was second nature to flatter women, he shook his head disapprovingly at the glare created by the glittering chandeliers. Such a harsh light was not kind to the ladies, he said, and instead the room should be illuminated only by candles, which would throw a soft glow in which even the most elderly of matrons could appear to advantage.