As did Catt. Simply because he lived off a family stipend instead of relying on the fruits of his labors to maintain his lifestyle did not mean he was better than her. If anything, it made him worse.
“Yes,” she spat. “I am speaking from experience, something you can’t do. So perhaps, for once in your life, it might behoove you to follow my lead.”
His other eyebrow lifted to join the first. Hostility crossed his face. “Why don’t I? With that attitude, you’ll seduce all the servants into your confidence.”
Balling her fists, she took a deep breath. Along with the heady fragrance of flowers was a deeper undertone, Catt’s scent. It made her head spin. She gritted her teeth. He couldn’t be wearing one of Felicia’s perfumes, could he?
The notion was preposterous. Felicia Graylocke, Gideon’s new wife, created and sold perfumes that muddled the senses of the opposite sex and induced lust. Rocky would never feel anything approaching lust for Catt, not even if he would lower himself to wearing such a perfume.
Which she doubted he would. He was much too stubborn and seemed to think he had charm aplenty all on his own.
“You think you can do better without me?” she hissed. “Then go ahead.”
A smile played around his mouth. It didn’t match the glittering expression in his eyes.
“Is that a challenge?”
“You bet,” she snapped. “The first person to find a viable suspect in the household—with reasonable proof for suspicion—wins.”
He leaned closer. For a moment, her breath caught. They’d never been this close, not even in the carriage.
“And what do I win?”
Bragging rights. But no, he did that enough already.
“If you find a better suspect than I do, I’ll give you first look at the plants.” It would have been sufficient lure for her.
He glanced at the hothouse and the plants piled within. “I get to choose my workspace?”
In a roundabout way. “Yes.”
The grin he flashed her was almost wicked. “Then you have a wager. Be prepared to lose, Rockwood.”
“Not on your life.”
Chapter 3
Years of working as a servant had taught Rocky that the best gossips resided in the kitchen. At some point in the day, everyone traveled through the kitchen, whether it was to fetch something for the master or mistress of the house or if they’d come in search of a hot drink or vittles for themselves. The cooks were on the best of terms with the entire household. In Tenwick Abbey, the lifeblood of the gossip mill originated in the kitchen.
And Rocky didn’t even have far to travel in order to make it there. As she arrived, she paused to analyze who to approach.
She didn’t have much choice. The large room was crammed with stoves, the oven, counter space, a basin for washing, and a tall table in the corner ringed with stools. Only two people resided in the room. Even in the quietest times of day, at least a half dozen men and women worked in the kitchens of Tenwick Abbey. But the ducal estate also had a much larger staff population to feed.
On a pockmarked wooden table stained with the evidence of food leavings, a woman busily punched dough. She sprinkled the heap with flour, folded it over, and punched some more. From the pinched look on her thin face, she wished that she was punching something else.
Behind her, a pimple-faced boy scrubbed at a pot in the basin of steaming water. Both the woman and boy wore white, stained aprons over their clothes. The boy, not quite as boney as the woman, looked to be no older than thirteen or fourteen. The younger members of a household saw more than they let on. People rarely paid them much mind, and they were much more astute than they were given credit for. Rocky knew—she’d first joined the Tenwick household at age fifteen.
As the angular, sour-faced woman vigorously kneaded the dough, Rocky rounded the perimeter of the room to approach the scullery boy.
“Hello, there.”
He turned his back on her, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head as he finished his work.
Rocky frowned. “Hello?”
Stopping her efforts, the cook scraped dough off her boney knuckles and tucked the dough into a round bowl. She covered it with a cloth. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned to face Rocky.
“Hello. You must be the new arrival.”
For all her tart expression, she greeted Rocky with a friendly enough tone. Rocky switched targets. She approached the table.
“I am. I’m Rocky, the lead botanist.” She held out her hand. “I don’t mean to bother you if you’re hard at work.”
The woman shook it firmly. “Eliza Dowden, assistant cook. Don’t worry about the intrusion. I’m due for a break, in any case. It’s nice to see a woman in charge.”
Rocky narrowed her eyes. “Assistant cook? Shouldn’t the head cook be in the kitchen at this time of day?”
The woman’s mouth twisted in disgust. She batted away the single wisp of brown hair that escaped her tight bun. “He should be, but my father had other business to attend, it seems.”
Other business such as sabotaging the British spy network?
Rocky offered a commiserating smile. “Men. I have an assistant who is always taking breaks in the middle of the day to run personal errands.”
For all she knew, it might even be true. She and Catt hadn’t had the opportunity to work together yet in order for her to find out.
“Tea?” Eliza asked. “I have a fresh seedcake still warm from the oven.”
Triumph surged through her. It was gratifying to know that cooks behaved the same way in all kitchens, always ready for a word or two of gossip, a friendly exchange of stories.
Rocky nodded. “Please.” She retreated to the corner table and hopped onto a stool while the assistant cook sliced the cake and put the kettle on to boil. She carried two plates to Rocky and set them down side by side.
“This isn’t nearly as big a household as the one I just left,” Rocky said, keeping her voice conversational. She picked at the corner of her cake, not wanting to eat it in full until after she had tea to wash it down. “You must be much closer than what I’m used to.”
Eliza’s expression blanked. In a neutral tone of voice, she said, “I’ve worked here all my life, since my father was one of Lady Belhaven’s first servants. I’ve never known any different.”
Had Rocky offended her in some way? “It seems nice, like much more of a family than what I’m accustomed to.” When Eliza’s expression didn’t soften, Rocky uttered a little self-deprecating laugh. “Then again, families can be tedious, can’t they? Always squabbles going on and everyone knows everyone else’s secrets.”
The woman’s nostrils flared. The kettle whistled and the scullery boy jumped to pour the hot water into the teapot. He carried the ceramic pot and two cups over to the table, then moved a dish of sugar lumps and some milk.
Eliza didn’t speak. Her lips thinned as she ate her cake.
Why was she suddenly so cold? Did she know about Monsieur V—did she support him?
Rocky tried for a confidential smile as she whispered, “I saw David and Stefan when I came in. Are there any other handsome men around the manor?”
“No one in particular.”
Without looking at Rocky, the woman poured the tea. She set a cup in front of Rocky and pushed the sugar and milk closer for Rocky to help herself. She did so, trying to maintain a warm air of familiarity that was quickly withered by Eliza’s non-responsiveness. She had a bet to win! At this rate, Catt would probably put her at the smallest, most uncomfortable corner of the hothouse.
When she tried to flash the scullery boy a smile, he whirled and jogged out of the room. Did she have something in her teeth?
Turning her attention to Eliza once more, she tried to probe deeper. “Are you…close with any of the men on staff?”
Eliza’s eyebrow twitched. Her mouth pursed. “Not especially.”
“Do you know if they happen to be close with anyone else?”
The que
stion made Rocky sound as though she were hunting for a husband. She most certainly was not doing that, not even if she hadn’t been on the hunt for a French spy. She did perfectly well on her own, thank you very much. Not to mention, she didn’t even know what her life would look like if she were married.
Rocky spent her days working. In her spare time, she read books, most of them botanical treatises that improved the skills she used while working. Her best friends were botanists—yes, for all that she and Catt never got along, she included him in that number. She woke up and went to bed with the sun, and worked during the time in between. She honestly didn’t know where a husband would fit.
Let alone what such a man would expect from her. Would he demand she leave her job? Unlikely. Not only did it provide for her and her sister, but she enjoyed what she did. She wouldn’t be happy living Catt’s lifestyle, without a sense of purpose even if he did get to pick and choose the projects he devoted himself to. She liked the challenge of running her staff and ensuring that not a leaf was out of place on the Tenwick estate. Occasionally, she even consulted for the stewards of some of the other estates held by the Graylocke family, in particular when there was an agricultural problem. She felt needed where she was.
Whether or not she would marry was moot; she’d yet to find a man who appealed to her enough to give up her independence for even one hour, let alone a lifetime. She was happy on her own.
Eliza made one aloof, non-committal response after another. Rocky kicked herself for not being more subtle as she had most certainly done something to aggravate the woman. But no matter how she tried to open up and connect with Eliza, she couldn’t manage to break past the cook’s exterior. By the time the tea and seedcake was finished between them, Eliza stood and informed that she had to return to work.
In other words, Rocky was no longer welcome. Dejected, Rocky returned to the hothouse to await Catt’s results. Unless he had as little luck getting his choice of suspect to open up, she was about to forfeit her position in the hothouse, where she would be forced to work for the foreseeable future.
Rocky left the kitchen with more questions than she had answers. Was Eliza hiding something? Could she be in league with Monsieur V? Did she suspect that Rocky was looking for him?
None of these questions boded well for the investigation to come.
Chapter 4
The bite of winter lessened as Catt stepped into the shelter of the stables. His breath still fogged in front of his face, but the air was less cutting.
The building was long and narrow, with two rows of stalls. Horses resided in four of them, snorting and nipping at mounds of hay. David worked in an empty stall, mucking it out and tossing the contents into a wheelbarrow. When he glanced up, wiping the sweat from his brow, a broad grin spread across his face like spilled ink. He set his pitchfork next to a brazier giving off waves of inviting heat.
“Catterson! Good to see you.”
A second man came out of another empty stall, a bridle dangling from his fingertips and a rag held in the other. This man was a bit older, perhaps in his mid-forties, though he hadn’t gone soft. Even his expression was hard as stone.
“Hollander,” David crowed. “Come here and meet Mr. Catterson. He’s one of the new gardeners.”
“Botanist,” Catt muttered under his breath, not that either man seemed to pay him any mind.
He shook hands with the other hostler, Hollander. When he dropped his hand, he turned back to David, the friendlier of the two by far. If Catt was going to win this bet with Rocky—he couldn’t let her win and lord it over him, after all—he would take whatever advantage he could find. David seemed like an easy nut to crack.
Rolling his shoulders, David said, “What brings you out this way?”
Why hadn’t he prepared an answer for that question? Catt smiled, hoping to match David’s friendliness. For all that Catt was often invited to the Graylockes’ events to fill out numbers, he wasn’t the most sociable under normal circumstances. He didn’t make friends easily.
“My…” Catt refused to call Rocky his superior. “My associate is setting up in the hothouse, so I thought I might get the lay of the land before we start work.”
“Right you are.” David thumped him on the back.
Catt was right about…what, exactly?
With a grin, David said, “Why don’t you come with me and get the lay of a pint? Ol’ Snaggletooth’s is just down the lane.”
Old…what? Catt frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ol’ Snaggletooth’s. The local pub.” He snagged his greatcoat from over the stall door and shrugged it on. “It must be near noon, wouldn’t you say?”
Catt would guess that the time was closer to ten of the morning. But if David wanted to invite him off Lady Belhaven’s property, where Catt might ply him with something to loosen his tongue, who was Catt to argue?
He nodded. “It can’t hurt to go for a pint.” Even if he suspected a place called Snaggletooth’s would have questionable ale.
Grinning, David turned to the other hostler. “Will you be joining us, Hollander?”
“Thank you, no.” His tone was final.
He accepted David’s ribbing over the refusal with the same cold aplomb as he did the rest of the conversation. Perhaps that was simply the sort of person he was, not prone to socializing much. Catt could respect that. Given his druthers, he wouldn’t be going for a pint, either.
But he was no longer Catt, the man who visited Tenwick Abbey daily when Gideon was in attendance and who tended the orangery plants while his friend was away. Never mind that Rocky was perfectly capable of adding the orangery to the rest of her duties. It was one of the few times Catt felt useful. Without the plants, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.
Now he knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t like it. Here, he was a stranger. He had to invent a character for himself—one more outgoing than his usual demeanor. He had to be the kind of man others would confide in. So he tried to mimic David’s posture and demeanor as they strolled along the cobblestone street toward this infamous pub. Since he’d left his hat, gloves, and greatcoat with the butler, by the time they reached the quaint, two-story edifice, he was chilled to the bone. He should have insisted on stopping for his outer clothes, even if he hadn’t wanted to give David the chance to change his mind. They were, after all, indulging in a pint when they should be working. That must be frowned upon even in Lady Belhaven’s household, and even though it was risky for Catt the reward of learning something about M. V was worth it.
As they stepped through the door, warmth swirled around Catt’s body and he relaxed somewhat. He rubbed his hands together to promote circulation as David doffed his greatcoat and flung it at the rack.
Not surprisingly, the establishment was empty at this hour of the morning. Catt was astounded it was even open. The door, unlocked, led to a large room with windows that let in little light. Worn, round wooden tables were clustered together along with spindly chairs. David led Catt to one such and flagged the matron working behind the counter.
She didn’t seem surprised to see him here so early in the day. Batting her hair out of her face, she asked him, “What’ll it be, David? We just put on a stew, if you’re hungry.”
“Just a pint,” he answered smoothly. “For me and my friend Catterson, here.”
Catt doubted the moniker of friend, but he dug into his pocket for the requisite coins nonetheless. Before long, the matron returned with two tall mugs of frothy ale. David clinked his with Catt’s.
“To your recent arrival!”
At the mouthful of ale that followed, Catt fought not to make a face. It was cruder than what he usually drank, if he imbibed at all. Giddy only indulged in spirits with his brothers in the evenings, and Catt rarely joined them.
“So, Catterson, do you have yourself a ladylove?”
Catt opened his mouth to tell him no, but David didn’t seem interested in hearing the answer.
The hostler win
ked. “That Rocky seems like a feisty gal.”
Horror washed through Catt. He chased it with another gulp of ale. “You’re welcome to her.” He couldn’t imagine the sort of man who might court Rocky. She was brash, sharp-tongued, belittling. She would emasculate the poor fellow who tried.
In fact, he couldn’t picture her romantic or married at all. She always seemed like such a solitary woman, a lone rock in an ocean lapping at her heels, aloof from it all. She didn’t have soft moments like he saw between Felicia and Gideon, when they appeared to be in a world all their own making. Secret smiles, stolen kisses—that didn’t seem to be in Rocky’s repertoire, something for which Catt was happy. Knowing her, she would find a way to turn her wedded bliss into yet another reason he was lacking.
He gritted his teeth. He would win this bet between them, but it was only a small chip in her exterior. It would take a lot more for him to erode the hostility between them.
David laughed off the suggestion that he pursue Rocky romantically. “She’s not for me.”
Was she for anyone? For some reason, thinking of a man touching Rocky, kissing her brought on an odd hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
David winked. “I have a lady of my own, you see.”
That wasn’t the sort of secret Catt hoped to uncover, but he didn’t want to make an enemy of David so he forced a smile. “Do you, then? Congratulations.”
The other man chuckled. “No congratulations necessary…yet.”
Catt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he took another swig of the ale instead. The more he drank, the better it tasted to him. Or perhaps he had drowned his taste buds by now.
David leaned forward and winked. “We’re in it for a bit of fun right now.”
Something else Catt did not need to know. However, muttering something non-committal under his breath didn’t get David to stop. If anything, it encouraged him. Catt felt himself flush from his neck to the tips of his ears as David described his ladylove in exquisite detail. Every inch of her but her face, that was. Catt did not need that mental picture.
Charming the Spy (Scandals and Spies Book 4) Page 3