investments. There’s not been a word from Harry for weeks, and I still have no idea where Ross is, and—in short, Kate, I’m in need of some uncomplicated male company and your Virgil seems like a most interesting chap.’
Though she was delighted with the solution, for over a week Kate met Virgil only at dinner, when they were separated by the expanse of the dining table and Aunt Wilhelmina’s determined efforts to keep her nieces from any personal conversation with ‘the American,’ as she called him.
Wishing to consult the housekeeper on the details of some of her arrangements for the Dower House one afternoon, and having no desire at all to take the chance on her aunt sticking her oar in, Kate decided it would be safer to seek Mrs Stratton out in the servants’ hall. As she opened the heavy green baize door at the end of the kitchen corridor and stepped through onto the gallery from which Lumsden and Mrs Stratton were accustomed to keep a beady eye on the staff working below, she was surprised by a loud burst of laughter.
The huge Castonbury kitchen ran the full length of the house, with windows facing to the north and south. Heat emanated from the massive black range. On the long, well-scrubbed table was an orderly line of basins and bowls and kitchen utensils whose use was a complete mystery to Kate, but the main kitchen itself was empty. She made her way down the stairs and headed for the servants’ hall, which was on the opposite side of the room from the warren of pantries and stillrooms over which Lumsden presided. Another burst of laughter greeted her, and made her pause. Surely the servants would not be so noisy in the presence of Lumsden or Mrs Stratton? Perhaps those two were taking tea elsewhere.
She was on the verge of heading for the butler’s pantry when a slow drawl stopped her in her tracks. Kate crept towards the open door and peered into the servants’ hall. The table was set for tea, with bread and butter, a large fruitcake and several pots of jam, but the tea in the cups was half drunk, the bread on the plates half eaten, the majority of the wooden chairs pushed back and abandoned. Virgil sat in the middle of the table, shuffling a pack of cards. Lumsden was on one side of him, Mrs Stratton on the other, a smile crinkling her normally austere face. Clustered behind Virgil were Daisy the chambermaid, Polly, and Agnes the scullery maid, of all people. In all the years she had been working in the Castonbury kitchens, Kate had never once managed to elicit a smile from the dour maid and here she was, not just smiling but giggling.
Across the table, young Charlie was squirming in his seat, straining to get a better view. Beside him, Joe Coyle was looking decidedly out of sorts, while Watson, Virgil’s valet, was by contrast looking decidedly smug. Of the senior servants, only Smithins, her father’s valet, and Monsieur André, the chef, were absent.
‘Do another one,’ Charlie implored, his eyes fixed adoringly on Virgil.
‘Haven’t you seen enough yet?’
She hadn’t heard that teasing note in Virgil’s voice before. He looked completely at ease as he shuffled the deck expertly, his neck cloth loosened, his coat unbuttoned, sprawling back in his chair and seemingly quite at home. When Kate took tea in the servants’ hall, which she tried to make a point of doing once a month, she was always horribly conscious that they were all on their best behaviour. Teaspoons tinkled against the cups. Conversation was muted. Only Polly ever laughed freely at her jokes, and even then, it was a kind of defiant laughter.
‘Go on, Mr Jackson, just one more,’ Mrs Stratton said, and to Kate’s astonishment the housekeeper actually tapped Virgil on the hand.
The plea was taken up by all around the table save Joe Coyle, and Virgil laughed, a much more carefree laugh than Kate had ever heard; it was almost boyish. He spread the cards into a fan. ‘Take a card, Mr Lumsden. And you, Agnes. I’ll
Though she was delighted with the solution, for over a week Kate met Virgil only at dinner, when they were separated by the expanse of the dining table and Aunt Wilhelmina’s determined efforts to keep her nieces from any personal conversation with ‘the American,’ as she called him.
Wishing to consult the housekeeper on the details of some of her arrangements for the Dower House one afternoon, and having no desire at all to take the chance on her aunt sticking her oar in, Kate decided it would be safer to seek Mrs Stratton out in the servants’ hall. As she opened the heavy green baize door at the end of the kitchen corridor and stepped through onto the gallery from which Lumsden and Mrs Stratton were accustomed to keep a beady eye on the staff working below, she was surprised by a loud burst of laughter.
The huge Castonbury kitchen ran the full length of the house, with windows facing to the north and south. Heat emanated from the massive black range. On the long, well-scrubbed table was an orderly line of basins and bowls and kitchen utensils whose use was a complete mystery to Kate, but the main kitchen itself was empty. She made her way down the stairs and headed for the servants’ hall, which was on the opposite side of the room from the warren of pantries and stillrooms over which Lumsden presided. Another burst of laughter greeted her, and made her pause. Surely the servants would not be so noisy in the presence of Lumsden or Mrs Stratton? Perhaps those two were taking tea elsewhere.
She was on the verge of heading for the butler’s pantry when a slow drawl stopped her in her tracks. Kate crept towards the open door and peered into the servants’ hall. The table was set for tea, with bread and butter, a large fruitcake and several pots of jam, but the tea in the cups was half drunk, the bread on the plates half eaten, the majority of the wooden chairs pushed back and abandoned. Virgil sat in the middle of the table, shuffling a pack of cards. Lumsden was on one side of him, Mrs Stratton on the other, a smile crinkling her normally austere face. Clustered behind Virgil were Daisy the chambermaid, Polly, and Agnes the scullery maid, of all people. In all the years she had been working in the Castonbury kitchens, Kate had never once managed to elicit a smile from the dour maid and here she was, not just smiling but giggling.
Across the table, young Charlie was squirming in his seat, straining to get a better view. Beside him, Joe Coyle was looking decidedly out of sorts, while Watson, Virgil’s valet, was by contrast looking decidedly smug. Of the senior servants, only Smithins, her father’s valet, and Monsieur André, the chef, were absent.
‘Do another one,’ Charlie implored, his eyes fixed adoringly on Virgil.
‘Haven’t you seen enough yet?’
She hadn’t heard that teasing note in Virgil’s voice before. He looked completely at ease as he shuffled the deck expertly, his neck cloth loosened, his coat unbuttoned, sprawling back in his chair and seemingly quite at home. When Kate took tea in the servants’ hall, which she tried to make a point of doing once a month, she was always horribly conscious that they were all on their best behaviour. Teaspoons tinkled against the cups. Conversation was muted. Only Polly ever laughed freely at her jokes, and even then, it was a kind of defiant laughter.
‘Go on, Mr Jackson, just one more,’ Mrs Stratton said, and to Kate’s astonishment the housekeeper actually tapped Virgil on the hand.
The plea was taken up by all around the table save Joe Coyle, and Virgil laughed, a much more carefree laugh than Kate had ever heard; it was almost boyish. He spread the cards into a fan. ‘Take a card, Mr Lumsden. And you, Agnes. I’ll
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