The Christmas Strike. Nikki Rivers

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СКАЧАТЬ House is nothing like Thornestone Park, of course,” went on Clarissa as they moved on, “or as grand as what you were used to as a child, I collect.”

      “No.” Leonora opened the last door and looked around approvingly at the smaller bedroom at the back of the house, which must have been used by Mr Vincent’s valet. “This should suit you, Clarissa, if we brighten it up a bit. The bed and rest of the furniture look adequate. It seems my uncle did not scruple to make his man comfortable.”

      “Indeed, yes! It is larger than my room at home in the Rectory and look, there is a splendid washstand, and a writing table—even a mirror!” Clarissa’s normally rather sallow complexion had taken on a faint glow of excitement. “But what of Dolly?”

      “She will sleep upstairs in one of the rooms in the attic. I’d better go down and arrange it with this Monsieur André. Meanwhile, you could begin to unpack your things.”

      “Would you like me to see to yours first?”

      “No. Dolly can do it after she has been downstairs with me. You make yourself comfortable.”

      The back stairs were discovered behind the main staircase, at the end of a short passage accessed through a narrow door opening from the lobby. Dolly, her boots clattering on the bare boards, followed her mistress down to the basement. A comfortingly warm, aromatic and steamy atmosphere drew them to the kitchen.

      Dinner was over, though sounds of washing up came from the adjoining scullery, through which Leonora dimly glimpsed the back area and steps.

      In the kitchen itself, pots and pans, mostly iron but some copper, hung from hooks and sat on shelves, shadowy in the light cast by oil lamps and candles. A huge dresser held an assortment of crockery and jars. Beyond the long scrubbed table that occupied the centre of the room, a large range stretched along the opposite wall. A clockwork spit turned a couple of chickens over the glowing fire, which largely accounted for the mouth-watering aromas filling the kitchen, and a couple of pots simmered gently on the hob.

      Mixed in with the smell of roasting meat were echoes of coffee, of baking bread, of spices and herbs. Leonora’s stomach rumbled. They had not stopped to take more than a light nuncheon on the way.

      A small man in a tall, crumpled white hat aimed an excited stream of fractured English at those working about the table chopping, beating and blending. As the door opened he paused in mid-flow to exclaim in scandalised tones, “What ees eet? What you do ’ere, madame? What you want?”

      Everyone in the room stopped work.

      Leonora swept forward with a gracious smile. “Monsieur André?”

      “Zat ees me, oui.”

      “And you are the cook.” It was a statement. He could be no one else.

      “Le chef de cuisine, madame,” he corrected her stiffly, with a small bow.

      “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur,” said Leonora. “Allow me to introduce myself, since there is no one here to do it for me. I am Miss Vincent, now the owner of these premises. I have spoken with my tenant, Lord Kelsey, who informs me that, through him, you are contracted to supply any meals I might order.”

      The cook’s stiff manner changed into one of open curiosity as he made a deep, deferential bow. “Madame! Enchanté, madame! Hees lordship, ’ee ’as tolded me you come. And you ’ave chose to stay?”

      “I have, monsieur. I find the house quite charming. This,” she said, pulling her reluctant servant forward, “is my maid, Dolly. She will bring down my orders and collect the dishes when they are ready.” Dolly dipped a clumsy curtsy and Monsieur André acknowledged her presence with a nod. “And perhaps she may be allowed to use your kitchen to make me a pot of tea or some other drink or snack occasionally?”

      He eyed the girl, who stood awkwardly beside Leonora, her face as red as her work-worn hands. “Zere will be nossing of any difficulty, madame.”

      “Thank you. Dolly will need to occupy a servant’s room in the attic. Perhaps someone could show her up?”

      “Zee ’ousekeeper will arrange zat, madame. She is in ’er chamber.”

      “Housekeeper?” murmured Leonora, momentarily brought up short. Lord Kelsey had not mentioned a housekeeper, though of course he would need one.

      “Mrs Parkes, madame, une veuve—’ ow you say? A vidow? She ’as zee room in front next zee servants’ room. I ’ave zee one next ma cuisine.”

      “Then perhaps you will introduce us?”

      The housekeeper’s room had a large chunk cut out of it for a store-room, but otherwise it was the same size as her own drawing room upstairs, plenty big enough to accommodate table, chairs and bed. The fast-fading daylight barely allowed her to see the basement wall, some three yards from the window. As she looked up she glimpsed the railings etched against the flickering light cast on the feet of a man by the torch he carried. The grass and trees beyond were quite out of sight.

      The housekeeper herself was of ample proportions and looked middle-aged. Her gown was of dark stuff and a frilly black cap touched by white hid her hair. She rose from a chair drawn up before a bright fire, while candles flickered above on its mantel. Her curtsy was made without fuss and a neutral smile appeared on her smooth-cheeked face.

      “Of course there’s room for the lass,” she said comfortably and the smile she turned on Dolly was motherly. “You’ll find company up there, my girl.” To Leonora she said, “I’ll be up in a minute to show her where to go. Have you ordered your supper, madam?”

      Leonora, surprised by the way the woman spoke, shook her head. “Not yet. I have a companion to live with me. There are therefore three of us, with Dolly.”

      “Dolly can eat in the Servants’ Hall, with the others, if that suits. I shall order a meal for you and your companion, madam. Leave it to me. Monsieur André is an exceptional cook, which makes the Club’s dining room popular, and I shall see that you are provided with the best.”

      “Thank you, Mrs Parkes. When will supper be served?”

      “Dinner is between two and five o’clock and supper between eight and midnight.” The excellent Mrs Parkes, plainly a superior woman of some education, glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It is only a half after five. Would you like a snack while you wait?”

      “Thank you, I would appreciate that. And supper early, at eight, tonight. We have had a tiring day. I am obliged to you, Mrs Parkes.”

      The spiral stairs seemed to rise up forever. Following Dolly now, Leonora wondered if she would ever be able to mount them from bottom to top without losing her breath. But of course she would! She was comparatively young, and fit, and she would not allow the inconvenience of having to climb innumerable narrow, winding stairs to reach her rooms daunt her. It would please his lordship too much if she did.

      She was out of breath by the time she reached her floor, but managed to recover it quickly by inhaling deeply a couple of times.

      “Come, Dolly,” she ordered the youngster. “While you are waiting for Mrs Parkes, you may as well begin to unpack my things.”

      Her bedroom was large enough to double as her boudoir, she thought, looking around СКАЧАТЬ