‘How long do you think they’ll be?’
‘At least another hour, probably two.’
‘The cooler oven then, which ought to be right for this.’ I stuck it in and found the potatoes. I had no illusions about the appetite of three grown men, or about Luc’s competence as a potato peeler. With a sigh I picked up a paring knife and set to work.
‘What employment do the lower classes have if they can’t work as servants?’ Luc asked.
‘There is universal education,’ I said. ‘It makes many more opportunities. Mine’s a much more equal society than this.’ Not perfect, not by a very long way, but the more I qualified what I was telling him, the more I would give away. I just wanted him to understand where I had come from, why I was as I was.
I peeled and chopped and salted and got him to heave the pot of spuds onto the back of the stove. ‘Those should boil in the time it takes for them to wash and relax and have a drink,’ I said. ‘Can you fetch me some hot water?’
‘What for?’
‘Washing up. I’m not leaving Garrick the kitchen in a mess, he’ll never let me near it again.’
I expected Luc to say that was a very good thing, but when he’d brought in the water he helped me clear the table and scrub the pans and knives I’d used. ‘That was strangely pleasant,’ he remarked, eyeing the drying towel I’d put in his hand as if it was liable to bite him.
‘Wipe the water off that with it,’ I said, thrusting a dripping chopping board at him. ‘Of course it is pleasant. It would have been even better with a glass of wine, now I think of it.’ And some music. I bit my lip to stifle the grin – I could just imagine Luc organising a kitchen party complete with string quartet in the corner and Garrick bopping along as he stirred.
‘What is it?’ Luc looked so ridiculously domestic, standing there with a drying-up cloth in one hand and a ladle in the other.
I let the grin escape. ‘I’m happy.’
‘Let me see if I can make you happier.’ He tossed aside cloth and ladle and advanced with a gleam in his eye that I recognised all too well.
Chapter Eleven
Luc heard the front door close before I did and he was helping me heave the big pan of potatoes onto the hottest part of the range when Garrick appeared in the kitchen door.
I straightened my sweater. ‘Is James with you? I’ve got dinner cooking.’
I hadn’t ever seen Garrick sag before, but there was a definite droop to his shoulders when he realised he wasn’t expected to feed four people after the day he’d had. ‘How are you, Miss Lawrence?’
‘I’m absolutely fine, thank you. Did you manage to dispose of Bromley?’ As I said it I wondered if it was a poor choice of words. I had a sneaking suspicion that Garrick would have quite happily disposed of the manservant in the Thames for attacking me.
‘Yes, Miss Lawrence. I will be back directly I have taken off my hat and coat.’
When he moved James appeared and leaned against the doorframe. ‘Doctor Greene took him in, said he had a spare, secure room. He’ll write to you with his rates, Luc.’
‘Was it all right?’ I asked. ‘They’ll treat him well?’
‘Yes. We told the
doctor a bit about the background – no names, of course, although if he reads the papers he’ll work it out. He listened, asked sensible questions, spoke to Bromley kindly. I saw the room – comfortable, cheerful, nothing for him to hurt himself with. Doctor Greene said to call in at any time to visit and that he is optimistic that Bromley will recover given time.’
I sat down on the edge of the table with a huff of relief.
‘Something smells good,’ James wandered into the kitchen, closely followed by Garrick who retrieved the ladle and dishcloth from the floor where Luc had tossed them and was looking around, narrow-eyed.
‘Everything is fine, Garrick. Sit down,’ Luc said. ‘James, fetch four dining chairs. We are having a kitchen supper.’
They soon got the hang of it, elbows on the table, the wine bottle circulating, Garrick or me jumping up occasionally to check on the potatoes. I mashed them in the end, with copious quantities of artery-clogging cream and butter, stuck the food in the middle of the table, handed round plates and told everyone to dig in.
By the time we had finished the stew and the fruit tart and cheese that Garrick had in the larder I don’t think I could have moved faster than a waddle if ten razor-wielding manservants had appeared.
‘That was excellent, Miss Lawrence.’ Garrick pushed his plate to one side. ‘Were you thinking of cooking anything else at any time?’
‘That oven would probably defeat me for anything more than stews,’ I said. ‘Although, take me to a food market and I’ll see if there is anything I could adapt.’ Pizza came to mind…