Page 7 of The Marchioness Who Tempted Fate
In short order, Smithers had done precisely that, and Percival went to the dining room to eat his breakfast. He was just finishing a setting of puffy little biscuits and tea when McClellan entered. “My Lord, there is a problem in the kitchen.”
Percival wiped his hands on his napkin, then rose. “A problem, McClellan?”
“That Female you hired is having it out with Jones. Neither one of them is listening to Mrs. Twitchel or to me.”
As they entered the kitchen, Percival had a hard time keeping a straight face. Tiffany, clad in a slightly oversized downstairs maid’s uniform, was facing down Jones, the burly day cook. “My place here is riding on making a decent loaf of bread for dinner. A good loaf of bread requires good ingredients, not that third-rate flour you’ve stashed in the cupboard. One barrel is full of weevils, the other is half chalk, and the rye is moldy. It is a miracle and a wonder that the entire household is not down sick.”
“There bain’t nothin’ wrong with that flour,” Jones growled back. “An’ tain’t no half-pint female gonna tell me how to bake bread. Why, I was bakin’ bread when I wasn’t as tall as the bottom hem o’ my granny’s apron.”
Jones had an odd sort of accent. It was not pronounced enough to be called Irish or Welsh, but neither was it properly English in any dialect Percival had ever heard. He had hired the man on his uncle’s recommendation. Now he was beginning to wonder why he had done so.
“Lord Northbury,” the girl cried out. “Did you mean to set me an impossible task?”
“No,” Percival said, “and if things are at such a pass as you describe, then they must be corrected. Mrs. Twitchel,” Percival addressed the housekeeper, “were you aware of this situation?”
“I was, and I remarked on it,” she replied. “But it has long been McClellan’s or the day cook’s duty to lay in supplies. I see to the linens and the laundry.”
“How passing strange. Has the steward not looked at the supplies?”
“Why should he?” Jones burst out. “The kitchen is my domain. If I says it’s good, then that should be enough for anyone.”
Percival sighed. Surely his father had not been called upon to deal with such a household fracas. He looked around the room for someone reasonably neutral, settling upon the footman who was particular to his personal services. “Lucas,” he directed, “Go to the pantry and bring back a cup of flour from each barrel that is there.”
Percival was not sure what he needed to look for. After all, he knew little about kitchen supplies. When Lucas returned, he set the cups of flour on the table and stepped back.
“Very well,” Percival said. “Mrs. Twitchel, would you look at these cups of flour and tell me what you see?”
“Well,” she said, “that one has weevils in it. I told Jones as much a week ago, and he said that he was using it to make dog’s bread. I asked him, at that time, to remove it to the stable or some similar place.”
“Is that correct, Mr. Jones?”
“It might be, but I still don’t see why some whey-faced female should have say over my kitchen.”
“Because she is the Housekeeper,” Percival said gently. “She is in charge of seeing to the comfort of all under my roof. Therefore, if she says that a flour is not fit for use, then it should not be used. McClellan, were you aware of this problem?”
“It was brought to my attention today, My Lord. I could see straight away that someone in Authority must give a ruling on the situation.”
“I see. McClellan, please feel free to correct me if I am wrong, but I was under the impression that as butler, you have authority over the lower staff.”
“To be sure, My Lord. But with Jones threatening to quit, and you with a dinner party later this day, I felt some consultation was in order.”
“How very thoughtful of you, McClellan. And it will go so much better for having had to settle a domestic spat. Very well, I am here now, and I will see to it. Do not think that I will forget this.”
“No, My Lord. I will certainly keep that in mind,” McClellan replied with only the slightest edge of sarcasm.
I am certain my father did not put up with this. But then, I believe that he always let mother handle the domestic affairs. Perhaps what I need is a wife.
“Miss Bentley,” Percival said, “Have you ever prepared a meal?”
“Many of them, My Lord,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“You have just been promoted to day cook. Jones, you are dismissed. I expect you to be gone before the clock strikes noon. You may pick up your reference in my office.”
Shocked silence surrounded him.
Percival glared around at the assembled servants. “I should not have to deal with this, nor should there be supplies of questionable quality in any of our cupboards. While we are about it, send for a seamstress and get Miss Bentley’s uniforms suitably altered. For that matter, get a couple made up that will reflect her new status. Lucas, you will run all errands for Miss Bentley. She is not to be distracted with small matters, such as going to the market.”
“Yes, My Lord!” Lucas snapped to attention, his blond hair and lanky form doing justice to the somber house uniform that the late Marquess had favored.
