Page 17 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“Completely,” Eudora assured him and was surprised to note that his ears turned pink at her solemn words. She didn’t understand how it was possible, but her good opinion appeared to be terribly important to the towering baron.
A silence fell between them, not unpleasant, but it did make Eudora acutely aware that she was completely alone with a gentleman. She could have sworn that, last night, Lord Delaney had not appeared quite so tall and broad. Nor did she recall him smelling quite so divine, a heady mix of leather and wood, finishing with a beguiling hint of spice.
She flushed, as she realised that she had been standing - slightly open-mouthed - for a good minute.
“So,” she clarified, as she cleared her throat, “We’re agreed? I shall ask in the kitchen about the tray that was served to Lord Albermay, and you will see what you can learn amongst the men folk?”
The baron blinked slowly before replying, as though he, too, was somewhat dazed.
“Yes, very good,” he agreed, his voice three octaves higher than usual, “I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”
Their meeting was now at an end, yet Eudora felt a strange urge to linger. Only the sound of footsteps tramping in the hallway outside managed to rouse her.
“I’ll slip out the far door,” she said, gesturing to the door at the other end of the room, “Lest anyone finds us alone together. We wouldn’t want to add a scandal to a murder.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” the baron agreed, though his tone did not sound very convincing.
Eudora offered him a brief smile, then took off as fast as her slippered feet could carry her. Her heart thudded within her chest in a way that she could not attribute to the excitement of the murder. It was Lord Delaney - Robert - who had it beating such a fierce tattoo - and Eudora was not entirely certain how pleased she was to realise it.
Eudora did not venture into the kitchens until well after luncheon - a tense but delicious affair consisting of strained silences and jellied eels. Once the guests had finished eating and retreated from the dining room to their private spheres, Eudora set off to find Flora.
She made her way through the empty kitchen to the scullery, where she found the scullery maids hard at work, washing the porcelain that had just been used for lunch.
Eudora cast an eye around the dim room - the kitchens dated from the Tudor Period and had only narrow casement windows - in search of Flora Bridges.
“May I help you, Miss?”
The buxom maid with whom Lord Albermay had been flirting at dinner was the first of the servants to spot Eudora, an interloper in their midst.
Though her words were polite, her tone and the narrowing of her blue eyes suggested she was not impressed at finding a guest in her domain. She was terribly pretty; her complexion was all peaches and cream, and her big blue eyes were complimented by a rosebud mouth and button nose. Her staid, black uniform did little to conceal a figure so generous that Eudora felt almost boyish standing before her.
“I wish to speak with Flora,” Eudora answered, annoyed with herself for sounding almost apologetic, “I have something I wish to discuss with her.”
A definite scowl crossed the young woman’s face, and she nodded toward a closed door.
“You’ll find Flora in the pantry, Miss,” the maid said, then muttered in a dark aside, “Nice and private, if she wishes to tattle tales.”
Eudora blinked nervously. She did not wish to get involved in any drama between the servants, not while she had a murder to solve.
“Thank you..?”
“Mable,” the maid answered before turning her back on Eudora and flouncing away to the far side of the kitchen.
Although this was far from the auspicious start she had hoped for, Eudora did not let it deter her, and she made for the pantry in search of Flora.
“Knock knock,” Eudora called in lieu of knocking as she opened the pantry door.
“Miss Mifford,” Flora greeted her with a warm smile. “Can I fetch you anything? Cook has some French fancies hidden away. I can plate them up if you’d like to nibble on something sweet after luncheon.”
The idea of having something sweet had not occurred to Eudora, but now that it had been suggested, she couldn’t imagine anything nicer.
“Oh, please, Flora,” Eudora agreed, “That sounds a treat.”
The scullery maid beamed and went off to fetch them, returning minutes later with a plate laden with delicate pastries, iced in various shades of pastel.
“I couldn’t eat all those,” Eudora demurred, even though she knew it was well within her capabilities to scoff the lot, “Why don’t you sit for a moment with me, and we’ll share them?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t like the cook to see me sitting down nor sampling his pastries,” Flora replied, glancing nervously over her shoulder.
