Page 9 of A Cinderella to Redeem the Earl
A woman further down the table shot her a glare. ‘Anything is better than what you got at the workhouse, Meg,’ she called out.
A tall handsome young man in a red coat seated on the other side of Pamela chuckled. ‘Don’t take any notice of Betsy, down there. She’s cross because you are a better cook. I’m Johnny, by the way. How do you do?’ He raised his voice. ‘Isn’t that right?’
There were mutters of agreement around the table.
A sudden silence descended and people rose to their feet. Surprised, Pamela glanced up to see His Lordship in the doorway.
Clearly dressed for the evening in a black form-fitting coat that showed off his broad shoulders and lithe body, a dazzling white cravat with an emerald glinting in its folds and an emerald-green silk waistcoat, he looked gorgeous.
Her stomach gave an appreciative little flip. She was horrified to notice similar reactions on the faces of the other women.
‘Please,’ he said with a charming smile, ‘sit down. Do not let me interrupt your meal.’
Everyone resumed their seats.
Pamela schooled her expression into one of cool enquiry. ‘May I be of assistance, Your Lordship?’
Albert frowned, as if he thought she should not have spoken.
‘I came to assure myself all is satisfactory,’ Dart said. His gaze took in the table and the food before falling on Albert.
‘Mrs Lamb has done us proud, My Lord,’ Albert said.
Others at the table nodded their agreement.
Pamela could not quite believe her eyes and ears. What nobleman ever came to the servants’ hall to ensure his staff was well fed?
His Lordship sent a glance of approval in her direction. ‘It certainly smells wonderful.’
It seemed she had passed muster. Was that what this was all about, him checking up on her performance of her duties?
‘Would you care to try it?’
He hesitated. ‘Perhaps another time.’
The clock on the wall struck six. ‘Come on, you lot,’ Albert, said. ‘Finish up. There’s a lot to do before the chickens arrive.’
‘Chickens?’ Pamela said. Her voice was lost in the scraping of chairs on flagstones and the general hubbub.
Or perhaps not. ‘Birds ripe for the plucking,’ Johnny said in a low mutter, leaning close as he got up.
His words had a distinctly ominous undertone. She glanced over at His Lordship who stood back to allow everyone out of the door.
A strange sensation curled in the pit of her stomach. There was something not quite right here. Something she did not understand. Something she had the feeling she should have been told before she accepted the position.
There was no chance to ask any questions. In moments, the dining hall was empty, His Lordship having followed them out.
Pamela huffed out a breath, stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen sink.
She might be inclined to find out just what was going on here. And if it was something unpleasant, as she was starting to suspect? She would have to decide if she would go or stay.
Leaving would require she pay a heavy penalty for breaking her contract. And the employment agency might refuse to send her any more offers of work.
That would not be a good outcome.
If she could not find other work, she would have to return home—to her mother and the prospect of accepting her elderly suitor.
She finished clearing the table and headed back to her sink.
