Page 60 of Winterset
At first glance, the room appeared exactly as I remembered leaving it: my bed was neatly made, and my book sat on my pillow. Although I did not remember closing it, it seemed I had. Other than that, though, all was as I remembered leaving it this morning.
Sitting on my bed, I took a deep breath.
And then another.
Was that ... salmon?
I’d been in such a rush to run upstairs that I hadn’t even noticed it.
Why was Mrs. Owensby making Mr. Jennings’s favorite dish? Was she making it poorly? Pulling another prank on the poor fellow. The taste of putrid fish could turn him off the dish forever.
I sniffed the air again.
It did not smell putrid. It smelled good—verygood, like lemon and garlic and butter.
My mouth watered.
I hadn’t eaten fine food like that in years. Not since Papa passed.
Maybe Mrs. Owensby was trying to torture me. She had been quite angry when she’d learned that Mr. Jennings had seen me in the library. I’d explained it was good because he now thought me a ghost, but she’d still been vexed. What would she say when she learned about him chasing me through the hedgerow in broad daylight? I would have to hope my disappearing act today would strengthen his belief that I was a ghost.
My stomach growled.
Hmph.
Whether she meant it as such or not, this was a punishment.
Why hadn’t I thought to eat something in the kitchen while Mr. Jennings was away? I sighed and reached under my bed for the small stack of crackers I’d stashed. I’d placed it there for situations like these, when I was stuck upstairs for an extended period. I took a bite, but the stale cracker did not satisfy me.
It was going to be a very long afternoon, waiting until it was safe to sneak downstairs for food. I could only hope that Mrs. Owensby would save me some of that salmon.
I passed the rest of the day lying in bed, replaying the day’s events in my mind; reliving the luxury of the warm bath, the peace in the garden, and even the thrill of running away from Mr. Jennings.
At some point, I must have drifted off to sleep, though, because some time later, I awoke to the sound of Mr. Jennings’s bedchamber door closing below me—a sure sign that he was dressing for dinner. I hurried into the servants’ passageway.
I’d grown rather good at sneaking through the darkened passageway and quickly descended the stairs to the dining hall. I hadn’t watched Mr. Jennings dine since the first night Bexley had cooked him overboiled beef and burned bread, but I had to know what Mrs. Owensby was up to tonight, and I needed food. I was famished.
At the dining hall, I pushed on the door to exit the passageway, but it didn’t budge. So I pushed my shoulder into it, but it still didn’t open.
No matter. I would exit the passageway in the drawing room.
But that one wouldn’t open either, nor would the doors in the study or library.
Either Mr. Jennings had decided to redecorate, which seemed unlikely, or Mrs. Owensby was trying to send me a message; she had made it no secret that she didn’t like me sneaking around the house, and presumably, she’d set out to prevent it.
Blast and bother!
I rushed back up the stairs and exited the passageway where I’d entered it near the attic door. I glanced down the corridor and was unsurprised to find Mr. Jennings’s door still closed. The man took an age to dress for dinner.
Clinging to the shadows, I inched across the landing and descended the grand staircase. I had just reached the base when I heard Mr. Jennings’s bedchamber door open.
I hurried through the entrance hall and slipped into the dining hall. I’d wanted to grab something to eat from the kitchen, then hurry back to my attic bedchamber before Mr. Jennings’s valet came down, but I’d wasted too much time in the passageways, so I tucked myself inside the tapestry-covered alcove. It was as small as I remembered, but hiding here would be worth it even if I got only one bite of Mrs. Owensby’s delicious dinner.
I leaned forward and looked through the hole in the tapestry.
Bexley strode through the entrance hall toward the dining hall to announce dinner, then returned with Mr. Jennings a moment later. I notedMr. Jennings’s fine dress, styled hair, and easy manner. Bexley pulled out Mr. Jennings’s chair and then took his usual place by the wall.
Mr. Jennings leaned back in his seat, appearing at his leisure. He looked much more at home since I’d first watched him dine.
