Page 33 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“Goodness, where is Bessie?” Rosamund pulled the bell again.
She hadn’t come to Rosamund’s room with a morning tray, nor looked in on her mother.
“I’ll go to the kitchen myself for the milk.”
Going through to her room, Rosamund flung off her dressing down and slipped on a loose dress over her night chemise. She’d worn it sometimes for the beach, with just a belt rather than a corset.
Wrapping a shawl about her, she was sufficiently decent. It was early enough, she hoped, that she wouldn’t bump into Lord Studborne, or his infuriating nephew.
The kitchen lookedas if it hadn’t changed much in all the centuries. From great oak beams hung joints of ham, and an open fireplace consumed most of one wall, large enough to spit roast a pig. There were ovens built into the walls either side of the hearth, and a more modern addition—a cast iron range—occupied the other end, with copper pans dangling overhead.
Through the open door of the scullery came the sound of someone washing up. Meanwhile, at a huge table, the cook was cutting oranges, her cotton sleeves rolled to the elbow.
One of the maids was kneading dough, and the smell of baking bread made Rosamund’s mouth water. Though the room was large it was invitingly warm.
“Morning, Madam. What can I do you for?” The cook set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron, looking surprised to see Rosamund but not displeased.
“Good morning to you, Mrs. Penhorgan.” Rosamund smiled. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but is Bessie on her way up with the trays?”
“‘Fraid not, Madam, but young Morwenna were supposed to do that for ee.” The cook rolled her eyes. “’Scusing your pardon but no doubt she be off with Thomas again. I do keep warning she that I’ll let her go, but ’tisn’t easy—we being short o’ help as we be.”
Mrs. Penhorgan shouted through to the scullery. “Mary, put those pots aside an’ come help with the trays.”
The cook shook her head with a resigned air. “I dunnat know where Bessie be this morning, and Morwenna—as does share a room with she—says her bed weren’t slept in. I be thinking she done a flit, like the others. These young 'uns think they want to serve in the big house but they can’t abide the work of it. Not that Bessie were idle. I hoped she’d be one to stay, but you never can tell. She did have a few spats with Mrs. Cornwort. That could be the way of it.”
Might Bessie have left without saying goodbye? She’d been so friendly, and hadn’t she told Rosamund how much she preferred being here to taking a job in Weymouth? “Are you sure she’s gone? Her clothes and such—has she packed them?”
“That I don’t know, Madam. I’d have to ask Morwenna. I’ve not the time to be goin’ up them stairs an’ checking for myself. P’raps Bessie do return later, if she have second thoughts—though I wouldn’t hold my breath over it. I don’t know how many girls have been and gone these past months. Has been nothing but trouble.”
“But, don’t you think—” Rosamund hesitated, looking first at Mrs. Penhorgan, then at the two young women. They were doing a good job of looking engrossed in their tasks but Rosamund could tell they were listening to every word.
It would do her no good for the staff to think her a busybody.
“I mean to say”—she smiled airily—“could it be that Bessie has gotten lost somewhere, or fallen? There are cellars and other underground places, are there not? Might she have gone to fetch something and be lying injured?”
“I should say not!” Mrs. Penhorgan looked most affronted. “If I do send a girl on an errand, I do expect her to return, an’ I’d notice for sure if she went astray!”
“Of course.” Rosamund added quickly. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Except you’ve no idea where Morwenna is!thought Rosamund.
“Still, perhaps I might search for her,” Rosamund ventured.
Mrs. Penhorgan looked at Rosamund as if she’d suggested she strip naked and dance on the table.
“What an idea!” Picking up her knife again, the cook set about the oranges. “I’m sure you’ve better things to do with your time, Madam. Besides which, ’tis true some o’ the old parts of the abbey do be unsafe. I dunnat go down them cellars, and I tell my girls not to neither. Only Mr. Cornwort fetches the wine, with Thomas on occasion.”
Rosamund did wonder how the butler, being aged as he was, managed worn and narrow stairs without coming to an unfortunate end. Even climbing the main staircase seemed perilous to him.
“You go upstairs, Madam, and Mary’ll be with you in no time with the trays. She may help ee with your dressing too, seeing as Bessie isn’t about.”
Only when Rosamund was at her door did she remember that she’d entirely forgotten to mention the milk.
Chapter 13
Rosamund was in despair.
The duke was still making himself scarce and she could only conclude he was roaming beneath the abbey—as Mr. Studborne had warned her.
