suffice."
"Leah, a tray. Becky, get the pitcher of milk."
Soon a tray was loaded with fresh bread, butter, and a pot of jam, along with six pottery cups and a pitcher of milk.
"I'd better help you with it, ma'am," said Becky. "You carry the pitcher, and I'll take the tray."
"Thank you."
Lily would dearly love some chocolate to drink, or even -- blissful thought -- some tea, but she had more important requests.
At the kitchen door, she hesitated and turned. "Would it be possible to have a little more wood, Mistress Kingsley? And do you think Sir Benjamin would mind if my children went outside? They will need some exercise."
"You are to be treated as guests, Mistress Gifford."
"As guests? Oh, no, that's not necessary."
"All the same," the cook said, "it's what the master instructed."
So that was why the cook-housekeeper's back was up.
"Then you must let me help as much as possible whilst obeying Sir Benjamin's instructions."
At some point she'd have to broach the subject of slops and laundry, but enough was enough for now.
She followed the maid upstairs, and they laid out the breakfast in the girls' room. She thanked the maid again.
"That's all right, ma'am," Becky said with a cheerful smile. "You mustn't mind cook's manner. She's worried about changes. Don't like them any more than Sir Benjamin does. To my mind a few changes wouldn't come amiss here. I'll take the chamber pots as I go, ma'am."
Lily sincerely thanked her for that, wondering if the maid's reassurances were mere chatter, or had contained a message of support.
Perhaps Becky wouldn't mind if Lily became housekeeper here. All the same, Mistress Kingsley could become an enemy, and if it came to a choice, Sir Benjamin would choose the cook.
As the old saying goes, the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.
***
When they were all fed, Lily sent Michael and Charlotte down with the tray, instructing them to be as pleasant to the cook as possible. She'd keep both fires alive, but they'd all use the girls' room as much as possible. That would reduce their use of wood and give the servants, especially the footman, less to complain about.
She'd brought a few books and some blocks, so the younger ones were content for the moment. When the older ones returned, she saw an excellent excuse to intrude on their host again.
"If we're to be here a while, you'll need to continue your lessons. I'll ask Sir Benjamin if he has any suitable books."
She wore only her shawl for extra warmth, but that would do for the journey to the library. She went downstairs, thinking how handsome this house could be with care. The paneling would gleam, and a fire in the large hall hearth would give a warm welcome. Pot-pourri would sweeten the air.
Paintings hung on the walls, but they were all rather gloomy portraits. Perhaps the Brook family had a gloomy nature. She would not believe that beyond correction. In fact she wouldn't say Sir Benjamin was gloomy. Sad, yes, and with that unfortunate expression, but not weighed down by dark thoughts.
She knocked on the library door, and then again.
There was no response.
He was hiding from her?
Again she hesitated, but this time for longer. Last night she'd been prepared to overcome resistance, but she'd hoped for none after last night.
"Sir Benjamin is out."
She turned to face the footman, who looked very satisfied with the situation.
"I see. I wished to ask if there were any books suitable for my older children. They've missed too many lessons."
"I doubt it, ma'am. Sir Benjamin is a scholar."
Perhaps it hadn't been wise to claim her husband had been the same. Sir Benjamin might ask for details.
"Are there perhaps any books in the schoolroom here?"
"I wouldn't know, ma'am, but I doubt it. It's many years unused."
Lily returned upstairs wishing the footman had let slip how old Sir Benjamin was. Lily feared that his deformity might have aged him. Could he be as much as ten years her junior? How would the world view
"Leah, a tray. Becky, get the pitcher of milk."
Soon a tray was loaded with fresh bread, butter, and a pot of jam, along with six pottery cups and a pitcher of milk.
"I'd better help you with it, ma'am," said Becky. "You carry the pitcher, and I'll take the tray."
"Thank you."
Lily would dearly love some chocolate to drink, or even -- blissful thought -- some tea, but she had more important requests.
At the kitchen door, she hesitated and turned. "Would it be possible to have a little more wood, Mistress Kingsley? And do you think Sir Benjamin would mind if my children went outside? They will need some exercise."
"You are to be treated as guests, Mistress Gifford."
"As guests? Oh, no, that's not necessary."
"All the same," the cook said, "it's what the master instructed."
So that was why the cook-housekeeper's back was up.
"Then you must let me help as much as possible whilst obeying Sir Benjamin's instructions."
At some point she'd have to broach the subject of slops and laundry, but enough was enough for now.
She followed the maid upstairs, and they laid out the breakfast in the girls' room. She thanked the maid again.
"That's all right, ma'am," Becky said with a cheerful smile. "You mustn't mind cook's manner. She's worried about changes. Don't like them any more than Sir Benjamin does. To my mind a few changes wouldn't come amiss here. I'll take the chamber pots as I go, ma'am."
Lily sincerely thanked her for that, wondering if the maid's reassurances were mere chatter, or had contained a message of support.
Perhaps Becky wouldn't mind if Lily became housekeeper here. All the same, Mistress Kingsley could become an enemy, and if it came to a choice, Sir Benjamin would choose the cook.
As the old saying goes, the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.
***
When they were all fed, Lily sent Michael and Charlotte down with the tray, instructing them to be as pleasant to the cook as possible. She'd keep both fires alive, but they'd all use the girls' room as much as possible. That would reduce their use of wood and give the servants, especially the footman, less to complain about.
She'd brought a few books and some blocks, so the younger ones were content for the moment. When the older ones returned, she saw an excellent excuse to intrude on their host again.
"If we're to be here a while, you'll need to continue your lessons. I'll ask Sir Benjamin if he has any suitable books."
She wore only her shawl for extra warmth, but that would do for the journey to the library. She went downstairs, thinking how handsome this house could be with care. The paneling would gleam, and a fire in the large hall hearth would give a warm welcome. Pot-pourri would sweeten the air.
Paintings hung on the walls, but they were all rather gloomy portraits. Perhaps the Brook family had a gloomy nature. She would not believe that beyond correction. In fact she wouldn't say Sir Benjamin was gloomy. Sad, yes, and with that unfortunate expression, but not weighed down by dark thoughts.
She knocked on the library door, and then again.
There was no response.
He was hiding from her?
Again she hesitated, but this time for longer. Last night she'd been prepared to overcome resistance, but she'd hoped for none after last night.
"Sir Benjamin is out."
She turned to face the footman, who looked very satisfied with the situation.
"I see. I wished to ask if there were any books suitable for my older children. They've missed too many lessons."
"I doubt it, ma'am. Sir Benjamin is a scholar."
Perhaps it hadn't been wise to claim her husband had been the same. Sir Benjamin might ask for details.
"Are there perhaps any books in the schoolroom here?"
"I wouldn't know, ma'am, but I doubt it. It's many years unused."
Lily returned upstairs wishing the footman had let slip how old Sir Benjamin was. Lily feared that his deformity might have aged him. Could he be as much as ten years her junior? How would the world view