Read Online 080072089X (R) by Ruth Axtell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ruth Axtell
Tags: FIC042040, FIC042030, FIC027050, Aristocracy (Social class)—Fiction, London (England)—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction, Great Britain—History—George III (1760–1820)—Fiction
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chatelaine key ring at her waist marking her position. Everyone respected Rees’s word . . . except the two French servants, Valentine and the cook, Gaspard, who insisted on being called a chef.
“Good morning,” Rees greeted the servants around the table, then with a nod to them all, he signaled his permission for them to be seated. In the few days he’d had to receive his training from Mr. Rumford, the old butler had informed Rees on the precise hierarchy that governed this large household.
Rees let his gaze wander over the faces gazing back at him, waiting for him to bless the food so they could begin to eat. The chef sat to his immediate right, Valentine to his left, Mrs. Finlay at the foot of the table. Ranged down the length of the table were the other servants in order of importance and seniority. A dozen besides himself, footmen, parlor maids, kitchen maids, coachman, groom.
When the scullery maids had brought in the last dishes, they, too, took their places at the very end of the table.
Rees bowed his head. “Bless, O Father, thy gifts to our use and us to thy service, for Christ’s sake. Amen.”
The servants joined him in the amen then immediately unfolded their napkins and began passing plates. He was in charge of dishing out the main servings, a mixture of French and English-style fare, so he took up the plates as they were handed to him and spooned out the fluffy eggs, slices of fried ham, sautéed mushrooms, and cold pâtés. Baskets of bread were passed amongst the servants.
Gaspard snapped open his own napkin and took the first plate Rees filled. With a look of disdain from under his heavy black eyebrows and nary a “ merci ,” he bent over his plate and began to eat.
One of the scullery maids soon got up and began pouring tea or coffee for everyone else.
Rees compared this household of servants to those at his mother’s house. These days his mother and sister relied on only a cook and a woman of all work. When his father had been alive and they’d lived in the prosperous port city of Bristol, there had been a couple of additional servants. But he’d never lived in a household with so many to do for so few.
Taking his first forkful, Rees glanced at the chef. Gaspard was a gifted cook, he had to concede. He was perhaps in his midforties with lank black hair and a pale, almost sickly complexion. Perhaps he spent too much time at his stove and very little out of doors.
Rees only half paid attention to the servants’ talk around him as he pondered his next move in this game of stealth he was embarked upon. He let his gaze roam slowly over the members of the staff. He’d only searched Lady Wexham’s rooms—and not even finished those. Perhaps he should go through the two footmen’s. Not that he suspected them of anything. Tom and William, strapping young men of equal height and build, were thoroughly British, and if by some stretch of the imagination he could conceive of their behaving traitorously, they weren’t smart enough. They were the ones he worked closest with and he’d had their measure in the short time he’d been in the household.
Tom was chatting in a lively manner with Virginia and Sally across from him, while William, the other footman, looked on, injecting a comment now and then. Tom was almost holding court, Rees observed with amusement, the young maids looking as spellbound as if he were recounting a fairy tale.
Tom poked a fork toward Sally. “I had it from the head footman at Melbourne House that Lady Caroline is once again making a cake of herself over Lord Byron now that she is back from her exile.”
William chortled over a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I heard when she asked for a lock of his hair, he sent her one of Lady Oxford’s.”
The young footmen guffawed. “He said it was lucky coincidence that its color and texture were the same!”
One of the scullery maids looked round-eyed. “Poor Lady Caroline. Isn’t Lady Oxford old?”
Tom gave her a
“Good morning,” Rees greeted the servants around the table, then with a nod to them all, he signaled his permission for them to be seated. In the few days he’d had to receive his training from Mr. Rumford, the old butler had informed Rees on the precise hierarchy that governed this large household.
Rees let his gaze wander over the faces gazing back at him, waiting for him to bless the food so they could begin to eat. The chef sat to his immediate right, Valentine to his left, Mrs. Finlay at the foot of the table. Ranged down the length of the table were the other servants in order of importance and seniority. A dozen besides himself, footmen, parlor maids, kitchen maids, coachman, groom.
When the scullery maids had brought in the last dishes, they, too, took their places at the very end of the table.
Rees bowed his head. “Bless, O Father, thy gifts to our use and us to thy service, for Christ’s sake. Amen.”
The servants joined him in the amen then immediately unfolded their napkins and began passing plates. He was in charge of dishing out the main servings, a mixture of French and English-style fare, so he took up the plates as they were handed to him and spooned out the fluffy eggs, slices of fried ham, sautéed mushrooms, and cold pâtés. Baskets of bread were passed amongst the servants.
Gaspard snapped open his own napkin and took the first plate Rees filled. With a look of disdain from under his heavy black eyebrows and nary a “ merci ,” he bent over his plate and began to eat.
One of the scullery maids soon got up and began pouring tea or coffee for everyone else.
Rees compared this household of servants to those at his mother’s house. These days his mother and sister relied on only a cook and a woman of all work. When his father had been alive and they’d lived in the prosperous port city of Bristol, there had been a couple of additional servants. But he’d never lived in a household with so many to do for so few.
Taking his first forkful, Rees glanced at the chef. Gaspard was a gifted cook, he had to concede. He was perhaps in his midforties with lank black hair and a pale, almost sickly complexion. Perhaps he spent too much time at his stove and very little out of doors.
Rees only half paid attention to the servants’ talk around him as he pondered his next move in this game of stealth he was embarked upon. He let his gaze roam slowly over the members of the staff. He’d only searched Lady Wexham’s rooms—and not even finished those. Perhaps he should go through the two footmen’s. Not that he suspected them of anything. Tom and William, strapping young men of equal height and build, were thoroughly British, and if by some stretch of the imagination he could conceive of their behaving traitorously, they weren’t smart enough. They were the ones he worked closest with and he’d had their measure in the short time he’d been in the household.
Tom was chatting in a lively manner with Virginia and Sally across from him, while William, the other footman, looked on, injecting a comment now and then. Tom was almost holding court, Rees observed with amusement, the young maids looking as spellbound as if he were recounting a fairy tale.
Tom poked a fork toward Sally. “I had it from the head footman at Melbourne House that Lady Caroline is once again making a cake of herself over Lord Byron now that she is back from her exile.”
William chortled over a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I heard when she asked for a lock of his hair, he sent her one of Lady Oxford’s.”
The young footmen guffawed. “He said it was lucky coincidence that its color and texture were the same!”
One of the scullery maids looked round-eyed. “Poor Lady Caroline. Isn’t Lady Oxford old?”
Tom gave her a
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