Cassie nodded quickly. “Like a pirate captain counting his treasure,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Exactly.” Mrs. Beale’s mouth twitched at the corner, the closest thing to a smile Augusta had seen from her in their six weeks of acquaintance. “Though I should hope the accounts of Oakhart House require rather less in the way of pistols and eye patches.”
She opened the largest ledger with practiced ease. “These are the annual expenditures by category. Foodstuffs, household staff, stables, maintenance of the grounds, and so forth.” Her finger traced down the column. “You’ll note that His Grace prefers quality over quantity in all things. The household budget reflects that preference.”
Cassie leaned forward, her nose nearly touching the page. “Why are the numbers in different columns?”
“A very good question.” Mrs. Beale produced a slim volume from the desk drawer. “This is a daybook. Every purchase made for the household is recorded here, along with the date and purpose. At the end of each month, these figures are transferred to the account ledger and summarized.” She opened the smaller book. “See here? Twenty pounds and fifteen shillings for meat, fish, and poultry for the quarterly cost.”
“That’s…” Cassie’s eyes widened. “That’s a great deal of money.”
“It is,” Augusta agreed. “But consider how many people must be fed in a house this size. Cook prepares three meals a day for the family, plus breakfast and dinner for the upper servants, and dinner for the lower servants.”
“Not to mention,” Mrs. Beale added, “the cost of the ingredients themselves. Lamb from Norfolk, salmon from Scotland, oranges from Spain. None of these come cheaply.”
Cassie nodded slowly, her finger tracing the numbers on the page as though they might speak to her directly if properly coaxed. “And what about linens? Lady Harriet mentioned those as well.”
“Linens are accounted for separately.” Mrs. Beale reached for a third volume, this one bound in green leather. “Each item—from bed hangings to tablecloths to His Grace’s neckcloths—is listedhere, along with its condition and the date of its last cleaning or repair.”
She opened the book to a page marked with a silk ribbon. “This is the summer inventory. We’ve been preparing it this past week in anticipation of the annual ball.”
Cassie’s head shot up. “Ball? Here?”
“Indeed. His Grace hosts a spring ball each year, though the date has not yet been fixed.” Mrs. Beale’s eyes flicked to Augusta. “The invitations have not been sent out, so I must ask you to treat this as confidential, My Lady.”
“I shall be as silent as a…” Cassie’s eyes darted to the window. “As a garden statue. The one with the broken nose.”
Augusta bit back a smile. “An excellent comparison.”
“How many guests will attend?” Cassie demanded. “How many courses will be served? Will there be ice sculptures? I’ve heard Miss Cecily’s mother had an ice sculpture of a swan at their Christmas ball, and it wept all over the sideboard.”
Mrs. Beale, who had clearly weathered similar interrogations from previous generations of Rivers children, answered with unruffled calm. “Typically seventy to eighty guests. Eight courses, not including dessert. And yes, there is usually an ice sculpture, though I’ve managed to convince Cook that swans are terribly overdone.”
Cassie turned to Augusta, her eyes bright with excitement. “Miss Norton, may I help? Please? I could count the spoons, or arrange the flowers, or?—”
“What,” said a voice from the doorway, deep and slightly amused, “is my sister doing here at nine in the morning?”
All three women turned.
Hudson stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, arms folded across his chest. His eyes moved from Cassie to Augusta, a question in them.
It was Mrs. Beale who answered. “We are conducting a lesson in household management, Your Grace.”
Hudson’s eyebrows rose. “Household management?” he repeated. “Cassie is eleven.”
“I’m almost twelve,” Cassie corrected. “And I’m learning to keep accounts. See?” She held up her notebook, where a careful column of numbers marched down the page. “These are the week’s butter expenditures.”
Hudson crossed to the desk in three strides and peered at the page. His mouth twitched. “That’s very… thorough,” he noted. “Though I suspect you’ll find butter figures change rather more frequently than, say, the foundations of English literature.”
“I already know about English literature,” Cassie said. “This is different. It’s practical.”
“Practical,” Hudson echoed. His eyes met Augusta’s over Cassie’s head. “Miss Norton, might I ask what prompted this sudden interest in…” He glanced at the ledgers. “Butter expenditures?”
“I asked to learn,” Cassie replied before Augusta could.
Hudson pursed his lips and turned his attention to Augusta. “Miss Norton,” he said, his voice low. “A word, if you please.”
He opened the door and strode down the corridor without another word, Augusta following a half-step behind. He waited until they had turned the corner and were well out of earshot before he stopped, turned, and fixed her with a look that had made hardened gaming hell employees step back in alarm.
