Clara, like the butler, looked at her blankly.
“I had a bag when I arrived. A pestle and mortar, herbs, oils,” Aoife explained.
The cook was the one to speak up “Kit asked me what to do with those, I told him to add them to the household things,” she gestured to an area of the kitchen and Aoife quicklycrossed to where she indicated, able to spot a few of her things immediately.
“The clothes are gone though I’m afraid,” the cook said.
“That’s all right,” Aoife said, looking through the shelves. She found a small bottle of oil and reached to pick it up.
A hand reached out and took the bottle before Aoife could. Aoife was surprised to see it was Pansy.
“You can’t take that.” The girl said, her voice so quiet Aoife almost missed it.
“I need it.”
“You have to ask his lordship.”
“Pansy,” the cook chastised, “it’s a bottle of oil. What could she want with it that his lordship might object to?”
“I want to make an ointment for one of the gardeners.” Aoife rushed to explain.
“See,” the cook said, continuing to knead the dough.
The scullery maid hesitated still. “If his lordship took ‘em away, we shouldn’t be giving ‘em back.” Pansy’s voice was soft but sure.
“He didn’t know what it was,” Aoife said. “Do you think he’s ever been in a kitchen? Or an apothecary?”
“I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to break a rule.”
Aoife was stunned to hear the girl who had barely spoken to her that morning asserting herself.
“How about because it would help someone? The gardener has a terrible rash that makes it hard for him to work. It’s only going to get worse as the weather turns colder. Unless I can help him.”
The scullery maid held the bottle a little tighter before finally holding it out for Aoife to take.
“Thank you.”
Aoife took the oil and turned to look for her other items. She found most of them easily. She didn’t have anything to carrythem. Clara appeared as if reading her mind and offered her a tea towel to wrap the things in. Aoife took it gratefully.
“You a healer then?” Pansy asked, her voice still so quiet it was hard to hear.
“I am,” Aoife said as she continued to scour the shelves for the items she was missing.
“Mrs Wilton’s having trouble with her knees.”
“My knees are fine,” the cook answered, pounding the dough a little harder than Aoife thought necessary.
“It looks real sore. We’re on our feet all day,” Pansy explained.
“I’d be happy to help.”
Mrs Wilton gave her a long-suffering look before returning to her dough. “Maybe.”
“Any time, truly.”
Mrs Wilton didn’t seem inclined to continue that line of conversation, so Aoife changed the topic. “Do you have any frostweed?”
“Why would I have a weed in the kitchen?”
