Page 13 of Return to Wildsyde

“You look very nice,” she added, getting to her feet and re-buttoning the buttons on his waistcoat.

“Lord Buchanan said you could have new clothes,” Jack said, looking up at her. “You would look like a proper lady in pretty dresses, Lulu.”

Luella scowled. “We are having nothing from Lord Buchanan that we cannot afford to repay. I will not have him thinking that we are like Lilith and mean to get what we can from him. We must stay here and so we must eat, but we shall make ourselves useful, Jack. Do you hear me? I will not be considered a parasite. He already looks at us as though we mean to smother him in his sleep and steal the silver. I shall not give him reason for thinking he is correct.”

“Useful how?” Jack asked dubiously.

Luella shrugged. “That is what I mean to find out. Come along, let us find Mrs Baillie.”

Jack followed her down the stairs. The kitchen was easy to discover, they simply followed their noses. The scent of baking and the rich, meaty aroma of stew got stronger as they approached a thick oak door. Pushing it open, they walked down another set of worn stone steps into the vast kitchen. A massive fireplace with a lintel that looked like an entire oak tree had been used to construct it dominated the space. It was hot down here and Mrs Baillie was pink-cheeked and perspiring a little as she kneaded dough at the vast table in the centre of the room. She paused, looking up and wiping her forehead on her arm, leaving a faint trace of flour as she did so.

“Aye? And what might ye be wanting?”

“Er… to help,” Luella said awkwardly.

“Eh?” Mrs Baillie gave her a blank look, as did a young woman who sat at the far end of the table, peeling potatoes.

“Well, surely there’s something we can do?” Luella asked, blushing. “We are not accustomed to sitting around idle all day, and—”

“Ye are his lordship’s ward, miss. I can nae set ye to work in the kitchens,” Mrs Baillie objected.

“But you aren’t, I’m asking to. Please, surely there is something…?”

“Are ye supposing Lord Buchanan overworks us? Or that we have nae the will to do our jobs as we ought?” Mrs Baillie asked, folding her arms.

She was a rather daunting prospect, but Luella held her ground.

“Certainly not, as you know very well.” Luella sighed and threw up her hands. “Look, I don’t want to be painted in the same colours as Lilith. I’ve been foisted on Lord Buchanan through no fault of my own, but if I must be here, I’d just as soon be useful.”

“Or perhaps it’s a clever ruse to make us think ye are nae like yer cousin,” Mrs Baillie shot back, eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps,” Luella agreed. “That is for you to decide, I suppose.”

Mrs Baillie stood watching her for a long moment and Luella was about to turn and walk away again when she spoke.

“Can ye make bread?”

Luella shook her head. “No. I’m a dreadful cook, to be honest.”

“She is,” Jack piped up with a fervent nod.

Luella shot him an indignant look. “Well, you’ve not starved, have you?”

“No, but I’ve eaten plenty of burnt offerings,” he replied, with rather more honesty than Luella would have liked.

Mrs Baillie snorted. “Wash yer hands, the pair of ye, and I’ll see if I can teach ye a thing or two. How’s that?”

Luella beamed at her, delighted by the prospect. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”

“Through there,” she said, jerking her head towards a door on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“We’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Luella said cheerfully and tugged Jack along behind her.

Chapter 5

It was an unprovoked attack and could have been nasty if there had not been three of us. I think we must all consider if we have any enemies who are angry enough to take such retribution, but the obvious culprit is another club, surely? Someone wants to put us out of business.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon’ble Mr Larkin Weston (son of The Right Hon’ble Solomon and Jemima Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn) to The Right Hon’ble Conor Baxter, Viscount Harleston (son of The Right Hon’ble Luke and Kitty Baxter, Earl and Countess of Trevick).