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Chapter Eighteen
The scolding bellow of the cook made Chastity pause on the bottom step to the kitchen. If the housekeeper was in a foul mood, she had little desire to cross her. Especially as Chastity had already found herself in trouble with her for dallying upstairs after receiving another letter from Demeter.
She absently rubbed the smooth surface of the porcelain jug she held with her thumb and furrowed her brow. Somehow, she would have to find a better way to communicate with her sister.
Maybe she would ask Valentine to handle the correspondence. Charlotte questioned her quite closely about the contents of her letter and could tell the maid did not believe her when she said it was nothing important.
It likely did not help that the contents of the letter was distressing. For some reason, the question of Eleanor’s lineage had become the topic of the week. Chastity shook her head to herself. She had the horrible suspicion the incident with Julian had given Society an excellent excuse to unleash all their vileness upon Eleanor without fear of reprisal.
Clutching the empty jug to her chest, Chastity braved a peek around the corner and jumped back when a child barreled over her toes. She stepped forward only to be knocked into by two other children. The tallest could be no older than six whilst the two girls were quite a bit younger. They ran in circles about the large table while the cook, Mr. Baudelaire, waved a spoon and yelled a string of mild curses at them.
Sarah met her gaze, her hands deep in a bowl of dough. She rolled her eyes. “They’re Jenny’s nieces and nephews,” she explained. “Her sister might have the smallpox and she’s waiting for her parents to take them to the country.”
“Oh dear.” One of the children stopped behind the cook and pulled at Mr. Baudelaire’s apron strings.
Mr. Baudelaire released a less mild curse and batted them away, sending a spray of creamy sauce about the kitchen, one splotch landing straight on his face and making his cheeks redden to the point Chastity feared he might explode.
“They’re excited to be here.” Jenny entered the kitchen behind her and grimaced. “I am sorry. Mrs. Cooke said they could remain but that the earl must not know they are here.” She took the arm of the oldest boy and dropped down to wag a finger at him. “You promised me you would be good, George, do you remember? If you aren’t, Mr. Baudelaire will spank you with his spoon.”
“I will not,” muttered the cook, despite his still enraged expression.
“Yes, Auntie Jean.” George offered a contrite pout.
“My parents should be here soon,” Jenny said. “I hope they are quick. These three are exhausting.
“I hope your sister is well,” Chastity said.
“I do not think it really is the pox, but we cannot take the risk, especially with the little ones.” She jerked her head toward the two young girls, both of whom were trying to dunk their hands in the bowl of dough while Sarah fended them off with floured hands. “Little Julia is prone to illness so we cannot have her sicken in any way.”
The bell to the parlor room rang and Jenny glanced at it with a sigh. “I shall have to go. Mrs. Cooke is not in a patient mood today. Most likely thanks to these three.” She looked to Sarah. “Will you be all right to look after them for a little while longer?”
Sarah lifted her doughy hands. “I’ll try my best.”
“I have a few moments. I’ll watch them,” offered Chastity.
“Lovely, thank you.” Jenny exhaled, blew a strand of hair from her face and headed back upstairs.
Before Chastity could set the jug down, George darted around Chastity and followed his aunt up the stairs. As Chastity made a grab for him, the other two children followed, using their hands upon the stone steps to race up the stairs with astonishing speed.
“George!” Chastity shouted, but he was gone.
“You had better get them,” said Sarah. “Mrs. Cooke will never forgive us if the earl sees them.” She plunged her fingers into the dough. “I would go but...”
Chastity waved a hand, put down the jug, and gathered her skirts to sprint up the stairs. She stopped at the top and glanced down the long hallway that led through much of the house and finished at another set of stairs to the main house.
She closed her eyes briefly. If she was a naughty child, where would she go? With a grimace, she concluded they had most likely headed up the next set of stairs. Faint giggles rebounded off the walls, confirming her suspicion.
She hastened along the corridor and up the stairs, emerging into the bright light of the rear of the house where large windows lit the entranceway.
“George,” she hissed.
“George?” a baritone voice repeated.
She jolted and pressed a hand to her heart when she spied Valentine to the right of her. He cut an imposing figure in an emerald waistcoat and open collar shirt. Only he could appear imposing without the cut of a dark jacket or a neatly tied cravat.
“I suppose this is George.” He stepped back to reveal George and his siblings, huddled behind him.
“He says we can have some paper and charcoal,” George said.
