“Yes,” said Truth Teller.
The beautiful young man smiled. “That we shall see.…”
—from TRUTH TELLER
Mrs. McCleod, the new cook, was a tall dour woman who hardly spoke, Helen reflected the next afternoon. The woman had once cooked for a great house in Edinburgh, but she hadn’t liked the rush and noise of the city and had retired to the nearby town of Glenlargo where her brother was the baker. Privately, Helen wondered if Mrs. McCleod hadn’t become bored with the slow life of Glenlargo and her brother’s bakery, for she certainly accepted the job as cook quickly enough.
“I hope the kitchen meets with your approval,” she said now, twisting her apron in her hands.
The cook was nearly the height of a man, and her face was wide and flat. She was expressionless, but her large reddened hands moved lightly and swiftly as she rolled out pastry on the kitchen table. “Hearth needs sweeping.”
“Ah, yes.” Helen looked nervously at the giant fireplace. She’d been up at the crack of dawn, scrubbing the kitchen as best she could in preparation for the cook, but she hadn’t had time to clean the fireplace. Her back ached terribly now, and her hands were raw from the hot water and harsh lye soap. “I’ll have one of the maids do it, shall I?”
Mrs. McCleod expertly flipped the pastry into a pie plate and began trimming the edges.
Helen swallowed. “Well, I have other matters to attend to. I’ll return in an hour or so to see how you’re getting on, shall I?”
The cook shrugged. She was arranging vegetables and pieces of meat in the pie.
Helen nodded, just to give the appearance that she knew what she was doing, and went into the hallway. There she took out a small notebook and tiny pencil. They’d been the first items she’d bought in Glenlargo yesterday. Opening the notebook, she flipped to the third page and wrote, clean hearth. This notation was at the bottom of what was becoming a rather long list that included among other things air library, clear ivy from windows in sitting room, polish hall floor, and find the good silverware.
Helen put away the notebook and pencil, smoothed her hair, and continued on her way to the dining room. This, she’d decided, would be the first room to be completely set to rights in the castle. That way, Sir Beastly could enjoy a properly cooked dinner tonight and, more importantly, realize how very useful it was to have a housekeeper. She hadn’t actually seen the master of the castle all morning. When she’d brought his breakfast to the tower room, he’d yelled through the door to leave it outside. She very much hoped he wasn’t going to sulk in his tower and then throw them all out of the castle in a fit of ill temper tonight. All the more important to have the dining room at least cleaned.
But when Helen rounded the corner into the dining room, the sight that met her eyes was pure chaos. One of the maids was shrieking and covering her head with her apron. The other maid brandished a broom as she chased a bird about the room. Jamie and Abigail were helping the maid with the broom, and the two footmen—young lads from the village—were doubled over with laughter.
For a moment, Helen gaped in horror. Why? Why must every single thing be so hard? Then she shook herself. Aching back, difficult servants, filthy castle, it simply didn’t matter. She was the one in charge here. If she couldn’t bring order to this scene, no one else would do it. And if she couldn’t bring order, then Sir Alistair would dismiss her and the children in the coming week. It was as simple as that. She hurried to the windows that lined the far wall of the dining room. They were made of ancient diamond-paned glass, and most were immovable, but she found one with a catch and shoved it open.
“Chase it over here,” she called to the maid with the broom.
The girl, a sturdy redhead who obviously had a level head on her shoulders, obediently did so, and several frantic minutes later, the bird found freedom.
Helen slammed the window shut and latched it.
“Now, then.” She turned to her troops and took a breath. “What happened?”
“It came out the chimney!” Jamie exclaimed. He was so excited his hair was on end, and he was quite red in the face. “Nellie was sweeping it”—he pointed to the maid now removing her apron from her face—“and the bird fell down with a heap of soot.”
A large mound of soot and what looked like an ancient bird’s nest lay on the hearth.
“Gave me ever such a turn, mum,” Nellie concurred.
“And then you stood there and yelled like a banshee while it flew about the room.” The red-headed girl had the broom over one shoulder like a musket and her other hand on her hip.
“Oh, will ye now be holdin’ it over me, Meg Campbell, that ye know how to chase a bird with a broom?” Nellie shot back.
The maids started arguing, while the footmen guffawed.
Helen felt a headache begin to pound at her temple. “Enough!”
The cacophony of voices silenced and all eyes turned toward her.
“You”—Helen pointed at the tallest footman—“go to the kitchen and sweep out the fireplace.”
“But that’s a lass’s job,” the boy objected.
“Well, you’re doing it today,” Helen said. “And mind it’s well swept and scrubbed.”
“Aw,” the tall footman groaned, but he went from the room.
Helen turned to the remaining servants. “Meg, come help me polish the dining table. You two”—she gestured to the other maid and the shorter footman—“finish cleaning that chimney. We have to get it clear if we’re to have a fire in here tonight without setting the room ablaze.”
They worked all through the afternoon, cleaning, sweeping, polishing, and even taking the rugs and curtains out to beat them in the wind. By six o’clock, the dining room was as neat as a pin and a fire roared in the fireplace, though it did still smoke a little.
Helen looked about, one hand massaging the ache at the small of her back. What a tremendous chore! She’d never take a housemaid’s work for granted again. At the same time, she couldn’t help a pleased smile spreading over her face. She’d set her mind to it, and she’d done it! Helen thanked the maids and the two rather worn footmen and sent them off to the kitchen for a well-deserved cup of tea.
“What shall we do now, Mama?” Abigail asked. The children had been wonderful workers all afternoon. Even Jamie had helped polish the windows.
Helen smiled at them. “Now we go wash up so that we can properly greet Sir Alistair when he comes down for his supper.”