Chapter 10
Amisty morning had settled over the castle, a grey world stretching out toward the sea, adding a whole new layer to the gloomy oppression of the place. Indeed, Agnes was half-tempted to just copy her betrothed and pull the drapes, isolating herself in her room with some candles and a book.
It took Lizzy’s whimpering to motivate her to clamber out of bed and head out in search of breakfast for the two of them: the wet nurse for Lizzy, something fresh and delicious for Agnes.
She was most of the way down the infernal staircase when she decided that rather than face crossing paths with the man of her dreams in the lesser hall, she would take herself to the kitchens instead.
“Goodness, ye startled me!” Iona gasped as Agnes wandered in.
The kitchens were as expansive as one might have imagined for a castle, yet two-thirds of the room seemed to be unused—workbenches empty, stoves cold, nothing strewn about to indicate that delicious things were being made in abundance.
Instead, one giant pot sat on the only stove that was ablaze, giving off a mouthwatering scent.
The housekeeper, meanwhile, was standing at a long ceramic sink, in the midst of scrubbing another, similarly enormous pot.
“Ye shouldnae be in here,” Iona said, mopping her brow with her sleeve. “Ye go on to the lesser hall, and I’ll bring ye somethin’ to eat.”
Ignoring the request, Agnes moved closer. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t the cook be doing that? Or the kitchen maids that you mentioned?”
“The cook isnae comin’ today, and the kitchen maids only come up from the village when the cook is here,” Iona explained, a bead of sweat trickling down to the tip of her nose. “They’re nae allowed to, otherwise.”
“Not allowed by whom?”
Iona hesitated. “Their maithers and faithers. If they werenae paid so well, they wouldnae come here at all.”
“Whyever not?”
Agnes sensed that she was getting nearer to the truth of what was going on at Castle Buchlann. And yes, she knew Gordon’s rules, but she wasn’t asking about his past. Not directly. If some of his past just happened to come up in conversation, she could not be held responsible.
The housekeeper flashed her a pointed look. “Would ye come here if ye had another choice?”
“I did have other choices, but I chose this laird,” Agnes said with a chuckle. “A Mad Lady for a Mad Laird.”
She did not like to see the housekeeper so harried, and meant the words in jest, but the weight of sadness only seemed to grow heavier on the old woman’s face.
“Here, let me help,” Agnes offered, changing tactics.
“It shames me to say it, but six months ago, I had never scrubbed anything in my life. Then this little one came into the world, and I decided that I didn’t trust anyone else to clean her things, so I am pleased to say that I am now a champion scrubber. ”
Iona looked perplexed. “I cannae let ye do that, Miss Agnes.”
“Then it is fortunate for you that I am not asking.”
Agnes set Lizzy down on the floor and put a wooden spoon in the baby’s hand so she could readily amuse herself. That done, she went directly to the sink and nudged Iona out of the way with her hip.
Laughing softly but not protesting, the housekeeper padded over to a tall wooden door that looked alarmingly like the one from Agnes’s dream and disappeared through it.
“I bet there are dungeons down there,” Agnes whispered down to Lizzy, who waved the spoon around, giggling to herself.
Ten minutes later, the pots and utensils scrubbed to a shine, the other pot continuously stirred so the stew didn’t spoil, Iona returned.
The older woman blinked against the brighter light of the kitchen, while a wicker basket dangled from the crook of her arm, filled with an array of fresh vegetables, fresh fruits, a jar of conserve, some eggs, some cheese, and something wrapped in a cloth.
“Excellent timing!” Agnes hurried to take the basket from her. “I shall begin cooking at once. Breakfast for all of us. Unless you had something else in mind?”
Iona shook her head. “Nay. I was goin’ to cook breakfast for ye.”
“It appears that you have already cooked for an actual army, so I refuse to allow you to do any more,” Agnes insisted.
Finding her way around the kitchen well enough, she fetched a cutting board, a large bowl, and a sharp knife.
Next, she unpacked the items, trying to figure out what to make.
In the cloth was a sizeable ball of dough, and that was where she would begin, since bread would take the longest, baking away in the oven.
“Flour? Do you have any?”
Iona grabbed a jar of it for her. “Are ye also a champion cook?”
“I have learned a great deal,” Agnes replied.
“Although those lessons came earlier, when my mother died. In his grief, my father saw fit to dismiss every servant from the house. If one of us did not learn to cook, none of us would have eaten, so my sister and I decided to make it a joint effort. We might have still been there, fumbling through new recipes, if my aunt had not arrived to return us to our ‘proper positions’ as young ladies.”
Goodness, how I loved those afternoons in the kitchen.
She quickly brushed away a tear that slipped free, or she would end up kneading her sadness into the bread, and it would collapse, or the crumb would be too dense.
“We cannot put our sorrow into the food, or it will taste terrible,” Christine had insisted back then.
And she had been right. Whenever grief had struck them while they were cooking, the meal had never turned out well. It was only later that she had admitted that she added more salt whenever she saw Agnes weeping.
“To help,” she had said, with that wry smile of hers. “I thought it might ease your sorrow if you thought of making the food taste good instead of how much you missed Mama.”
Agnes had not spoken to Christine for two days after that, won over only by a cream cake from her favorite London patisserie.
“Sorry,” Agnes said, shaking her head. “What was I saying?”
Iona smiled. “Ye were talkin’ about yer aunt savin’ ye from havin’ to be a cook, then ye went somewhere.” She put her hand on Agnes’s shoulder. “It’s good for the soul to wander in yer memories, sometimes.”
“Even if the memories are sad?” Agnes asked with a dry laugh.
“Especially if they’re sad.” Iona nodded, then muttered, “The Laird could do with learnin’ that, but what do I ken?”
Curious, Agnes scattered flour onto the workbench and began to fold the bread dough, hoping that if she looked like she wasn’t paying attention, Iona would say more.
Unfortunately, the housekeeper was wiser than that. Rather than spill the castle’s secrets, she nudged in beside Agnes and set to work chopping a marrow into very thin slices.
“Yer sister is the bairn’s maither, I take it?” the old woman asked after a while.
Hearing the word ‘is’ formed an instant lump in Agnes’s throat. How could such a minuscule word hold so much power, capable of resurrecting a person for a short while?
“She is,” Agnes replied.
“What happened to her?”
Agnes shaped the bread back into a ball and scored the top, praying that the sudden rush of grief wouldn’t ruin the dough. “She died giving birth.”
“Ah, many a good lass and a good maither has been lost to childbirth.” Iona sighed. “I’m sorry for ye, and I’m sorry for the wee one.”
Agnes swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”
“Thank ye for this,” Iona said. “Ever since the… well, the ‘madness’ that happened here, no one is around to help. When there’s no cook and no kitchen maids, it’s just Marcus and me.
And Marcus couldnae cook an egg if his life depended on it.
But he can carry buckets of water like he’s still five-and-twenty. ”
Agnes got the feeling that the housekeeper wanted to say more, as a sort of exchange of stories, but whatever rules bound her seemed to bind Iona too. Why else would she change subjects so seamlessly or make a jest after almost touching on the past?
“I am intrigued by what happened here,” Agnes told her, “but I won’t get you into trouble by asking more than I should. And yes, your husband is very impressive when carrying buckets. A strong man, indeed.”
Iona looked relieved, as if she thought she might have said too much already. “We’re ever so glad the two of ye are here,” she said. “It’s nice to have some life in these halls again. Some cheer. And that wee lassie kens all about cheer.”
At that moment, Lizzy was smearing her hands in a dusting of the flour that had fallen from the workbench, reveling in it.
Agnes grinned. “She really does. She is like her mother, always finding joy in things.” She laughed as the baby decided to smear her face. “And always making a mess.”
While Lizzy played on the floor, covering herself in flour and then delighting herself by figuring out that the wooden spoon made an entertaining sound when banged against the workbench cupboards, the two women worked together.
They chattered about the weather and the sea, and when the wet nurse came in to feed Lizzy, she joined in the casual conversation.
Iona waxed poetic about her husband and taught Agnes a lullaby to sing to her niece.
And when the wet nurse left again, Agnes talked more about Christine and Aunt Tabitha and about the despicable Edwin, and regaled the housekeeper with funny tales of her worst cooking disasters.
Time seemed to fly by, as it often did when in good company.
All too soon, Agnes was back at the sink, washing the dishes from the delicious breakfast she had just shared with Iona: warm, fresh bread with salted butter and a thick spread of raspberry jam, then a wonderful sort of savory pancake with the thinly sliced marrow, eggs, and a dusting of herbs, finished off with a platter of apples and plums.
Lizzy, on the other hand, having had herself a hearty helping of milk, did not seem to mind at all that she had missed out on a veritable feast.
“I cannae give her back to ye,” Iona said as she rocked the sleepy baby in her arms, perched on a stool. “Och, ye daenae ken how it warms me heart to hold a wee bairn again. Ye cannae be cross or sad or bored when there’s a baby to coddle.”
Agnes chuckled as she dried her hands. “I am afraid you must give her back. I have to take her upstairs for a nap, or she will not be all smiles and charm later. She will be quite the grouch instead.”
“Takes after the Laird,” Iona teased, savoring a few more moments with the baby.
Agnes paused. “Where is he today?”
She had asked earlier if she should make some breakfast for Gordon, but Iona had told her not to bother.
“Och, ridin’ out the borders.” The housekeeper stroked her nose against Lizzy’s downy hair. “Probably chasin’ off that Edwin bastard.”
Agnes gulped. “Do you think so?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I hope so.” She took a breath, the entire reason she was here suddenly crashing back into her mind.
“The sooner Edwin gives up, the sooner I can relax again. Indeed, I just need to know that Lizzy will be safe, and then… all will be well. I might even sleep a full night again, as long as my darling niece obliges.”
“Ye’re a good substitute, lass.” Iona sighed and got up, walking over to carefully place the baby in Agnes’s arms. “I ken it cannae be easy for ye, but this lassie will ken nothin’ but love, and that’s rarer than ye think.”
Tears pricked at Agnes’s eyes, though not the usual kind. These were happier. Tears of bittersweet pride.
“I mean, nae every lass would bring her niece all the way to Scotland just to keep her safe,” Iona added, patting Agnes lightly on the arm. “She’s lucky to have ye, Agnes, just as we’re lucky to have ye.”
Agnes shook her head. “I am the lucky one to have been greeted so warmly… by you and Marcus, at least. You have made all of this much easier, and I am grateful for that. So very grateful.”
Fearful that she was about to weep, she added in haste, “Now, I really must get this rascal bathed and in her crib, or she will scream the castle down by this afternoon.”
Iona dipped to press one last kiss to Lizzy’s fluffy hair. “She might have some Scottish blood in her,” she said, pulling back. “Ye daenae see hair that red unless ye’re here, north of the border… or across the sea to the west, I suppose.”
Agnes managed a smile. “It is a beautiful color. It is just a shame it came from her father.”
“Aye, I willnae argue with ye there.” Iona gestured to the door. “Go on, away with ye, or I might steal her back.”
Feeling lighter in spirit than she had since leaving England, Agnes thanked the housekeeper again and made her swift exit.
“Both of us are going to need a wash,” she said as she walked through the dim hallways with the baby in her arms, silently cursing every uneven flagstone that her foot caught on.
This would be so much simpler with some actual light. It is daytime, for goodness’ sake.
Perhaps it was the lightness of her spirit wanting to see the sun, or perhaps it was the increasing infuriation of constantly stubbing her toe. Either way, Agnes decided that, to action her first rule, she was going to open some bloody curtains.
The rattle of the rings on the curtain pole pleased her as she yanked back the first set… and the next… and the next, leaving no drapes that she passed unopened.
The effect was immediate, despite the rather overcast sky.
Light flooded into the hallways, catching the colorful panes of stained glass that she had not had the chance to notice before.
Sprays of rainbow shards shimmered across the flagstones and danced against the drab stone walls, turning the castle into something that was really rather magical.
“There, that is much better, isn’t it?” she cooed to Lizzy. “Much less dismal and eerie, I should say.”
Lizzy’s dazzled stare as she took in her refreshed surroundings was all the answer that Agnes needed, whether Gordon liked it or not.
While you are sleeping, little one, I do believe I will open the rest.
The prospect thrilled her as she quickened her pace, no longer afraid of stumbling or tripping now that she could actually see where she was going.
“Oh, what a surprise you will have when you get back, my Laird.”