“If only we could figure out a way to make Finn take the cook's place,” Royal said. Looking over at me he explained, “Finn is a classically trained chef. Went to the Culinary Institute of America and everything. He even studied in Paris. He's only cooked for us twice but—” Royal rolled his eyes to the ceiling high above. “His food is amazing.”
The woman crossed her arms over her chest after flipping a strawberry blonde braid back over her shoulder. She wore a black and white patterned a-line dress and a cute pair of dark-green Mary Janes I recognized as being comfortable enough to stand in all day.
“I wouldn't know,” she grumbled, “because he didn't save any for me, but it doesn't matter if his food is delicious considering he thinks he's too good to cook for the rest of us. I wouldn't pay him any attention except he keeps trying to scare away our cook.”
She shook her head and held out a hand to me. “I'm sorry, Finn distracted me. You must be Daisy.” I took her hand and shook. “I'm Savannah. I'm the housekeeper at Heartstone Manor. If you need anything while you're here just let me know.” She turned her alert gray eyes to the cake box in Royal's hands. “What's this?”
“I baked a cake. I wasn't sure what you had planned for dessert, so you can always save it for another night. It will keep for a few days.”
Savannah took the box from Royal, hefting it gingerly. With a raised eyebrow at me, she said, “I hope you know you owe me five pounds. I have a thing for your ginger-molasses cookies. A big thing. What kind of cake is this?”
“Chocolate, with double chocolate frosting and raspberry and cream filling.” I know I’d baked it, but my mouth watered anyway. It was my favorite cake. I knew exactly how good it was.
“I think tonight's dessert can be saved for tomorrow,” Savannah said. “We'll have this instead. So thoughtful of you to bake for this crowd of heathens. I'll bring it down to the kitchen. We don't have an appropriate space for before-dinner cocktails yet, so everyone's just milling around the dining room. Dinner will be served in about ten minutes. Not enough time for a tour,” a pointed look at Royal, “but enough to get a glass of wine. I think Hope just came down. She's looking forward to seeing you, Daisy.” With that, she turned for the back of the hall, heading, I guessed, to the kitchens.
“Nice to meet you, Savannah,” I called out as she strode away.
She raised her chin back in our direction as she walked. “You too, Daisy. Enjoy your visit to the madhouse.”
I looked at Royal. “She's not what I expected. I like her.”
“I do, too. Her mother, Miss Martha, was the housekeeper here most of my life. I grew up with Savannah running around the house. We got lucky she agreed to take on the job. She's ridiculously efficient, and she doesn't put up with crap from anyone. Especially Finn.”
“Is Finn usually difficult?” I asked, taking the arm Royal held out for me.
“No, that's the funny thing. He's pretty chill. I haven't seen him much—he left home after high school, joined the Army, and got out and went to culinary school. He didn't come home often. Didn't get along with Prentice. But he was always laid-back before, and since he's been home it doesn't seem like much has changed except when it comes to the cook and Savannah. If he drives the cook to quit I really do think Savannah might kill him. She's got her hands full trying to turn this place into a livable home again. She doesn't need to worry about feeding all of us on top of that.”
Looking around, I could see what he meant. The front hall was huge, the ceiling arcing two stories above us with a massive chandelier in the center. What I could see of the house was clean and polished, the wood warm and glowing, the crystal chandelier sparkling.
There was very little furniture and no artwork. It looked unfinished. As we passed through the front hall, arching doorways opened on either side into what should have been formal parlors. Both rooms were empty.
A little further, and we turned left through open double doors into a dining room that was twice as big as the building that held my bakery and apartment. The dark-beamed and white plaster ceiling rose a full two stories above us, the great iron chandeliers glowing, the long table shining, set with enough places to feed an army. Or just the Sawyers.
Royal's family was clustered at the far end of the dining room in a smaller area with a wide bay window, set up with its own table and chairs. Maybe a breakfast area. Instead of being set for a meal, the table held a selection of appetizers and several open bottles of wine. My nerves cranked up a notch with so many near-strangers milling around, but Hope spotted us and, hooking her arm through Griffen's, made a beeline straight for us.