or it.
She stepped inside the big kitchen regally. It was all like a dream come true. All her life, she’d known she was destined to command. That idiot father of hers had laughed at her when she’d said she wanted the estate that the Malesons had once owned. Of course, the Armstrong plantation could never come close to the estates in England; how could anything in America compare to England?
“Good mornin’,” Maggie said pleasantly, her arms covered in flour to her elbows as she prepared biscuit dough for the noon dinner. “Anything I can help you with?”
The big room was alive with activity. One of Maggie’s helpers watched after three pots set in the coals of the fireplace. A little boy lazily turned a haunch of meat on a rotisserie. Another woman pounded dough in a large wooden bowl, while two girls chopped pounds of vegetables.
“Yes,” Bianca said firmly. She knew from experience that it was best to establish superiority over servants right away. “I would like for you and the other servants to line up and get ready to receive my instructions. From now on, I expect you all to stop what you are doing when I enter a room and pay me the proper respect.”
The six people in the room stopped what they were doing and stared, open-mouthed.
“You heard me!” Bianca commanded.
Slowly, awkwardly, the people moved toward the east wall. All except Maggie. “Who are you to be givin’ orders?”
“I do not have to answer your questions. Servants should know their place. That is, servants who want to keep their employment,” she threatened. Bianca tried to ignore Maggie’s hostile stare and the fact that she didn’t line up with the others. “I would like to talk about the food that comes from this kitchen. Judging by last night’s supper, the food is a bit plain. It needs more sauces. For instance, the ham’s glaze was quite delicious.” She smiled smugly, knowing her praise would brighten their day. “But,” she continued, “more of the sauce should have been served.”
“Sauce?” Maggie asked. “That ham was glazed with pure sugar. Are you saying you want me to send in a bowl of melted sugar?”
Bianca gave her a withering look. “I am not asking for your comments. You are here to obey my wishes. Now, about breakfast. I expect it to be served in the dining room promptly at eleven. I want a pot of chocolate made with three parts cream and one part milk. I would also like some more of those tarts that were served last night. Dinner is to be served at twelve-thirty, and—”
“You think you can go that long on just a few dozen fried pies?” Maggie asked sarcastically as she removed her apron and slammed it down on the table. “I’m gonna talk to Clay and find out just who you are,” she said as she shoved past Bianca.
“I am the mistress of this plantation,” she said, her back straight. “I am your employer.”
“I work for Clay and his wife, who, thank the Lord, is not you.”
“You insolent woman! I’ll see Clay fires you for this!”
“I may quit before he can,” Maggie said, and started for the fields.
She found Clay inside a tobacco barn where the long leaves were being hung for drying. “I want to talk to you!” she demanded.
In all the years Maggie had worked for his family, she’d never given any of them any trouble. She was quite outspoken, and more than once her ideas were used when it came to improvements made in the plantation, but her complaints were always fair.
Clay made a futile attempt to wipe the black tobacco gum from his hands. “Has something upset you? The chimney blocked again?”
“It’s more than the chimney this time. Who is that woman?”
Clay stopped and stared at her.
“She came into my kitchen this mornin’ and started demanding we all obey her. She wants her breakfast served in the dining room. She thinks she’s too good to come to the kitchen like anybody else.”
Clay angrily threw the dirty cloth away. “You’ve lived in England. You know that the upper class doesn’t eat in the kitchen. For that matter, neither do most of the other plantation owners. It doesn’t seem like such an outrageous request. Maybe it would do us all some good to learn a few manners.”
“Request!” Maggie sneered. “That woman wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.” She stopped suddenly, and her voice became quieter. “Clay, honey, I’ve known you since you were just a boy. What are you doin’ now? You’re married to one of the sweetest women ever created, but she runs off and lives across the river. Now you bring into your house some snotty girl who’s the spittin’ image of Beth.” She put her hand on his arm. “I know you loved them both, but you can’t bring them back.”
Clay glared at her, his face becoming angrier by the moment. He turned away from her. “Mind your own business. And give Bianca whatever she wants.” He walked away, his head high, the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat hiding the pain in his eyes.
In the late afternoon, Bianca slammed out of Arundel Hall. She’d spent hours on the plantation, talking to the workers, making suggestions, offering advice, yet nowhere had she been treated with respect. The estate manager, Anders, had laughed at her idea for a carriage. He said the roads in Virginia were so bad that half the people didn’t even own carriages, and certainly not ones with gold cherubs holding up the roof. He said that nearly all the traveling done was through the river. At least he didn’t laugh at Bianca’s list of fabrics she wanted. He merely stared at it with his eyes wide and said, “You want monogrammed sheets of pink silk?” She informed him that all the best people in England had them. She ignored his remark that she wasn’t in England.
And everywhere she heard Nicole’s name. Miss Nicole had helped in the garden. Bianca sniffed. Why shouldn’t she? She had once been Bianca’s maid, not a lady with a baron for an ancestor, as Bianca had.
After a while, though, Bianca grew tired of hearing Nicole’s name. She was also sick of hearing the little Frenchwoman referred to as the mistress of the plantation. She walked toward the wharf and the rowboat that would take her to the mill. She planned to give Nicole a piece of her mind.
Roger rowed her across the river, and Bianca was angered at his insolence. He told her right away that he didn’t want to have anything more to do with her.
Bianca had to walk up wooden steps beside the dock that jutted into the water, then up a steep path to the little house. The top half of the Dutch door was open, and she saw a large woman bending over a small fire in the enormous fireplace. She let herself in. “Where’s Nicole?” she asked loudly.