I take the stairs down four flights to the basement kitchen. It’s a small room, blazing hot and as clean as a surgery, with a horror movie’s worth of hanging knives. The smell—fresh bread, hot tea, roast ham—gets my stomach rumbling, and I hurry for the door into the “servants’ hall,” where we eat.
“Do you expect to be served your tea, Miss Catriona?”
That’s when I see the tray on the counter. A steaming teapot. Slices of fresh-baked bread, tiny silver and glass bowls of butter and pickled something. There’s also an empty plate for the ham and poached eggs cooking on the stove.
I head for the tray as my stomach growls in appreciation. I’ll say thismuch for nineteenth-century Scotland, the food has been better than I expected.
I’m reaching for the breakfast tray when Mrs. Wallace says, “I’m not done with that yet. Drink your tea and give me time to finish his eggs.”
Hiseggs.
This is Gray’s breakfast.
“Apologies, ma’am,” I say, and resist the urge to curtsy. “And where might my morning meal be?”
I follow her gaze to a cup of tea and a chunk of unbuttered fresh bread. I glance from her to the meager meal, hoping I’m misunderstanding.
Nope. Well, at least it’s not stale bread and water.
I devour the food, trying very hard not to wolf it down like a starving beast. Crossing a hundred and fifty years takes a lot out of a person, and that chunk of bread only whets my appetite.
Once it’s gone, I turn to Mrs. Wallace, feeling like Oliver Twist, holding out my plate.
“Please, ma’am, might I have another slice?”
“And let Dr. Gray’s breakfast go cold? You’ll get your meal after the master has had his.” I must look relieved, because she waves at my empty bread plate. “Did you think I’d stopped feeding you? I run a proper household. You’ll need a full belly if you’re going to get through your chores. The mistress comes home in two days, and you’ve been slacking, Miss Catriona.”
“I wasunconscious.”
“Not since yesterday.” She scoops the poached eggs into tiny silver cups. “Now get your lazy self off and start working.”
I head toward what I hope is a room in need of cleaning.
She clears her throat. “Are you forgetting something?”
When I glance over, her gaze goes to the meal tray. I glance from it to her. “You want me to take this to Dr. Gray.”
“No, I’d like it to fly up to him on pixie wings, but as you’re the only one here, I suppose you’ll have to do.”
I fix on my most contrite look, lashes lowered. “Apologies, ma’am. I know I’m being a trial. My mind is still a wee bit fuzzy after my accident.”
“Oh, is that how you’re going to play this?” She raises her voice to afalsetto. “I’m a wee bit fuzzy, ma’am. If I could just have an extra day or two to rest…”
She shoves the tray into my hands. “Be glad you still have a position at all, after getting yourself into that mess.”
“Getting myself strangled?”
“You were skulking about the Old Town. What did you expect?”
The Old Town. If I remember correctly, in this era, that was the slums. So what was a housemaid from a prosperous household doingthere?
Mrs. Wallace continues, “Now take that tray to the master before it’s cold, and as soon as he’s done with you, get yourself back here, and Imighthave breakfast for you.”