Dylan resumed walking. “We’re out after dark on London’s streets. It’s cold, dark, and miserable, not to mention dangerous.”
“She’s out in the same weather,” Alasdhair said. “Hasn’t eaten for two days.”
She’d eat well within the next hour, would be Rye’s guess, which turned his thoughts in the direction of Miss Ann Pearson, who could rhapsodize about anise hiding beneath other spices, or butter biscuits she could not exactly replicate.
Would Ann Pearson miss him if he moved to France? The question was academic—he was not about to scurry away merely because gossip was once again turning against him—but if he should find himself dwelling in France, he would certainly miss her.
Miss her a lot.
And her kisses.
“By the end of the first day of my apprenticeship,” Ann said, “I thought my arms would fall off.”
Henry had taken Benny to the staff hall, where she would choose a hook for her cloak, find clean aprons and caps, and sample the lemonade, ale, and bread and butter that were available to the staff at all hours.
“Your employer was determined to exhaust you?” Colonel Goddard asked.
His patch was firmly back in place, his gaze still on the doorway through which Benny had disappeared. Ann should not be so glad to see him, so willing to offer him her hand to bow over.
But she was.
“The work is exhausting,” she said. “I was given simple tasks, such as churning butter and beating eggs, so I might be useful while watching how the kitchen went on. I was also given tasks that allowed me to sit, which was a mercy when a cook has to be on her feet for as much as eighteen hours at a stretch. But my manners are remiss. May I offer you tea, Colonel?”
Monday morning had dawned windy, wet, and raw, and yet, Colonel Goddard had brought Benny to the club himself. He held his hat in his hands, and he’d gone so far as to unbutton his greatcoat, though he made no move to take it off. Even bareheaded, even under the kitchen’s fifteen-foot ceilings, he was an imposing presence.
“I would not want to put you to any trouble. I should be going, but I’d like to take a proper leave of Benny.”
Other than Henry and one potboy the worse for drink, the kitchen at this hour was deserted. The kitchen staff would wander in at mid-day, the waiters not until late afternoon. Ann had wanted Benny to start when she and the girl could make a thorough tour of the kitchen without an audience.
“I thought Benny and I would begin with a batch of crepes,” Ann said. “She would enjoy sharing them with you, Colonel.”
Ann would enjoy sharing another meal with him.
He circled his hat in his hands. “I thought you said the batter had to rest.”
And he had recalled her words. “I made the batter last night. Benny can learn to cook them this morning and to clean up the mess as well. She can watch me making a pear filling while she beats the heavy cream, and her first lesson as a cook’s apprentice will be delicious and in good company.”
Benny scampered into the kitchen, her apron rolled up at the waist to prevent her hems from dragging, a puffy white cap hiding her braids. The girl was neat as a pin and bore the scents of starch and lavender soap.
“Reporting for duty, Miss Ann.” She snapped off a curtsey and offered a tentative smile.
“First rule,” Ann said, “no running, ever, just like in the stables you love so well. You don’t want to accidently jostle the rôtisseur when he’s carving his roasts. We might walk swiftly, but we do not run.”
Benny nodded solemnly. “Yes, Miss Ann.”
That was the proper response. Had Benny made an excuse or offered a denial, Ann would have delivered a stern lecture, regardless of the colonel’s presence.
“Hands,” Ann said.
Benny obligingly held out two pale paws.
“Wash them again,” Ann said. “Washing your hands marks the beginning of your every task as a cook. Normally, I would have you read the whole recipe and ask me any questions before we begin, but we aren’t cooking from a recipe this morning.”
“No recipe?” the colonel asked.
“I will rely on memory and inspiration,” Ann said as Benny walked quite quickly to the wet sink under the windows. “May I take your hat and coat, Colonel?”
He passed her his hat and turned his back, and Ann lifted his greatcoat away as he shrugged loose of it. The wool was heavy and soft, first quality, and redolent of cedar. She indulged in a sniff before he faced her again. Cedar and leather, London’s smoky rain, and that underlying hint of Provence he carried with him everywhere.
“My hands are clean,” Benny announced. “Do we get to eat the crepes?”
“We will share them with Colonel Goddard, assuming our efforts are successful.” Ann started Benny on the arduous business of whipping air into cold, heavy cream.
“And what might I do to be of use?” the colonel asked, slipping his sleeve buttons into a pocket and turning back his cuffs. “I’ll have you know I’ve peeled potatoes and apples by the hour, though army cooks are inclined to leave the skin on to save time.”
“You keep me company,” Ann said, nodding to a stool beside the cook stove, “while I create the pear sauce. When the sauce comes to a rolling boil, I will start on the crepes, and you can continue stirring.”
And exactly when had the sight of a man’s wrists become so distracting?
“I’m not to wash my hands before I start?” he asked, settling onto the stool.
“You used your lavender soap thoroughly this morning, and you are not embarking on a career as a cook.”
“Alas for me. Does champagne go well with pears?”
While Ann mashed some of her pears and sliced the rest, and debated whether to include a dash of rose water, a dollop of honey, or the zest of a lemon, the colonel lounged on his stool and discussed wine pairings and winemaking with her.
At some point, he slipped into French, as did Ann, and all the while, Benny toiled away at her whipped cream.
“You are happy,” the colonel said when the sauce was burbling gently. “You look happy, you sound happy. Stirring up that pot of gold, you radiate contentment. Your French is also impressively facile.”
Ann was happy. Taking on an apprentice had first struck her as a recipe for complications and years of thankless work, but seeing Benny eager to learn, watching her go at her assignment with gleeful enthusiasm, Ann allowed that an apprentice was a step toward opening a cooking school. Not entirely a bad thing.
And yet, that wasn’t the whole motivation for the good cheer Colonel Goddard noted.
“Thank you,” she said. “With Monsieur Delacourt regularly trying to confound us all in his native tongue, one wants to keep the vocabulary fresh. When are you happy, Colonel?”
He watched Benny, his expression wistful. “I was happy showing a pair of striplings around my vineyards. They will try to outdo each other learning the business, they will bumble and occasionally fail, but I realized that I am no longer a stripling myself, haven’t been for years, and there’s peace and satisfaction in knowing that leg of life’s journey has been completed.”
He did not recount a particularly stirring battle or close-run horse race against his fellow officers.