“Good morning, Miriam. You will be pleased to know Lord Ashington has plenty biscuits, jam and hot chocolate,” she announced.
“Yes, I am sure the girl has come down here concerned over the state of Lord Ashington’s breakfast offerings,” Uncle Alfred drawled and rolled his eyes.
I glanced over at Ashington, and he was grinning behind his cup of tea or what I assumed was tea. Perhaps he was a coffee drinker. Some gentlemen preferred coffee in the morning, although it was an oddity I did not understand.
“I am sure anything he has will be splendid,” I replied and took my seat to the right of Ashington and across from my aunt.
“Of course,” Aunt Harriet agreed then winked at me, holding up a buttered biscuit before taking a bite. I struggled not to laugh at her antics. I wasn’t sure how Lord Ashington would handle such behavior at his breakfast table.
“You forgot the jam,” Uncle Alfred told her and I did laugh then. Covering my mouth, I hoped it wasn’t too loud. Uncle Alfred looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “She was rather enthused about the jam, was she not?” he asked.
I nodded and dropped my hand back to my lap. “Yes, I do believe she was,” I agreed.
Aunt Harriet finished the bite in her mouth. “I am going to try the jam. I just needed to taste the biscuit without it first.”
“Are we a connoisseur of biscuits?” Uncle Alfred asked.
I bit my bottom lip to keep from laughing again.
“Is it always this lively in the mornings at your breakfast table?” Ashington asked then.
I felt my face heat up as I took a quick peek in his direction.
“More so, I am afraid,” Uncle Alfred replied dryly.
Aunt Harriet giggled then and I couldn’t help but smile. Turning my attention to Ashington, I lifted the corner of my mouth in a smirk. “Oft times Uncle Alfred will wake up early enough to take his breakfast without us. Rude as it may be,” I told him.
Ashington grinned. “Is that so,” he drawled.
“I am sure Lord Ashington will understand that choice after our morning meal,” Uncle Alfred replied.
“I find a quiet meal boring,” Aunt Harriet informed Lord Ashington. “I grew up with seven siblings and there was never a moment of peace in our house. I don’t think I could eat if it was silent.”
“Or if you hadn’t any jam,” Uncle Alfred added.
I covered my mouth to giggle into my napkin.
“Conversation and jam do make for a more appealing meal time,” Lord Ashington agreed.
“They do!” Aunt Harriet agreed readily.
“There is much to be said for a moment of peace with one’s coffee,” Uncle Alfred said, cutting his eyes at his wife.
Aunt Harriet lifted her right shoulder with a shrug. “Difference of opinion,” she replied.
The subject needed to be changed and I was thinking of something to say to do just that when a loud commotion came from somewhere not too far away. I didn’t know the house well enough to know where the noise was coming from, but there was yelling, some squealing perhaps, and it sounded almost like a… child was also present?
Everyone’s head had turned toward the door when a lady appeared suddenly looking rather wide-eyed and alarmed. “Lord Ashington,” she began, but he was already standing and making his way out of the room to check on the situation.
I looked across the table at my aunt and uncle.
“Did that woman have leaves in her hair?” Aunt Harriet asked, still staring at the doorway.
“And a twig of sorts, I believe,” Uncle Alfred added.
“Perhaps I could be of some help,” Aunt Harriet said, placing her napkin on the table as if she were about to stand up.
Uncle Alfred put a hand on her shoulder before that could happen. “No, you stay here. Whatever is happening, it isn’t our business. Lord Ashington does not require your assistance.”
Aunt Harriet chewed on her bottom a lip a moment. “I think I heard a child. Did you hear a child?” She was looking at me now.
I had heard a child. A girl perhaps, but I wasn’t going to confirm that. Keeping Aunt Harriet in this room was the most important thing at the moment. Uncle Alfred was correct. Ashington did not need her help nor would he appreciate it.
“I believe whatever happened, the high squeal of one of the maids, perhaps a young one, sounded a bit childish,” I said for not only Aunt Harriet’s benefit but my own. For I too was struggling with the fact I had heard the voice of a child rather clearly.
Aunt Harriet didn’t seem appeased.
“Eat the biscuits and jam, dear,” my uncle told her.
She frowned at him then grudgingly picked up a biscuit and proceeded to put jam on it.
Another loud clamor caused us all to jump and a shriek followed. We made eye contact but said nothing. Aunt Harriet took a bite of her biscuit with wide eyes. Uncle Alfred ignored the sounds as if there were nothing happening at all. Eventually, it quieted and I drank my hot chocolate, although it was now cold and not nice and warm.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Earl of Ashington
Feathers were flying around the kitchen as the staff ran in circles with their arms held open in an attempt to catch the chicken that was clucking, desperate to be free of the madness. Alice stood wide-eyed, watching from the far side of the room, but Emma was not beside her. Emma was in the center of it all calling out the name “Drusilla!” as she too made strides to capture the chicken, wreaking havoc on the kitchen.
I need not ask how the chicken came to be in the kitchen for I already knew who had freed the bird. What I did not know was why. I was sure the answer would be very thorough and colorful indeed. Most days I would be entertained by such antics, but today was not that day. How was I to explain this to my guests? Emma’s voice was ringing very clearly down the halls as she called out for the chicken she had named Drusilla.
“I HAVE IT!” Mrs. Barton called out with triumph.
“Don’t hurt her!” Emma pleaded as she rushed to her side.
“Emma, it is but a chicken. Come here at once,” Alice ordered, walking toward Emma with a stern expression that I felt was well-deserved.
“Ashington, tell her not to hurt Drusilla. She is frightened! I tried to rescue her from her near doom, but she ran in here.” Emma threw out her hands in frustration. “The place she needed rescuing from. She’s not a very bright chicken.”
“Indeed it appears she is not,” I agreed. Although I was sure the chicken had been perfectly fine until Emma had let it free.
“I am sorry, my lord. I was simply taking Miss Emma for a morning walk and she saw the chicken,” Alice began explaining, but I held up my hand to stop her.
“It is alright, Alice,” I assured her. It wasn’t the governess’ fault that Emma was so head strong. That would be the Compton blood in her veins. “If you will take Emma back to the cottage, Mrs. Barton will bring biscuits and jam. I shall come for a visit later this morning.”
Emma ran over to me and clutched my hand tightly in both her small ones. “But what of the chicken?”
“Do you want me to have Mrs. Barton feed it biscuits and jam?” I asked teasingly.
She frowned up at me. “No, Ashington. Chickens don’t eat jam.”