Coates began to thaw towards Althea as she perceived Althea’s knowledge in matters of etiquette. She yielded more and more of the preparations to Althea’s management. Under Althea’s gentle persuasion a thorough housecleaning was begun. Curtains and carpets that hadn’t been moved in years were taken out and shaken, floors mopped and waxed, dust covers removed from unused rooms. With Mrs. Coates as an intermediary between herself and Cook, Althea made sure orders for food were placed in time for the event.
Althea knew a dinner party could make or break a host, and the quality of the table was crucial. She surmised from the talk of the servants that this was Simon’s first foray into the world of entertaining. She imagined that with his star rising in Parliament it was important for him to mingle in society. Althea threw herself into the preparations, vowing to do her best to make the party a success.
She didn’t know what to do about her own attendance, and the day was drawing near. She had no evening clothes, and decided finally to use her brown merino. She made sure it was clean and reserved for that evening. She had mentioned the dinner party to her brother on one of his quick visits during a trip to London. He didn’t share her misgivings about attending, but rather applauded Simon for insisting upon it.
On the afternoon of the dinner party, Althea finally escaped for a walk in Hyde Park. It had been several afternoons since she had been able to spare the time. The raw March wind felt refreshing against her face. She walked briskly along the Serpentine for an hour, then made her way back home. The house was still when she entered. She noted with satisfaction the gleaming entrance and the smell of beeswax. A vase of fresh orchids had been placed on a side table. She removed her cloak and prepared to ascend the staircase. Then she hesitated, her cloak over her arm.
Bracing herself, telling herself she had nothing to fear, she decided to go down to the servants’ quarters and check for herself that preparations were fully under way in the kitchen. Mrs. Coates had assured her that Cook had everything under control, but Althea hadn’t yet seen for herself.
She pushed open the door, and a group of servants stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. They were all grouped around the long table where they usually dined. Something didn’t seem right. The only one sitting was Mrs. Bentwood, who wasn’t so much sitting as slumped over the table.
“What is the matter?” Althea ventured farther into the servants’ domain. “Is anything wrong with Cook?”
Giles coughed. “It seems she has fallen asleep.”
“Asleep?” Althea reached the cook and leaned over her, touching her on the arm. Her head did not lie cushioned on her arms, but rested sideways on the table itself. Deep, rough breathing emanated from her nostrils. Her lips parted slightly and Althea received the full force of her breath at close range.
She knew that smell. “Why, she’s inebriated!”
Chapter Five
Althea looked up in indignation at Giles, then at Mrs. Coates, then at each of the younger maidservants and footmen in turn. They all stared back at her, their looks scared.
“How long has she been this way?”
Again Giles coughed, his demeanor no longer dour. “It’s hard to say, miss. She seemed all right this morning. She was making all her preparations. Then she served us some soup at noon. After that…well, I don’t know…I don’t remember seeing her much after that. I was down in the wine cellar for a while, then upstairs inspecting the rooms.”
Althea turned to Mrs. Coates.
“He’s right, miss. It was after lunch we lost track of ’er.”
Althea looked at the serving girls.
One bobbed a quick curtsy. “I work with Mrs. Bentwood, miss.” She motioned to another girl in a dingy gray apron. “Me and Martha. She’s scullery maid.”
“Weren’t you assisting Cook with this evening’s preparations?”
They both nodded their heads vigorously. “Oh, yes, miss. But she put us to work first, scrubbing the pots and dishes from our dinner, then told us to start on the vegetables.” She motioned to the other end of the long table littered with vegetables and parings.
Again Giles gave a discreet cough. “If you please, miss.”
Althea turned questioning eyes to him.
“I…that is…we all know Mrs. Bentwood likes to take a nip now and then. Oh, nothing more than that. She’s never shirked on her work. But she’s not opposed to a little swig in her tea.”
“I see.” Yes, the explanation of all those overcooked and frequently cold dinners became clear. “This is more than a little nip, however.”
“Yes, indeed. You are most correct, miss. I found this in the cellar.” Giles held up an empty bottle.
Althea took the bottle from him and brought it to her nostrils. She didn’t need the smell of stale rum to tell her what it was. Many such a bottle lay strewn in the streets of the East End on a foggy dawn.
“Where did she get this?”
“We don’t know, miss. She must have had her own supply. I keep the wine cellar keys with me at all times.” Giles tapped the key ring at his waistcoat.
Althea put her hands on her hips and looked around. “There is nothing to be done about Mrs. Bentwood now. How are the preparations for the meal coming?”
“Oh, Miss Breton, there’s not nearly enough done,” said Mrs. Coates, ringing her hands. “Without Cook, none o’ us knows enough about cooking to carry on.”
Althea turned to the first kitchen maid. “Show me what she has done.” The girl showed her around the room then took her into the kitchen and pantry. Althea found the cook’s scrawled menu and a few written recipes she had left beside it.
Back at the dining table, she addressed the assembled servants. “It is now three o’clock. We have between four and five hours to prepare a dinner for the sixteen people who will assemble upstairs. It is not much time for a dinner of this many covers. I’m going to need the help and cooperation of each one of you.” She looked at each face in turn. “Can I count on all of you?”
“But surely, miss, you can’t… We can’t prepare such a meal,” protested a chorus of voices.
“We not only can, but will. Mr. Aguilar expects a dinner to be served by eight o’clock this evening.” She gave them a smile of reassurance. “I believe enough preparations are under way. I have sufficient experience in a large kitchen to guide me somewhat. I’m relying on your collective know-how to do the rest.
“Now, if someone would be so good as to hand me an apron, we shall begin.” Althea began to roll up her sleeves. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She took the large apron the kitchen maid had brought her. “What is your name, please?”
“Daisy, miss.”
“Very well, Daisy. You stick by me.” She glanced at Giles, who was still looking at her, his mouth slack. “Giles, could you and Harry be so kind as to take Mrs. Bentwood to her room? Or perhaps to your sitting room down here, Mrs. Coates?”
“Yes, miss, right
