Who is the most senior of the maidservants here?”
“Eseld, my lady.”
She looked over the women. “And which one of you is Eseld?”
“She isn’t here, my lady,” Tecca said quietly.
“Where is she?”
“Don’t know, my lady.”
Beatrice was quite certain Tecca did know, and so did the other servants who were likewise avoiding looking directly at her. However, this wasn’t the time to press the point. What mattered now was what had brought her here in the first place. “Well, when you do see her, tell her to come to me. Lady Constance has charged me with ensuring that Sir Ranulf is as comfortably accommodated as a man of his rank deserves to be, and I intend to see that happens. First, though, I would like one of you to take my servant, Maloren, to the kitchen. She will be in charge of the evening meal today.”
Behind her, Maloren muttered, “I don’t know how I’m expected to have anything decent on the table. The food’s probably full of maggots.”
“Maggots?” a rough male voice cried from behind the serving women. “Who accuses me of having maggots in my food?”
A man nearly as wide as he was tall pushed his way through the serving women. He wore an apron liberally spattered with grease and his sleeves were rolled up to display fleshy arms. One eye squinted and he was missing a front tooth. His plump fingers were covered with tiny scars; he was also completely bald.
In spite of his unappealing appearance and rude manner, Beatrice gave him a smile, too. “Am I to assume that you’re the cook?”
“Aye, and the best one in Cornwall,” the man boasted. “Sir Ranulf can have no cause to complain about the food.”
Beatrice decided this was not the time to discuss that, so she gave him a rather empty smile. “When will the evening meal be served?”
“When it’s ready.”
No wonder this place was in such a condition, if this servant thought he could speak to her like that.
Beatrice drew herself up and straightened her shoulders, then regarded him with the contempt his insolence deserved. “You are the cook in Sir Ranulf’s household. I am the cousin of his overlord’s wife. When I ask you a question, you will give me a proper answer, or you will no longer be the cook here. Do you understand me?”
The man glanced about him uncertainly while all the other servants stared at their feet.
The cook seemed to appreciate that he’d made a serious error in thinking this young beauty lacked any authority, or the will to use it. He colored, cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his apron. “Sir Ranulf wants me to wait until all the patrols have come back.”
Beatrice inclined her head in a gracious nod. “I see. Then so it shall be. What is your name?”
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