Mavis excused herself and retreated to the safety of the kitchen but no peacefulness waited for her there. Madra and Lotta Jo argued over the dinner menu, but the familiarity of their argument was preferable over the discord Rena Oldroyd had harbored against Inali since the evening of Fayerfield House’s reopening.
“Is Miss Rena still here, Momma?” Madra dropped her disagreeing opinion with Lotta Jo, and Lotta Jo, ladle in one pudgy hand, aimed her inquisitive gaze on the housekeeper.
Mavis nodded, closed the kitchen door. “She is and thank goodness Master Inali has returned home.”
Lotta Jo sniffed, waved her soup ladle. “If the man is too blind to see through that woman’s pretentious airs all I can say is, he surely deserves the trouble Rena will bring him. I should know. I can speak from first hand experience on that woman’s selfishness.”
“Yes,” Madra said, agreeing with Lotta Jo. “The day Rena Oldroyd becomes Mistress of Fayerfield House is the day I resign. I will not take orders from that spoiled brat and suffer the abuse of her disagreeable temper and criticism.”
“That goes the same for me, Mavis,” Lotta Jo agreed, brandishing her soup ladle as if about to marshal her forces in an assault.
“We all presume too much thinking Master Inali will tie himself in marriage to Rena Oldroyd.” Mavis’s head ached. She rubbed her temples.
“Oh, what I would not give right this minute to hear what he is saying to her.” Madra laughed and returned to rolling out of her pie crust. “I would think Chloe and Date Oldroyd have more control over their daughter’s outrageous behavior than to allow Rena to impose herself and then proceed to instruct us on what to prepare for Master Inali’s dinner.”
“Roast lamb, indeed!” Lotta Jo sniffed. She dipped her ladle into a pot on the stove and stirred her simmering beef soup. “That I should have to bargain with one of those San Bargellian thieves over sweet meats — dates, figs, and pomegranates, indeed! Fayerfields have always eaten plain, local fare for as long as I can recall and Miss Oldroyd expects — no, she demands — foreign dishes!”
Lotta Jo’s previous quarrel with Madra was forgotten in their mutual dislike of Rena Oldroyd. Mavis imagined herself the general, Madra her captain, and Lotta Jo the sergeant in arms of kitchen utensils.
Later in the chapter —
“Orrick!” Inali burst into the kitchen, fury contorting his face.
Orrick, leaning back in a kitchen chair, tipped too far back, lost his balance and crashed into the floor. Lotta Jo scalded her tongue attempting to taste her beef soup; Madra shrieked, dropped her perfectly crimped apple pie into the floor at her feet; the potatoes cradled in the folds of Mavis’s apron leapt to freedom and thumped and rolled across the floor toward Inali’s boots.
Inali ignored the ensuing chaos his intrusion into the kitchen had created. “Orrick, bring Miss Oldroyd’s carriage around to the front door. She is leaving,” he ordered.
Orrick scrambled to his feet and set the kitchen chair upright. He skidded across potatoes, sending the spuds rolling, and banged out the kitchen door. Swinging around, Inali left, the kitchen door swinging closed upon the three astonished women. They smiled at each other, conspirators, and returned to their kitchen duties without complaining how Inali’s interruption had disrupted their preparations for the evening meal, or that Lotta Jo had blistered her tongue and lip, and Madra’s beautiful apple pie lay in a crumbling mess at her feet.
Copyright 1989, 2021 by Elizabeth A. Monroe
Excerpt from Mikuyi Moon, Book 7 in the Voice of the Wind: Shadows of Time series
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