Persuasion in the Pantry [Maid for More #1]

Chapter 32 Part 2: A Queen's Command

Thankful for her friend's advice, she scuttled off to boil and scour the pan until it no longer resembled the inside of a chimney stack. As the night wore on and full platters of roasted pork and decorated jellies consistently returned empty, the stack of dishes in the sink piled up, level with Verushka's head. The job seemed to take twice as long since Madam Shiela persisted in inspecting all crockery and enforcing a draconian method of washing all food stains from them.

Finally as the upstairs gathering wound down, and the bustling of the kitchen thinned out, Verushka glimpsed the bottom of the glazed stoneware sink through the fading bubbles of soap. She was glad that the Duchess had installed some fancy system of water flow that allowed a fresh stream to enter via a tap. Verushka paused in her washing to jab a wooden spoon at the clogging drain ineffectually, concluding that the brilliance of the new irrigation system did not extend to the passage of half masticated pork rind. She was reminded of the old days of constantly emptying a wash basin as she withdrew her pruning fingers and delved below the base.

Verushka regretfully leaned down with the wispy trails of her hair catching the dishwater that leaked down the sides of the basin. She reached blindly for the twist in the piping to give it a knock and hopefully dislodge the leftover food she had neglected to scrape out before washing.

"Urgh!" Verushka grunted as she thwacked the leaden plumbing.

The S-bend proudly marked by a man named Cummings, which carried the best supply of The Chelsea Waterworks Company, refused to budge. With a frustrated sigh, Verushka stuck her head under the cold stone and unscrewed the pipe with a force fuelled by irritation.

Suddenly the canal gave way and a flood of filthy suds streamed out onto her arms, and petticoats. Verushka spat out the frothing surfactant and swiftly cleaned the inner lining of the pipe with slim fingers, wishing that she could have appealed to someone else in the empty kitchen to manage the task. Soon enough she stood up once more wiping her grimy palms on her less-than-fresh apron as she rejoiced in her own janitorial competency when she saw a pristine woman stand before her.

The Lady, who was no doubt a member of the peerage, gazed down at Verushka in undisguised disdain. She was a woman just passed the prime of life, whose fading refined looks bore the passage of time tolerably well. Although, the scarcity of laugh lines indicated a life of restrain, and any wrinkles were well covered with skilfully applied powder. She wore an evening dress of a green so deep that it bore the resemblance of a forest at night, bringing with her the same foreboding presence. Brushed velvet hung in smooth, controlled folds to the pantry floor, only broken by the delicate flourish of cream at her neck and wrists. Gilded emerald gleamed in historic Tudor settings at her ears like artefacts exhibited for more than allure. Every inch of her gown was stitched with perfection, tailored to sculpt her tall frame and leaving no question that this woman came from money as old as a Methuselah with the fortunate abundance of a Midas.

"You," the woman spat as if she tasted something foul between her teeth.

"My Lady," Verushka curtseyed low to the ground while attempting to discreetly wipe the wet smear of grease from her forehead with the back of her hand. Luckily the woman was not interested in her now oily face.

"Your Grace," the woman corrected and strode forward to circle the maid.

"Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?" Verushka remained low to the floor, ignoring the slow silent scream of muscles that had already been worn thin by washing. It was a rare occurrence to see members of the gentry inside a kitchen, and rarer still for the kitchen to not be their own.

"That depends...," the woman mused sardonically. "How long have you worked in the Bexley household?"

Pfft! As if I'm going to tell you, you snobby woman, Verushka thought. She couldn't disobey a member of the ton outright but she had no desire to help such a disagreeable woman who had invaded her kitchen for, no doubt, nefarious purposes. "A few years, Your Grace."