Page 16 of The Chef and the Countess

After all their amiable years together, how could Carlton have left her without a home or money? Men were foolish and selfish creatures—at least, that had been her experience. But it didn’t sound as if Liam fell into that category. Giving homeless boys a purpose? Her admiration of Liam ratcheted up a few notches. Celia wanted to know more about the intriguing Irishman and intended to stick around long enough to find out.

* * *

“Well?”

Fiona closed the door to Liam’s office and sat in the chair, facing him. “I believe she’s telling the truth. She wants to write to her late husband’s solicitor, inform him of her situation, and perhaps have him send her some money. Women are often left out of wills. It’s not fair. If her late husband has a solicitor, the old bugger must have been part of the middle class at the very least.”

Liam had solid principles and a soft spot for those in need, especially women like Celia. His own past experiences had shaped these ideologies, and he was always ready to help those who were struggling. What Fiona said was true. Most people couldn’t afford solicitors, and most never made wills. That was a luxury for those with some status, money or not.

“I’m pretty good at judging when someone is lying—and so are you,” Fiona stated, pulling him from his thoughts. “I believe Celia is sincere. I like her. She smiles readily, is pleasant to talk to, and is a good listener.”

“I had the feeling she spoke the truth, but I wanted a second opinion,” Liam muttered.

“Celia also mentioned two friends, but her uncle and cousin told her they were not in London. How would they know that?” Fiona questioned.

That is a good point. “I suppose they know the families. When she’s feeling better, I’ll question her more thoroughly.”

Fiona chuckled. “You’re hardly a detective with Scotland Yard. Too bad your friend, Sergeant Simpson, is away. Try to be polite and not bark at the poor lady. She’s been through enough.” Fiona sobered. “When she does recover, what will you have her do?”

“She says she can’t cook, so there are scullery duties, washing dishes, feeding the unfortunates, and the like. There’s enough to do around here to keep her busy.”

“Further proof that she came from the upper middle class. For example, wives of bankers and lawyers have cooks and housekeepers.”

“I never thought of that.” It made perfect sense.

“To change the subject. About the business hours--let’s alter them further.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”

“Cut them back for the rest of the winter. Everyone is exhausted, Liam, including you. The Crowing Cock has become more of a success than we ever imagined. Let’s close the pub at one, instead of two. Maybe even midnight. Most of the gaming takes place between eight and twelve. We don’t make enough after that to justify staying open. It will give us more time to clean and prep the area for the luncheon and teatime crowd the next day. I can show you the pub ledger regarding the earnings.”

Liam sat back in his chair. “I believe you. Midnight it is. Who has outstanding accounts regarding the gaming?”

“Viscount Shinwell, 240 pounds, and Mr. Elliot Hartright, Esquire, 178 pounds.”

Liam whistled. Those debts had to be collected promptly. “The men are barred until they pay. Make sure Bruce is aware.” Bruce Shepherd was an ex-boxer who was taller and more muscular than Liam. Since hiring him two months ago, any rowdiness and requests for credit had fallen. “I will see about the debts this Sunday, and if I don’t receive any satisfaction, I’ll send Bruce. What about other customers regarding our new policy on credit?”

“The regulars are still given credit and pay within two weeks. Those accounts are up to date. A few newer customers have asked for credit; I said no, and there was no further argument.”

“Good. What else?”

“We should cut the restaurant menu even more. Instead of offering three or four choices at luncheon, there should be at least two during the winter. Teatime has become very busy with ladies looking for sandwiches. We should offer them every day. Put Celia in charge of making the sandwiches. We can use leftover meat and other foods for the fillings.”

“Maybe you should be the manager of this business instead of me,” Liam grumbled.

Fiona laughed good-naturedly. “Give over. It was your idea to offer teatime delicacies.”

“Only because of the toff food that’s donated through Hornsby and Simpson’s aristocratic connections.”

“And look how popular it’s become. You said you’re making a profit in that area with that and the bakery items you buy from Mr. and Mrs. Eckley. We charge more, especially since you bought those three-tiered fancy stands and the extra china dishes. Tommy said he wants to learn to make scones since he’s mastered soda bread. We can offer those as well. Tea and scones. They are a perfect pair. Tearooms are opening up all over.”

“Anything else?” Liam said sarcastically.

Fiona chuckled. “I’ve been saving these ideas. I wanted to present them to you all at once.”

Liam gave her a slight smile. “Maybe you should be running the restaurant, and I run the pub.”

“You love to cook. You’d miss it. Besides, I like sleeping late and being out on the floor at night giving orders. Especially to men.” She gave him a wink. “So, what have we decided?”