Page 20 of The Chef and the Countess

Late Saturday morning, Doctor Hornsby entered the kitchen area and motioned to Liam, pointing toward his office. It was eleven o’clock, and the kitchen was busy preparing for lunch. Usually, on Saturdays, Liam served beef stew, so he had the three boys by the stoves, stirring pots of meat and vegetables. “Tommy, the soda bread is cooled. Start slicing. Remember, not too thick.”

“Aye, Liam.” The lad hurried to the preparation counter and arranged small baskets in a row.

“Hannah? Stay by this pot until I return.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he followed Drew to the office. He closed the door and sat at his desk, giving Drew a questioning look.

“Celia Gillingham is recovering nicely. She will be ready to start work tomorrow for some light duties or training.”

“She won’t infect the rest of the staff?”

“I do not believe so. Celia Gillingham’s illness was borne more from exhaustion and strain than anything. Continued rest and good meals will assist in further recovery.” Drew reached into his doctor’s bag and brought forth an envelope. “As expected, my father sent his reply by train. I received it last night.”

“What does the viscount say?”

“Quite a lot. I will read it to you, forgoing the personal Hornsby aspects. ‘Troy Buckingham, Viscount Shinwell, is the only son of William Buckingham, the Earl of Darrington, and his countess, Henrietta—known as Etta—Charles. Etta is the sister of Lady Deborah Charles Gillingham, wife of Sir Anthony Gillingham, baronet.”

Liam’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Celia is the daughter of a baronet?”

“Late baronet. Celia Gillingham’s parents died in a catastrophic boating incident on September 3, 1878. The baronet and his lady wife took a moonlight trip on the SS Princess Alice, where it was struck by another ship on the River Thames. It broke in two and sank in less than four minutes. Over six hundred people lost their lives, including Celia’s parents. That’s how my father knew of them. The tragedy was all over the papers and the talk of London.”

Liam frowned. “Jaysus. That’s horrible. Now that you mention it, I remember people speaking of it on the streets.”

“Her aunt, the countess, was her only living relative. Celia moved into the earl’s home. At some point, she was sent away to school, and at age nineteen, a marriage was arranged.”

Liam scoffed. “Of course. Bloody toffs.”

“Celia Gillingham married the then fifty-five-year-old Earl of Winterwood about eleven years ago. During the first five years of their marriage, they split their time between London and some remote village by the Scottish border. After that, they rarely came to London. My father says Winterwood hasn’t sat in the House of Lords for nearly six years due to ill health. If Winterwood is dead, the news hasn’t reached Westminster yet. Then again, there is a recess.”

Liam heard a buzzing in his ears. Celia was a—countess? And he was going to put her to work in his kitchen! Liam’s eyes narrowed. “She never said a bloody word. And here you are telling me she’s ready to go to work. Jaysus. I can’t have a countess in my kitchen. Give over.”

Drew stuffed the letter in his side coat pocket. “It is patently obvious she has nowhere to go. Women are rarely left money or acknowledged in wills. If there was an heir, he could have kicked her to the cobbles, seeing they were not related. If there was no heir, everything reverts to the crown.”

“I don’t bloody believe this,” Liam growled, growing more annoyed by the moment.

“Lady Celia has suffered a further indignity, being thrown out of her aunt’s house by her cruel uncle and cousin. The lady has been through much already. I would advise she contact the solicitor that handled her late husband’s estate.”

“I posted a letter to the solicitor for her,” Liam griped. “Look, I can’t have a baronet’s daughter and an earl’s widow toiling in my kitchen.”

Drew stood and placed his hat on his head. “So you have said—more than once. But isn’t that up to the lady. We could gather some spare money and place her in a rented room until her aunt returns.”

“What if the toff, globe-trotting countess aunt wants nothing to do with her? What then?”

“I do not know, Liam. Do we shame the Darrington earldom into taking action? Write a stern letter of our own to the Winterwood solicitor? What do you suggest? Women, unfortunately, have no legal leg to stand on when it comes to inheritance.”

Liam banged the table. “Of all the restaurants and pubs in London, she had to be tossed into mine.”

Drew patted his shoulder. “Try to be patient when you speak to her about this. A little compassion would not go amiss. That is my professional medical opinion. Lady Celia does not need any further trauma. I have a small flat at the rear of my house on Gloucester Square. She can stay there until we contact the aunt or the solicitor. Then, all we need to do is supply food.”

Liam crossed his arms. “I assumed Mitchell and Corrine would stay there when they returned from their wedding trip.”

“You haven’t heard. The new Baron Addington gifted Corrine with her late husband’s house in Camden Town. It was not part of the entailment. I imagine they will live there or sell it and find their own residence.”

Liam nodded approvingly. “Good for them. A property makes for a good start in life.”

Drew picked up his doctor’s bag. “That is why my parents gifted me the place on Gloucester Square. Is this place yours? Or is it none of my concern?”

“It’s mine, lock, stock, and beer barrels. The previous owner left it to me in his will. I’m lucky it’s paid for, but it needs work. The roof needs to be tarred. I want to enclose the outside stairs. I could go on, but I won’t.”

“Get in touch after you speak to Lady Celia.”