Page 26 of The Chef and the Countess

“Aye. Let’s do it.”

“I liked the recipe for Aberdeen sandwiches—” Celia began.

Liam raised his hand, effectively silencing her. “I know what they are. Too much preparation. No toasted or hot sandwiches, not for teatime.”

“Very well,” Celia said, disappointed. “Pickle sandwiches, then?”

“We can manage that. We have pickles, and you can use the leftover pork.” Liam nodded.

“We should cut the sandwiches finger length, with crusts removed. That is how they are served in upper-crust parlors, or—or so I’ve heard.” Celia’s cheeks flushed. She would have to be more careful when in the company of people other than Liam.

“Tommy is an expert at slicing bread. Before he leaves for school, we can have him slice off the crusts as well,” Fiona suggested.

“Good,” Liam nodded. “Eckley told me he would soon make enough profit to buy a bread slicer, which would cut down on our preparation.”

“I saw one of those at the bakery two streets over. Maybe we should get one,” Fiona suggested.

“Someday. I’ll add it to my never-ending list,” Liam replied. “As I told you earlier, Celia, the sandwiches must be made on the spot. Properly prepared bread saves time, but you must make the fillings beforehand. So, the initial offering is pickle sandwiches, shrimp sandwiches, and what else? There should be one more.”

“Egg sandwiches with watercress?” Celia suggested. “All we need to do is boil eggs, slice them thin, and serve with watercress, parsley, and a dash of pepper. A dollop of salad cream, too, if you have it. I read that recipe in the cookbook.”

“Good. We offer three types of sandwiches. It would save time if you mashed the egg with salad cream and spread it on the bread.”

“What a great idea, I’ll do that. What about the biscuits, scones, and frosted cakes?” Celia asked.

“We have some delicacies in the icebox, and I hear more is coming tomorrow,” Fiona replied. “Some of Liam’s acquaintances send along uneaten food from aristocratic kitchens. We get a fair amount of small edibles. You can use the cakes and such for tea.”

“What a smart initiative. So much food is wasted in upper-crust homes.”

“Celia, you work with Fiona to finalize the tea menu and rework the toff food,” Liam said.

“I am very good at decorative writing. I can write the menus to show your customers,” Celia suggested eagerly. She enjoyed using her active imagination and talents for a common purpose, being part of a team.

“Fine. I’m going to my office. I’ve paperwork and bills to pay.” Liam poured another mug of tea and stood. “Get everyone working, Fiona. The sooner they’re done, the quicker they have the afternoon off.” He departed.

Celia watched him leave. It took all her self-control not to sigh at the sight of him.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” Fiona grinned. “Almost too handsome, although that’s hardly a fault. He acts completely unaware of the reactions he elicits from women of all ages and all walks of life. That’s why teatime has become popular. The ladies come to see him. They always have, even back when Walter Henning ran things. Liam didn’t believe me initially, but I convinced him to do a few walkabouts, asking how everything was and whatnot. Ladies stare at him like he is the main course. Much like you are mooning over him now.”

Celia’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, no. It’s that noticeable?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You’d better hide it better, however. Liam doesn’t get involved with staff.”

Celia reached for her tea and took a sip. “I understand. I do not want any trouble. I want to do my job well and earn some money until I can contact my friends or until my aunt returns, which may be several weeks.” Involved? Well, that was a prospect she had not considered. And no wonder, with everything in her life so uncertain. But Celia was eager to move on with her life, and she would not rule anything out at this stage.

Fiona stood. “Then we had best get to work. Bring your tea. We’re off to the larder to gather your ingredients and plan for tomorrow.”

Celia followed Fiona into the kitchen. Fiona was right. It would be wise in the short-term to show complete indifference to Liam, however difficult that might be, at least around other people.

But when they were alone? Celia was eager to see how things would progress.

* * *

Liam sat at his desk with two leather-bound ledgers spread before him. He had a good relationship with his suppliers built on mutual trust and esteem. When one delivery was made, he paid for the previous one. Most took a bank draft on his restaurant account, but he paid Mr. Eckley in cash since the man worked out of his house. He mentioned to Eckley two days ago that he was considering expanding into tea sandwiches, which meant more bread orders. Eckley shook Liam’s hand. Because of the extra business, Eckley hired his twenty-one-year-old nephew to sell from the cart, freeing Eckley up for more baking. “Thanks to you,” Eckley had enthused. “I’m finally making a good profit. We’ve found a large second-hand gas stove to add to our existing one.”

Liam was glad someone was making money. He stared at the ledgers. The free stew was cutting into his profits, and he didn’t like that he relied too much on the bin food from the toffs. Aye, he called it bin food because it was literally rescued from the rubbish. Liam had never learned how to bake. He’d never wanted to. Well, except for a hot crust pastry for meat and vegetable pies, which he didn’t serve that often. Expanding his menu meant more food to buy and more staff to hire. Liam was silently relieved when Fiona mentioned temporarily cutting back on the luncheon menu.

Running this place took a lot of work. Besides being perpetually tired, Liam’s thoughts were filled with food, menus, profits, and the well-being of his staff. With the bank drafts and cash envelope completed, Liam tucked them and the account books into his small safe, then gathered his wool coat and scarf. He needed to collect the outstanding gaming debts. Other than those debts, the gaming room was doing well enough, especially with the sale of beer and other alcohol. They turned a tidy profit every night. It gave him that extra cushion of security. Anyone looking at his books would be pleased with The Crowing Cock’s profit, but to Liam, it was never enough. Living and surviving on the streets would do that to a person—constant money anxiety, even when things were good financially.

He marched through the kitchen, where his staff was scrubbing the counters. “After you’re done, go ahead and relax for the rest of the afternoon. Tell the others. Remember, we don’t open until tomorrow at two, so there is no rush today. I’ll be back soon.”

He entered the rear yard, the alley, and onto the street. Taking his leather gloves from his pocket, he waved at an oncoming hansom cab. Once inside, he closed the folding doors and slipped on his gloves. The trap door opened above.

“Yes, sir?”

“Forty-eight Gloucester Square.”