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“We’d best make for the kitchen, and hope Mrs. Brubbins can pry us apart with a spoon and some water.”
“Your smile is good today,” Rose observed. “I believe it.”
How did one reply to that? Though since the girl was occupied with imagining all the things and people she and her brother might now become stuck to, Emmie supposed she didn’t have to respond. And for heaven’s sake, she smiled fake smiles all the time in London—at dinners, parties, walks and rides through the park. She was good at it. It was a mark of politeness to smile even if hearing the same tale from the same baron for the seventh time. Her smiles didn’t look false. If they did, she would rightly be accused of failing in her duties.
“I wasn’t pretending to smile before,” she said. “This is just very funny.”
“Yes. I can tell, because you ain’t frowny in your forehead.” The girl made an exaggerated scowl, then gestured with her free hand at the lines above her eyes.
So that was the girl’s vision of her, was it? Frowny and fake. And if there was anyone who would speak the truth about something like that, it was a five-year-old. Perhaps it was time to practice her smiles in front of a mirror again. “I shall try to be less frowny from now on.”
They stopped in front of the kitchen door. “How are we going to open it?” Rose exclaimed. “Georgie, you’ll have to do it. Don’t get your hand stuck to the door!”
“What do we have here?” Mrs. Brubbins exclaimed as the three of them edged sideways into the kitchen.
“We’re stuck together!” Rose shrieked, giggling. “We need a spoon and some water!”
“Oh dear, dear, dear. How did this calamity happen?” the round cook asked, whirling around to snatch up a wooden spoon with one hand and a bowl of water with the other.
“A horse snorted on me.”
“A horse drooled on me.”
“And I’ll need to wash this spoon after we’re finished here.” With a flourish, Mrs. Brubbins dipped the spoon in the water, flipped it in her hand, and then slid it between Rose’s hand and Emmie’s. “Is it working?” she asked, making a show of moving it back and forth.
“No.… Wait! I think it’s working!” Rose held on tight to Emmie’s fingers, then released them to stumble backward. “You’ve unstuck us! Now you must free Georgie.”
While the two cook’s helpers giggled behind their hands, Mrs. Brubbins dipped the spoon again and pushed it in between Emmeline and George’s palms. To Emmie’s surprise George held on to her for a moment before he yanked his hand away.
“Oh, you’ve done it, Mrs. Brubbins,” Emmie said, grinning and appreciative of the cook’s quick wit. “Thank goodness. And now we must wash our hands or we’ll be stuck again.”
A bit of soap and water later she, at least, felt less… slimy, and both children were back in good spirits. She sent George to find Will and see if he was ready for the agreement signing, and escorted Rose upstairs to change her dress. Hopefully Hannah knew the secret of removing horse snort from a young lady’s gown.
As for her, she would make an effort to be less frowny. And to keep in mind that, miniature criminals-in-the-making or not, George and Rose were, above all, children. And like it or not, prepared for it or not, suitable or not, over the next few weeks she and Will would be their role models.
Will emerged from his office and headed toward the foyer. “Powell, where might I find Mrs. Pershing?”
“With Mrs. Brubbins in the morning room, sir,” the butler answered, jumping to straighten a vase in the foyer as the children ran past, headed for the kitchen. Changing course, Will made for the half-open door on his right. Partway through, he stopped, his attention snared.
“Strawberries will have to be ordered from a hothouse at this time of year,” the cook was saying, as she jotted down notes on a piece of paper. “I could probably have them by Thursday, but you will have to pay for the accelerated delivery.”
Nodding, Emmeline wrote something in her own well-organized calendar. “Then let’s begin with the honey biscuits for dessert, move the strawberries and cream to Friday, and the raspberry ice cream on Saturday.”
“And the beef steaks?”
“Let’s move those to Saturday, as well. They’ll pair well with the ice cream, I think.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I know the additional food is exceeding your budget; I will see to it that it is increased. The first priority is feeding the children well and memorably.”
The round cook bobbed her towering bun of graying black hair. “If I have my way, those two darlings will be saying ‘that dish was my favorite’ every evening.”
“We all benefit, then.” Emmeline chuckled, turning a page of her book. “Sally’s birthday is next week. Wednesday. I believe she likes cherries, yes? Perhaps a cherry dessert for the staff in her honor?”
“Oh, that would be lovely, Mrs. Pershing. I have a few things in mind. Might I have you choose one tomorrow?”
“I leave it to your discretion, Mrs. Brubbins. But do be aware the children will smell your baking from miles away and expect a helping, as well.”