"You could always try to look on the bright side," she suggested.
"There is a bright side?"
"Er, yes. There must be." But she couldn't think of one.
He sighed and held out his arm. "Stitch me up?"
"Are you going to want more brandy?"
"It'll probably put an end to any amorous intentions I have for the evening, but yes, I would." He sighed. "Do you know, Ellie, but I think this is why people get themselves wives."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I hurt everywhere. Everywhere. It's nice to have someone I can say that to."
"Didn't you before?"
He shook his head.
She touched his hand. "I'm glad you can talk to me." Then she found a spool of thread and a bottle of brandy and got to work.
Chapter 15
As was her habit, Ellie awakened bright and early the next morning. What was out of the ordinary, however, was the fact she was lying on Charles's bed, snuggled up quite close to him, with his arm thrown over her shoulder.
He had fallen asleep very quickly the previous night after she had stitched up his arm for the second time. He'd had a tiring and painful day, and the additional bottle of brandy hadn't helped. Ellie had wanted to leave him to his rest, but every time she tried to ease herself from the bed and creep into her own room, he grew agitated. She had finally dozed off on top of his blankets.
She slipped quietly out of the room, not wanting to awaken him. He still slept quite soundly, and she suspected that he needed his rest.
Ellie, however, was physically incapable of sleeping late; after changing out of her crumpled gown, she wandered downstairs for breakfast. Not surprisingly, Helen was already at the table, perusing the newspaper that arrived in the mail each day from London.
"Good morning, Ellie," Helen said.
"Good morning to you."
Ellie sat down, and it was only a moment before Helen asked, "What was the commotion last evening? I heard that Charles was quite beyond foxed."
Ellie recounted the details of the previous day as she smoothed orange marmalade on one of Mrs. Stubbs's freshly baked scones. "That reminds me ..." she said when she'd finished telling Helen of Charles's second bout with stitches.
"Reminds you of what?"
"I was trying to think of something special we could do for the tenants as winter and the holidays approach, and I thought I might make them homemade jam."
Helen's hand froze in midair as she reached for another scone. "I don't suppose this will involve your entering the kitchen again."
"It will be a special surprise, as they would never expect a countess to actually cook."
"There might be a reason for that. Although in your case, I believe people have given up trying to figure out what to expect."
Ellie scowled at her. "I assure you that I have made jam hundreds of times."
"Oh, I believe you. I just don't think anyone else will. Especially Mrs. Stubbs, who is still complaining that she keeps finding soot in the kitchen corners."
"Mrs. Stubbs merely likes to complain."
"That is, of course, true, but I'm still not sure—"
"I'm sure," Ellie said emphatically, "and that is all that counts."
By the time breakfast was finished, Ellie had convinced Helen to help her prepare the jam, and two kitchen maids were sent to town to buy berries. An hour later they returned from town with large quantities of assorted berries and Ellie was ready to get to work. As expected, Mrs. Stubbs was not pleased to see Ellie in her kitchen.
"No no no!" she yelled. "The oven was bad enough!"
"Mrs. Stubbs." Ellie said in her sternest voice, "may I remind you that I am the mistress of this house, and if I want to smear lemon curd up and down the walls, it is my right."
Mrs. Stubbs paled and looked to Helen in terror.
"She is exaggerating," Helen quickly explained. "But perhaps it would be best if you worked outside the kitchen."
"An excellent idea," Ellie agreed, and she practically pushed the housekeeper out the door.
"Somehow I don't think Charles will be happy to hear about this," Helen said.
"Nonsense. He knows that the fire wasn't my fault."
"Does he?" Helen asked dubiously.
"Well, if he doesn't, he should. Now then, let us begin our work." Ellie instructed a scullery maid to pull out Wycombe Abbey's largest pot, and then she dumped the berries into it. "I suppose we could make several different types of jam," she said to Helen, "but I think a mixed berry jam will be delicious."
"And," Helen said, "we can do it all in one pot."
"You're catching on quickly." Ellie smiled and then proceeded to add sugar and water. "We shall probably have to make another batch, though. I doubt this will be enough for all of the tenants."
Helen leaned forward and peered in. "Probably not. But if it's truly this easy, I don't see why that should be a worry. We can simply make another potful tomorrow."
"This is really all there is to it," Ellie said. "Now we just need to cover it up and let the mixture cook." She moved the pot to the perimeter of the stovetop, away from the firebox which burned at its hottest directly underneath the center of the cooking surface. She didn't need any more accidents in the kitchen.
"How long will it take?" Helen asked.
"Oh, most of the day. I could try to cook it faster, but then I would have to monitor the jam more closely, and stir it more frequently. With all that sugar it's likely to stick to the bottom. As it is, I will have to have one of the maids stir it while I'm gone. I shall come back every hour or so to check on its progress."