Free Doubting Abbey by Samantha Tonge Page B

students was a sensible number for starters.’
    Roxy walked past in the background and stopped chewing sweets long enough to pull a face. She was right. I needed to focus. Catapulted onions were hardly sexy. The camera crew had gone into the kitchens to film the staff. This was my chance to find Nick, get him on camera next to me and instigate Plan Sex-up. Deep in thought, I tipped back on my chair again.
    There was an ear-splitting crack as the wooden legs collapsed. Ankles over head, I crashed onto my back. Fuck! I must have flashed my sequinned scarlet thong, having refused, point blank, to borrow Abbey’s big pants. This was more Porno than Sex-up.
    ‘Are you all right, Abbey?’ asked Henrietta, on her feet. ‘Poor you – I bet that hurt. At least the cameras have gone.’
    Edward reached my side quicker than a bullet out of Mr Thompson’s gun. Gently he sat me up and made sure no bones were broken. Then, straight away, cheeks flushed, he backed off and examined the chair. Nick helped me to my feet.
    ‘The two back legs are completely ruined,’ Edward announced after a quick glance at me rubbing my back. ‘It’s a shame. This is a matching antique set.’
    For some reason, my eyes felt all watery. I couldn’t help thinking he was more worried about permanent damage to the furniture than me.
    ‘I’m okay,’ I mumbled to everyone else. Lady C hadn’t prepared me for such a situation and I’d never seen Abbey spreadeagle her legs in the air.
    Edward didn’t look at me again, cos I was probably some mega embarrassment – one that felt about as small as the flying onion.
    ‘Although my back is, um, a tad sore,’ I said, annoyed at the wobble in my voice.
    ‘You’ve probably bruised it,’ said Henrietta, voice still full of concern.
    ‘Do we keep painkillers in the house, Uncle?’ My cheeks burnt. I had to get out of here. This bonkers pretence was over. It would be best to quit before I let Abbey down any more. I couldn’t even behave like a lady for the length of one fancy dinner.
    ‘Kathleen has a supply in the kitchen,’ he said and nodded in that direction. ‘Shall I ring for a couple?’
    ‘No, I’ll, um, stretch my back and walk the long way around, through the front of the house. Please, everyone, do excuse me. Apologies, once again, for the disturbance.’
    Still rubbing my back, I left the dining room and headed along the dark corridor, back past the Low Drawing room. With a groan, I slumped at the bottom of the staircase. Aarghh! That could not have been more humiliating. Actually, it could – thank God I’d not gone commando to avoid visible panty lines. But then maybe that would have got some reaction out of those po-faced Croxley men. So much for Edward being a knight in shining armour.
    With a sigh, I stood up and walked to the other side of the building, past another winding staircase. Edward had told me that here was the newly converted kitchen area installed for the Food Academy and, curiously, I went in. Talk about fancy.
    With a sniff, I inspected the white-washed room and its five new workstations, one extra at the front where the teacher (that’s me) would demonstrate her skills. They were basic, each with a silver sink, cooker and cutlery, plus cupboards well stocked with pans, sieves and graters. It was the only part of the house I’d seen, so far, that showed no hint of its noble status. A door at the back must have led to the pantry and cellars and real kitchen, where Kathleen cooked for the house. On tiptoe, I let myself in.
    Sure enough, Kathleen and Mr Thompson sat at a large table, mugs in front of them, dead pheasants by the estate manager’s feet. In front of a rolling camera, they chatted about how self-sufficient the estate was. Elvis Presley music played from an old-fashioned tape cassette machine on one of the units. Whilst huge, this kitchen was much more homely, with pine units, a huge scratched table and cross-stitch pictures on the walls. A whiff of