Free A Question of Class by Julia Tagan Page B

Benjamin was wildly attracted to Catherine, it was imperative he put a stop to his desires.
    * * * *
    That evening, Mrs. Daggett had the night off, and she’d set some cheese on the sideboard for Benjamin and Catherine, along with a platter of cold meat in a jellied sauce. Benjamin filled his plate and sat at the dining room table, and watched as Catherine did the same. She seemed preoccupied and edgy, and poured a large glass of wine. He took a bite of the meat and almost gagged.
    “For God’s sake.” He spit the gristle into his napkin. “Is that woman trying to poison us?”
    Catherine pushed her own plate aside. “Wait until she serves you her omelet one morning. I’m not sure what’s in it, but the smell alone is frightful.”
    Benjamin rose and threw his napkin on the table. “Follow me.”
    He picked up their glasses of wine and marched down to the kitchen, Catherine trailing behind him. A couple of maids were scouring pots in the washbasin, and he sent them off to clear the dining room. The kitchen was small but well equipped, with a large Dutch oven in the fireplace and a half-dozen iron pots hanging nearby. Benjamin placed their wine glasses on a small table near the window.
    He dug through the icebox and pulled out some roast beef, then selected parsnips and beans from the pantry. He found a large knife and began chopping the parsnips. Catherine joined him, efficiently snapped off the ends of the beans. He handed her a slab of butter and sliced the roast beef while she sautéed the vegetables, neither of them speaking. It occurred to him that she seemed more at home in the kitchen than in any other part of the house.  
    Working side by side made it easier for him to address the subject that hung uneasily in the air between them. While he spoke, he focused his attention on the blade of the knife as it slid through the meat. “I’m sorry for my earlier conduct. My behavior was untoward.”
    She didn’t look up. “I prefer we not speak of it again. Please hand me two plates.”  
    Benjamin did as he was told. Once they were seated, he waited for her to take the first bite. Her reaction made him smile.
    “This is quite a step up from jellied meat.” She gave him a gleeful look and took another sip of wine. “Mrs. Daggett will be irate when she sees what we’ve done. She hates when I come into the kitchen.”
    “I wasn’t sure if I could stomach another one of her meals. How does Mr. Delcour stand it?”
    “He keeps Mrs. Daggett around because none other than John Astor recommended her. My husband brags about her to everyone, saying Astor insisted he take her on. My guess is Astor was desperate to get rid of the woman. And where did you learn to cook? At sea?”
    “At sea, and also in France.”
    “The food tastes differently in France. Here everything seems stale in comparison.”
    “What about you?” he asked. “Not many ladies would step into the kitchen willingly.”
    “I got to know the inner workings of a kitchen quite well when I was a young girl. After my mother died and my father disappeared, my sister and I were made wards of a strict couple, the Allens. Mrs. Allen fussed over my sister, as she was only a baby, but I was put to work as their scullery maid.”
    “Where was this?”
    “In Bridgeport, Connecticut. Up the coast.”
    “I take it the Allens weren’t very kind,” he said.
    “They were strict and religious. But I learned how to take care of myself.”
    Benjamin was surprised how forthcoming she was. Perhaps it was because they were no longer in the stuffy parlor or dining room, and she felt safer and more comfortable in the back rooms of the house. Or maybe it was the effect of the wine. He could use this to his advantage.
    “And how did you end up in France with Mr. Delcour?” He asked, pouring more wine into her glass.
    She grimaced. “Mr. Allen owned a schooner in the foreign trade, and Mr. Delcour visited the Allens whenever he docked at the port. One morning,