“What about the kitchen help?” he asked.
“We will have four extra staff to begin,” she decided. “Two to work the tables-serving and clearing the dishes and making the coffee-and two to help you in the kitchen with the baking. And they shall all wear matching uniforms-green jackets and aprons, and little white caps.”
Englebert was thrilled with the idea. “Like servants in the fine houses.”
“Yes, just like servants in the great houses. We want our customers to feel like highborn lords and ladies-as if they have arrived at the emperor’s court.”
“Maybe Archduke Mattias will come, ja?”
“I would not be at all surprised if Emperor Rudolf himself comes to buy Englebert’s Special Stollen.”
Etzel beamed at the thought. “Do you think so?”
Wilhelmina nodded solemnly. “Why not? We are climbing up in the world, Etzel. Things are going to change.”
CHAPTER 22
In Which Confidences Are Frankly Exchanged
Why did you not tell me at once?” demanded Lady Fayth. “Did you not think that a most necessary and pertinent detail to have omitted?”
“I do assure you I am sorry, my lady-most heartily sorry,” answered Kit. “But you must concede that I was not afforded ample opportunity to explain until just this moment. Even so, the fault, I own, is entirely mine.”
The revelation that Kit was the grandson of Cosimo Livingstone had thawed the frosty opinion of Lady Fayth somewhat, but she was still wary, and far from mollified. “It would have saved me considerable distress, I do assure you.”
“Again, I can but throw myself on the mercy of the court,” he told her.
“The mercy of the court?” She smiled suddenly, brightening the room and Kit’s heart with a glow of happiness. “I do like that. Did you invent it?”
“Alas, no. It is a well-known saying where I come from.”
“Oh. I see.” She frowned, and the glad radiance vanished. “Now you are mocking me.”
“Not at all.” Eager to change the subject, Kit glanced down at his soup plate. “This broth looks good.” He pulled his apostle spoon from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Shall we dig in?”
“How oddly you speak,” she observed, picking up her spoon.
They ladled savoury beef broth into their mouths, and Kit was glad for a moment’s respite from the task of having to converse in the obtuse tongue of the seventeenth century-difficult enough at the best of times. And tilting with Lady Fayth was demanding and exhausting; he was happy for a chance to regroup. Silence, broken only by the occasional slurp, stretched between them. When the extended pause began to grow awkward, Kit entered the lists once more. “Do you live in London?” he asked.
“Good heavens, no!” she exclaimed. Setting down her bowl, she took a bit of dried bread, crumbled it into what remained in the bottom of the bowl, and began spooning up the sops. “What about yourself?”
“London born and bred,” he replied, then quickly amended his assertion. “Well, in truth, I was born in Weston-super-Mare. My family has moved around somewhat, but I’ve lived in London a long time.”
“Weston-super-Mare?” wondered Lady Fayth.
“It’s in Somerset, I believe.”
“Is it, indeed?” She sniffed. “My home is in Somerset-Clarivaux, our family’s estate. Do you know it?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “My father is Edward, Henry’s older brother. I had a brother, Richard, who sadly died when he was three. I never knew him.” She nibbled daintily from the edge of the spoon, raising her head slightly. The candlelight caressed the curve of her throat and made her fair skin glow. The sight of such transcendent beauty within stroking distance made Kit feel a little dizzy. “Do you have family?” she asked.
“Well, there’s Cosimo, I suppose.”
“What do you mean, you suppose? Either he is your grandfather, as you claim, or he is not. There can be no supposition about it.”
“We are related,” Kit assured her. “There is no doubt about that. But he is not, strictly speaking, my grandfather.”
“No?” The spoon halted, hovering in midair. “Then who, pray, is he?”
“He is my great-grandfather.” At her disbelieving glance he added, “I know, I know-it seems unlikely. In fact, I had trouble believing it myself. But it is the honest truth. Cosimo is my great-grandfather.”
“Upon my word. You do surprise me.”
“It’s all to do with their, um-secret experiments.”
“Leaping.”
“Pardon?”
“Ley leaping-that’s what I call it. When one jumps from one place to another…” She favoured him with a superior smile. “Leaping.”
“A good word for it,” granted Kit. “Anyway, all this leaping about from one place to another seems to interfere with the natural process of aging in some way. Cosimo should be a whole lot older than he seems to be.”
“Is that so?” She spooned up another sop, then pushed the dish away. “Am I to understand that you have been allowed to leap?”
“Oh, yes. Several times. And you?”
“No,” she replied. Servants appeared to clear away the dishes and prepare the table for the main course. “It is thought to be too dangerous-though I cannot imagine why-and so, of course, being a woman, I am not allowed.”
“Well, I’m not very good at it,” Kit said, by way of mitigating her disappointment. “And I don’t pretend to understand much about it. But I do agree it could be very dangerous. I mean, what if you leapt and found yourself in the middle of the sea, or a tiger-infested jungle, or an exploding volcano…”
“That is why you need the map.”
“Pardon?”
“The Skin Map.”
“You know about that too?” said Kit, wondering what else she knew.
A platter of sliced mutton in gravy, mashed turnips, and carrots was placed on the table, and china plates efficiently filled. The servants topped up the wineglasses and retreated once more.
“My uncle trusts very few people with his secrets,” she confided, reaching for a clean spoon. “Happily, I am one of that select number. My father thinks it all wool and nonsense. He refuses to allow even the merest mention of leaping-or any of Henry’s other theories, come to that-in his presence. In consequence, they have not spoken in years. Thus”-her smile turned sweetly satisfied-“I have become the sole repository of my uncle’s scientific investigations.”
“I see.” Kit took her at her word, but there was something in what she said that niggled even as it sought to explain.
“Indeed, that is why I have come up to London,” she continued, slicing her meat nicely. “It goes without saying that much of his work is complicated and extremely esoteric. Uncle has promised to show me his journals and teach me some of his more abstruse theories. In time, I may be allowed to make a leap myself.”
“His journals,” repeated Kit, glancing up from his plate. “Wait! You mean he writes it down!”
“Certainly, he does. He keeps it all in little books,” she explained. “All his thoughts and theories, and also the results of his various experiments. It all goes into the books. Sir Henry is nothing if not scrupulous.”
“How very admirable,” declared Kit, “About these journals-I suppose you know where they are?”
“Where? In his study I should think-where else should they be?”
Kit felt the sense of helplessness that had dogged him since leaving Black Mixen begin to recede. He had only to get his hands on Sir Henry’s books and all would be well. At least this was the track his mind ran along at the moment. In a few days he would discover just how wrong he truly was, but by then this train of thought would have reached a wholly unexpected destination.
Laying aside his spoon, he placed both hands flat on the table. “Lady Fayth,” he said, adopting a solemn tone to better communicate the sense of gravity he felt, “I don’t mean to frighten you, but Sir Henry and Cosimo are in serious trouble. I think it imperative that we find his notes at once.”