English Trifle Page 9

  She’d made it! With ebullient self-praise, she complimented her skills and tiptoed down the stairs. No need to give Mrs. Land too much warning. With a steady hand she slowly pushed open one of the double doors, slipped inside the dish room, and closed the door just as quietly before stealthily crossing the floor. She flattened herself against one side of the doorway and then turned her head enough to peek into the kitchen. Aha! Mrs. Land was washing dishes. Sadie tried to rack her brain for a reason why that activity would be suspicious, and although she couldn’t come up with anything, she did not let it deter her. She’d be patient, knowing that sooner or later Mrs. Land would betray the secrets she was hiding. Maybe Mrs. Land would make a phone call, or have a whispered conversation with another staff member—though Sadie hoped any incoming staff wouldn’t use these same doors. She quickly scanned the dish room and determined that if anyone came, she could hide under the desk in the corner and hope they didn’t look at it as they passed by. It would be tight, but she’d been in tighter spaces before. And what were a few sore muscles compared to the pursuit of justice?

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. Sadie was being patient. She was waiting for something to happen, but she quickly grew bored and wondered exactly what she’d expected. Mrs. Land had finished the dishes, wiped down the countertops, and swept the floor. The woman hadn’t prepared or cooked any food. Sadie smelled chocolate—a very good sign—but nothing else. Dinner was supposed to be served in little over an hour and all she could smell was dessert? The waiting was horrendous and though she’d started her stakeout pressed against the inside wall of the dish room, she eventually sat down and after awhile found herself counting all the different sets of dishes displayed in the glass-fronted cabinets in the room. Thirty-six. One was obviously Christmas-themed, and another was bright gold, while still another set was very delicate looking with tiny pink flowers around the edge. Each set was complete with gravy boats and butter platters in addition to all the varying sizes of plates and bowls. Sadie imagined that if there were ever an earthquake, this room alone would be responsible for a great deal of heartache. It wasn’t until she heard a buzzer in the kitchen that she realized how far her mind had wandered. She hurried to her feet and peered around the doorway. Mrs. Land was gone.

  Blast!

  Carefully she stepped into the kitchen, scanning the corners to see where her quarry had gone. She noticed a bakery box open on the big butcher-block table, half-full of those lemon cookies from the library—store-bought cookies?

  She looked up to spot Mrs. Land standing at the outside door the assistant cook had disappeared through a couple hours ago. She was talking to a young man as she took several large white bags from him, then turned and let the door shut behind her.

  “Oh,” she said in surprise when she saw Sadie standing there. Then her face went red and although Sadie wasn’t sure what she was seeing exactly, she knew it was something Mrs. Land had hoped to keep from her. Sadie looked at the bags, trying to discern what they held in them—and then she smelled new aromas she hadn’t noticed until now. It took a moment to add up the equation.

  “Takeout?” Sadie accused. Instantly she tried to justify it, reminding herself that under the circumstances it made sense that Mrs. Land wouldn’t have time to cook. Then she thought back to the garbage can brimming with paper and Styrofoam containers when she and Breanna had been in there earlier today, the fact that no dinner preparations had been underway even then, and the immaculate state of the kitchen. Besides all that, why would one takeout meal embarrass the cook so much?

  Chapter 12

  ~

  The bags in Mrs. Land’s hands read The Cliff—Fine Dining in Devon. Sadie lifted her eyes to meet those of the embarrassed cook as all the meals served at Southgate came to mind. She had noticed they seemed a little commercial—a little . . . non-homemade—but had assumed it was just the fact that she’d never eaten at an English estate before.

  “That’s what we’ve been eating all week, isn’t it?” Sadie asked, barely able to fathom it. “Takeout.”

  Mrs. Land swallowed and then hung her head. “I told them you’d figure it out,” she said, putting the bags on the large butcher-block table. “When you kept asking after the recipe for those scones I knew we was in trouble.”

  Sadie was pleased to hear that she’d been recognized as a serious cook, though she’d like to know who “them” was. However, she found herself at a crossroads. She could verbalize her disappointment that the wonderful English meals she’d enjoyed were a farce. But doing so would not get her the information she so desperately wanted. The other option was to take the bosom friend approach. It helped that, for whatever reason, people generally wanted to like Sadie, trust her, help her. She must have one of those faces that communicated to people she was harmless. She only hoped it worked as well here in England as it did back home in Garrison. Sadie smiled widely. “I wondered if you needed any help,” she said in as sweet a voice as she could muster. “Seeing as how you weren’t counting on extra people to be here tonight.” She held up her recipe book. “I take this with me everywhere I go, just in case.”

  Mrs. Land squinted at the book, clearly not understanding its significance.

  “It’s my recipe journal,” Sadie said, placing it on the table and shrugging out of her jacket—it was warmer down here than it had been upstairs. While she talked, she walked over to a row of hooks on the wall and hung up her jacket. “All of the recipes are tried and tested and determinedly perfect, if I do say so myself. I’ve got a great recipe for Rosemary Roasted Vegetables, or ninety-minute rolls if you need a little something to round out the meal.”

  Mrs. Land’s eyes darted to the side, then back to meet Sadie’s. “We have plenty.”

  “Wonderful,” Sadie replied, trying to hide her disappointment. She took a few steps and put her recipe book down on the counter. “I’ll just help you dish it out then.”

  “Well, see,” Mrs. Land stammered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she continued to hold the bags. “Only staff is supposed to be in the underside.” She glanced toward the dish room as if afraid someone was watching them.

  “Then I’ll make Liam pay me for my time,” Sadie said with a chuckle. She moved forward and took one of the bags from Mrs. Land’s hands. She would need to be assertive or she’d never get anywhere. Mrs. Land seemed unsure whether to stop her and resorted to just watching with a somewhat horrified expression. She glanced toward the dish room again.

  “Now, what’s on the menu?” Sadie asked, putting the bags on the butcher-block table.

  Mrs. Land paused for a moment, then walked slowly toward Sadie who was unpacking the Styrofoam containers from the bag. She paused another moment before putting the bag she still held on the table. “Well, I ordered roasted pigeon this time.”

  Sadie’s hand stopped and an immediate replay of the discussion she’d had with Breanna that afternoon came to mind. She turned to face Mrs. Land, wondering how she’d live it down when Breanna figured it out. “Pigeons?” she asked, trying not to grimace at the thought.

  “It’s very posh nosh,” Mrs. Land said, looking worried that she’d done something wrong.

  “Posh nosh?” Sadie asked, completely confused.

  Mrs. Land returned the look. “You know, fancy food. I’ve never had pigeon, meself, but I hear they are delicious.”

  “Oh,” Sadie said, adding posh nosh to her mental vocabulary book. She smiled even wider, though her cheeks were beginning to hurt. “I’m sure it’s delicious and I’m always up for trying new things.” She’d fully planned on complimenting Mrs. Land’s cooking up and down in order to earn the woman’s trust, but now found herself in a bit of a pickle. Complimenting the woman’s skills at ordering takeout was a much trickier approach. However, it was all that Sadie had to go on. “This smells wonderful,” she said as she removed the final container from the paper bag. “It was an excellent choice and I’m impressed with the variety you’ve supplied us with all
week.”

  “I’ve been careful to order something we hadn’t served,” Mrs. Land said, sounding a bit more comfortable, but still hanging back. “If you’d like to return upstairs now I’ll—”

  “I’m sure we’ll love it,” Sadie interrupted as she opened the first Styrofoam container. It was full of red potatoes. “Oh, roasted potatoes.” She smiled at the other woman. “Yum.” She nearly told Mrs. Land about her own recipe she used at home, but then realized that would not help strengthen their relationship.

  Mrs. Land didn’t seem to know how to react. Sadie glanced up at the clock. It was nearly seven. “What time is dinner?” she asked for want of something to say, even though she knew the answer.

  “Eight o’clock,” Mrs. Land said, taking a small step closer to Sadie. “But I can take care of it myself, ma’am. You’re a guest.”

  We’re back to that already, Sadie thought. She decided to ignore it. “Is there anything else we need to put together? Bread to slice, sauces to make?” Yet even as she said it, she looked at the Styrofoam cups full of what looked like gravy for the pigeon. Pigeon gravy. Oh, Breanna would never let her live this down. “Dessert?”

  Mrs. Land’s eyes darted toward the oven. “Well, I’ve got a chocolate torte baking,” she said.

  Sadie smiled, relieved to know the woman did cook some things after all. “Oh, you made it?”

  Mrs. Land shook her head slightly. “It was frozen,” she said. “I can’t cook much.”

  So why on earth was she in charge of the meals at Southgate estate? Sadie couldn’t figure out how to ask without sounding offensive so she moved on. “Do we use special plates?”

  “No,” Mrs. Land said. “Just the everyday china.” She watched Sadie open the different containers for a moment, then seemed to give in. She moved past Sadie to a stack of dishes on the sideboard next to a commercial dishwasher. Sadie had always wanted one of those—they washed dishes in just three minutes. But she didn’t cook for enough people to make it a worthwhile expense, and it wouldn’t fit in her kitchen very well anyway.

  “Do we serve it up now?” Sadie asked, turning so she could grab a slotted spoon out of a ceramic crock brimming with serving utensils.

  “Well, I make up the plates and then put them in the warming oven until it’s time to serve so I can get all the other things ready—butter, sauces, that kind of thing.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea,” Sadie said brightly. Mrs. Land returned with the plates in hand and hesitantly set them down on the table. Sadie grabbed the top one off the stack and put a spoonful of potatoes on it before placing it on the table and picking up another plate while Mrs. Land seemed to be considering how she could stop it. Sadie pretended not to notice. “What about the staff?” Sadie asked, realizing there were a lot of potatoes. “Do they eat this too?”

  Mrs. Land hesitated a moment before speaking. “No, ma’am, Saturday is always curry night for the staff. I’ve already sent out for it.”

  “Curry night?” Sadie said, looking up at the other woman. “Really?”

  “Curry dishes are very popular in the UK,” Mrs. Land said, sounding a bit more comfortable.

  Sadie was thrilled that Mrs. Land had given more than a basic answer to her question. “I’d noticed you have a lot of Indian restaurants.”

  Sadie had learned several years ago, when a family from Persia had moved into the neighborhood, that curry was a type of cooking rather than just one dish. She hoped her knowledge would help forge a bond with Mrs. Land and tried to think of what she could say to extend the conversation. “I make a wonderful Chicken Tikka Masala—have you ever had that?”

  Mrs. Land’s eyes went wide. “I love masala,” she said, smiling for the first time. “You make it?”

  Sadie nodded, “Back in the States I run my own household top to bottom—though it’s just an ordinary house, nothing like this. I cook, I clean, I drive, I do the shopping—the whole bit. Masala is one of my favorite meals to make in the winter. All those spices in the creamy sauce . . .” She shook her head as her stomach rumbled. “Delicious. And it wasn’t nearly as hard to make as I thought it might be when I first had it at a restaurant.” She nearly offered to share her recipe before remembering that Mrs. Land didn’t cook.

  “Perhaps I should have ordered curry for you,” Mrs. Land said, daring a smile.

  Sadie laughed. “I’d have loved it, but this looks delicious too. I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.” Sadie had dished up the plates with potatoes and opened another container only to find more. “What should I do with all the extra potatoes?”

  Mrs. Land picked up another container and flipped the lid back to reveal fresh green beans. Sadie thought she smelled dill. “Just put them in the fridge—Lacy’s in charge of breakfast in the mornings and she’s good at whipping up things for the staff from what we have left over. She’ll be a right good cook one day—not that she needs to worry about that.”

  “Lacy?” Sadie asked. “Is she the young woman who was in the kitchen with you earlier?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Mrs. Land clamped her mouth shut and stiffened. Sadie waited, trying to keep her expression inviting, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on Mrs. Land this time. Sadie decided this might be the best opportunity she’d have.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you what happened after you left us in the kitchen,” Sadie began, keeping her voice soft and leaning toward the other woman as though sharing a secret. “I’m so sorry, I know you wanted me to keep her here, but as soon as you were gone, she ran for the door.” She pointed over her shoulder toward the door Lacy had escaped through; Sadie considered how much more to tell Mrs. Land. Did she dare admit she’d let the girl go? And why did Mrs. Land want the girl to stay behind anyway?

  Mrs. Land looked just as anxious, but there was a curiosity in her eyes as well, proof that she wanted to know what Sadie was building up to. Sadie decided to go for it, and let the chips fall where they may.

  “I managed to grab her arm, but she was so upset, Mrs. Land. She said he’d told her if something happened to him that she had to leave. Was she talking about John Henry? Could he have known someone wanted to kill him?”

  Mrs. Land’s mouth opened slightly. “John Henry,” she repeated, her shoulders slumping as she looked at the floor, seeming to be deep in thought and not the least bit interested in explaining what those thoughts were.

  Sadie’s stomach was tight as she waited for Mrs. Land to continue. But instead, Mrs. Land began scooping the beans onto the plates, all her focus on the task at hand. Sadie wasn’t sure what to do, so she opened another container which held four browned birds, smaller than the Cornish hens they’d had in York, but fairly similar. They smelled wonderful.

  “Mrs. Land,” she finally said when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Do you think that’s what Lacy meant? That John Henry had warned her?”

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Land said, her hand slowing. “It’s just that—” She turned to face Sadie with a look of wanting to tell her something.

  Oh, please, Sadie prayed in her mind. Please tell me something. “It’s just that—what?”

  Mrs. Land’s shell was cracking, Sadie could feel it, see it in the other woman’s expression, but she feared at any moment Mrs. Land would realize how much she was giving away and retreat. Or someone would interrupt them. Sadie scrambled for a way, any way, she could gain this woman’s confidence and knock her off the fence she seemed to be sitting on and directly onto Sadie’s side. She took a step toward the other woman as an idea entered her mind. She wasn’t sure it would work, but it was worth a try. She’d used it with her kids when they were young, and it worked beautifully. If she pretended she knew more than she really did, then they didn’t feel like they were confessing, just confirming what Sadie already knew.

  “I promise you that I don’t want you or Lacy or anyone to get into trouble,” Sadie said, smiling sympathetically. “But I’m worried, now that the police are involved. If they
find out what’s been going on here, we could all find ourselves in a mess.”

  Mrs. Land was horrible at hiding her feelings and a variety of thoughts passed over her face, ranging from surprise to relief. “That’s what I’m so very afraid of,” she whispered. “What if, after everything, I end up in jail for my part in this? What will Rupert do without me?”

  Chicken Tikka Masala

  Chicken

  1 cup plain yogurt

  2 tablespoons lemon juice

  2 teaspoons cumin

  2 teaspoons cayenne pepper (1 teaspoon for a milder flavor)

  2 teaspoons black pepper

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  1 teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon ground ginger (or 1/2-inch piece of ginger root)

  1 1/2 pounds boneless chicken breasts or thighs, cut into bite-size pieces (thighs are a more tender meat—worth a visit to the meat department)

  After combining all ingredients in a gallon-size Ziploc bag, seal bag and knead the mixture together by hand. Allow chicken to marinate at least 1 hour in refrigerator. (Can marinate all day or overnight.)

  After marinating, remove chicken from bag. Grill or broil chicken until cooked through. Marinade will be thick and will cook off. You do not need to save the drippings.

  Sauce

  1 tablespoon butter or margarine

  2 garlic cloves, minced

  1 jalapeño, minced (Breanna doesn’t like a spicy sauce—leave out the jalapeño, it’ll still have the kick of the cayenne)

  2 teaspoons ground coriander

  1 teaspoon cumin

  1 teaspoon paprika

  1 teaspoon garam masala (optional) *

  1/2 teaspoon salt