She gestured at the window. “Well, look at it.”
He studied the seat. “Seems a normal sort of window seat to me.”
“The cushions are ten feet thick.” She rolled her eyes when he lifted a brow at the exaggeration. “Two feet, anyway. Thick enough that a person under six feet of height runs the risk of sinking into those cushions and remaining trapped there until someone comes along to retrieve her.”
“Stay off the cushions, then.”
“They look terribly comfortable.”
He felt his lips twitch at the sound of her wistful sigh. “I could attach a rope to the wall. You’d be able pull yourself out.”
She laughed, for him, and his tension eased away.
“I’m not sure if that would be more, or less, humiliating than having to call for help, but I’ll take your offer into consideration.” She sighed and turned to scoop up her ledger. “I really ought to be starting on dinner. Should anyone have need of me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Though it was difficult to say for certain, he thought she might have added something to that statement as she turned to leave. Something along the lines of, “heaven help us.”
Mrs. Summers hesitated outside the kitchen, experiencing a slight crisis of conscience.
She had very nearly harassed Evie into cooking. True, Evie had been the first to suggest trading duties with Christian, but Mrs. Summers was forced to admit she had taken the idea and run away with it. The poor girl had been left with very little choice but to follow through—and only one day after what must have been a frightening and arduous journey.
That Evie should follow through was not up for debate. Mrs. Summers simply could not stomach another meal of butter-drenched eggs or cheese and fruit. She could, however, offer assistance if it were needed. Not with the actual preparation of the meal, of course—she wouldn’t know where to begin—but she could be on hand if, just for example, a fire were to start.
She stepped forward toward the doorway, then stepped back again. The trouble with offering assistance was that one never knew if the recipient might take offense. Few people cared to have their limitations pointed out to them, and those with additional limitations, like Evie and Christian, seemed to care for it even less.
Mrs. Summers squared her shoulders. Until she was certain Evie’s limitations did not extend to cutlery and open flame, she was going to keep an eye on the girl…discreetly.
She walked into the kitchen and found Evie slicing potatoes next to the sink. No bleeding fingers, she noted with relief, and a quick glance at the stove showed no excessive smoke or towering flames.
Evie glanced up from her work. “Good evening, Mrs. Summers.”
“Good evening, dear. Have you everything you need?”
“I’ve more than enough,” Evie assured her with a smile and returned her attention to the potatoes. “We’ve sufficient provisions to outlast a year’s siege.”
As she’d helped in unloading the cart Mr. Hunter had taken into town that first afternoon, Mrs. Summers knew all too well that the kitchen was fully stocked. It seemed wise not to mention as much to Evie. Instead, she took a turn about the room, inspecting the various accoutrements required for preparing a meal for five.
There was a small ham on the center table. Mrs. Summers frowned at it. The poor child hadn’t put so much as a clove in. Well, perhaps she wasn’t much help in the kitchen, but she certainly knew that ham required a dash of mustard and a few cloves. While Evie’s back was turned, Mrs. Summers discreetly sought out both from the larder. She quickly rubbed the first into the side of the meat, and snuck a few of the latter into the underside of the ham.
She wiped her hands off on a rag before addressing Evie. “You seem to be getting on well enough.”
“What?” Evie turned from the counter and blinked a few times. “Oh, Mrs. Summers, you’d grown so quiet, I thought you’d left.”
“Just acquainting myself with the kitchen.” She made a show of opening several cupboards.
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
“No, but under the circumstances, I think it wise that every person in residence becomes familiar with each of the rooms in the house.”
Evie ran her tongue over her teeth. “Are you afraid someone might be hiding in the larder?”
As the larder no longer held space enough to hide so much as a small dog, Mrs. Summers merely raised an eyebrow and peered down the length of her nose. She’d long ago learned that look was effective in silencing saucy children. “The situation does not warrant sarcasm, Evie Cole.”
As Mrs. Summers expected, Evie became instantly contrite. “You’re right. I apologize.”