Great Witches Baking Show Boxed Set Books 7-9 : Paranormal Culinary Cozy Mystery (The Great Witches Baking Show) by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren [Warren, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ambleside Publishing
Published: 2022-07-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Following the line of servers, I weaved my way along the narrow corridor and up the servants’ staircase to the main house. I suddenly felt nervous. I’d taken on many guises to get inside Broomewode Hall: fake reporter, cake deliverer, and now waitress. It all felt so at odds with going on a date with Benedict. But I was here to help him, I reminded myself. And part of that was investigating his father’s sudden death. I had to keep my wits about me and not be intimidated by a room full of hungry hunters. I’d follow Florence’s lead and be fine.

We entered the wide hall on the main floor and headed for the dining-room door. A huge part of me hoped that the painting of the old countess with my baby blanket pattern as her shawl had been returned to its position on the far right wall. It had been “taken out for cleaning” when I’d come to have a closer look and seemed to have been gone for weeks.

One of the kitchen staff halted at the door and turned to instruct the rest of us where the food needed to be placed. “Set the platters in the spaces cleared and remember to work from the right.”

“Work from the right?” I prodded Florence, confused.

“You serve to the right of the person in front of you,” she whispered. “Just follow my lead.”

The server flung open the door, and there was Tilbury, the butler, ready and waiting to announce in the most regal manner, “Breakfast is served.”

The scene before me was one of pure opulence. The room was so different to the image I held in my mind. Yes, there were the enormous bay windows, framed by heavy tapestried curtains woven through with gold. The mahogany sideboards and display cabinets filled with china. The gorgeous cream wallpaper reaching up to the paneled ceilings, bordered by a deep red runner. But the antique dining table, previously empty save for a fancy pair of silver candelabra sticks, had been moved into the center of the room and was now full of splendid flower arrangements. Blooms of deep red were offset against vibrant green sprays, and despite it being afternoon, tall, tapered candles were lit in a row down the breadth of the table. Crystal of all shapes and sizes sat beside the loveliest china set I’d ever seen. The whole scene was beautiful, magical even, and my heart hurt for Benedict, how he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy any of it, how it was all such a farce. The atmosphere was solemn, and the men talked in low voices. I didn’t envy them: I’d no idea how I’d behave if I was asked to sit down for a grand breakfast that should have been hosted by a recently dead earl.

I waited to be told where to place my dish of triangle-shaped toasts and marveled at how elegantly and swiftly the other servers delivered their wares. Even Florence made the whole thing look glamorous, though I should have known she’d look every bit the pro.

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