Lady Julia 03,5 - Midsummer Night by Deanna Raybourn

Author:Deanna Raybourn [Raybourn, Deanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Romance, Historical, novella
ISBN: 9781459254879
Google: fVgSAAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00DWRAKGC
Goodreads: 18461843
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-31T23:00:00+00:00

We hurried out of the Abbey, at least we hurried as much as humanly possible with Potter amongst us. Portia took her under one arm and I the other, and between us, we managed to propel her to safety. Family, friends and servants poured from every door. Morag came carrying Grim’s cage, while he hurled insults at her for bashing him about. A tidy line of cats—Peter Simple and a heavily pregnant Christopher Sly and their assorted progeny—processed outside with as much dignity as the royal family on parade while the Duke of Aberdour was carried out on Aquinas’ back and poor old Hoots was rolled out in a Bath chair by a footman.

The scene was utter chaos. From the top of the kitchen chimneys, fire and sparks shot straight into the air, a spectacularly menacing display. Soot floated on the light breeze, and the heat from the thing drove us all back into the garden. The cook and kitchen maids emerged from the kitchen covered in flour and feathers, wailing and shrieking. The chambermaids flocked together like a covy, ruffled, but not quite so willing as the kitchen girls to show it. The parlour maids, superior creatures each and all, simply stood at attention, waiting for the fuss to die down while the footmen and all of the gardeners from the outside staff formed a line to haul buckets of water from the nearest carp pond. Father oversaw it all, and moved quickly through the crowd, ordering a head count to make sure everyone had left the Abbey.

“A chambermaid seems to have gone missing,” Aquinas reported in a low voice. “Bess, the new girl,” Father turned to marshal volunteers to go and fetch her, but just then Aunt Hermia gave a sharp cry, clutching at Father’s arm.

“Crab,” she said, her voice breaking on the word. Crab was Father’s mastiff, beloved by all and unfortunately not blessed with as much wit as his good looks might have suggested. In fact, he was entirely stupid, and I realised with a twist in the pit of my stomach that the poor fellow would never have thought to follow a crowd out the door if it meant the roast intended for dinner would be left unguarded.

“He’ll be in the kitchen,” I told Father. His face drained of colour, and it was a measure of his distraction that he was more immediately concerned for his pet than his chambermaid. If I had asked him, I was sure he would have said the maid would be smart enough to shift for herself, but Crab was far too simple to accomplish such a feat.

Without a word, he left off asking for volunteers and turned on his heel, striding straight for the kitchen door.

“Father!” I cried, running after him, but he took no notice. The fire was burning hotter than ever, but he simply stripped off his coat and doused it in the nearest bucket. Holding it over his head, he approached the door, waving an arm to clear some of the thick smoke.

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