Auntie Mayhem by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online Page B

accustomed to her husband’s bluster. Before anyone dared make a further comment, the kitchen door finally swung open, and a stout woman with graying red hair scattered every which way on her head, huffed and puffed into the dining room. She carried a huge tureen and had two soup plates tucked precariously under each elbow.
    â€œThere you go, ducks,” she announced, plunking the tureen down on a hot pad hastily improvised by Claire. “Leeks you wanted, leeks you get. Anybody for bread or a handful of crisps?”
    â€œOh, Millie,” Claire said in a meek voice, “don’t trouble yourself. We’ll be just fine. Though perhaps some tea? Or coffee?” She glanced inquiringly at her American visitors.
    â€œTea’s fine,” Judith said hastily.
    Millie’s broad face frowned at her employer. “I’ve no time to make tea. I’m due at the colonel’s in ten minutes. It’s my day to buff him up.”
    Claire’s face fell. “Oh. Well, certainly. I’m sorry, Millie. I’ll put the kettle on myself.”
    â€œYou just do that,” Millie said, waddling out of the room.
    To Judith’s surprise, Charles Marchmont didn’t seem fazed by the part-time cook’s breezy manner. Indeed, he had gotten to his feet and was ladling out soup. Pale green in color, it had the consistency of bathwater. Judith tried to ignore Renie’s grimace.
    â€œYour sister, Margaret, served us wonderful meals,” Renie said in a pathetic little voice. “Every so often, I dream about them. Like now.”
    Charles frowned, but didn’t look at Renie. “Margaret? Yes, fine cook, Margaret. She had no help then, of course. Bootstraps, that’s what it was. Brought myself up through hard work and diligent effort. Fishmongering was well and good for Margaret’s husband, but I wanted to make something of myself. Architecture, that was the thing—until I realized I didn’t have the head for it. So I made my way in The City, and we’ve done well by one another, if I do say so myself.” Charles’s chest expanded along with his paunch.
    â€œI understand,” Judith said in a mild voice, “that Donald has carried on the fishmongering business very successfully. He and Margaret travel quite a bit.”
    â€œYes, yes,” Charles agreed, sitting back down. “Donald has a good head on his shoulders. Computerized the operation and all that. The pater wouldn’t have turned everything over to his son-in-law if he hadn’t. But I set my own sights higher. Couldn’t stand the reek of fish, frankly. Money smells much nicer.” He chuckled into his spoon.
    They had just begun sipping their soup when a loud crashresounded from the direction of the kitchen. Claire jumped, spilling the contents of her spoon onto her lap. Fortunately, the soup was lukewarm.
    Shouts ensued, Millie and another female, both angry and hurling insults. Charles patted his mouth with his napkin and gave his wife a faintly chiding look.
    â€œReally, m’dear, you ought to speak to Mrs. Tichborne. It would be much better if she tried to put a good face on it and cooperate with Millie. She’s all we’ve got when it comes to cooking.”
    â€œShe is ?” Renie was horrified.
    â€œNot really,” Claire said quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she mopped up her lap. “That is, Mrs. Tichborne—the housekeeper—does the evening meals. She’s very good.”
    Renie slumped in her chair, apparently relieved. The shouts from the kitchen continued, and Charles looked as if he was about to rise when a door slammed, ending the fracas.
    Claire fanned herself with an extra napkin. “Oh! Millie’s gone! I’m so glad! She might have been late for the colonel! He can be rather beastly when it comes to tardiness.”
    â€œThe colonel?” Judith asked, not out of curiosity but to steer the conversation