5 Murder by Syllabub (12 page)

Hattie took a small bowl and scooped some out. “I’m fixing to make what passed for French toast in colonial America. Bread dried out pretty fast back then, so this was one way they used it up. Come over here.”

Aunt Mary edged over beside the table. She’d made French toast for years, and she, too, made it with leftover bread. I’d eaten lots of it. “What are you dipping it in?”

French toast was made, at least in Aunt Mary’s kitchen and now in mine, by dipping the stale bread in a beaten egg and milk mixture then frying it in butter on a hot griddle. There was no milk on the table in front of Hattie.

“White wine.”

“
Are you really?”

“Umuh.” Hattie cut the loaf into thick slices. She dipped one slice in a shallow bowl of white wine, barely dampening it before she fished it out and dipped it into a beaten egg. A trivet straddled a small pile of hot coals on the brick floor in front of the fireplace. Hattie set an iron skillet on it, dropped lard into it, waited until it sizzled and put in the bread. The smell made my mouth water.

Hattie smiled. “Nothing like fresh lard.”

Cora Lee walked over and glanced in
to the frying pan. “The wine doesn’t hurt. Hattie, Elizabeth sent us for the list of stuff she’s going to need for her kitchen.”

“Where is Elizabeth, anyway?”

Cora Lee gritted her teeth. The taut lines around her mouth told how much she didn’t want to answer that question, but she didn’t have much choice, short, of course, of telling Hattie to mind her own business. “She had to stay home this morning.”

“Because of poor Monty?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Why, it’s all over the TV. Prominent attorney found dead in the old Smithwood mansion. They said three elderly ladies found him.” Hattie smiled. “Didn’t mention the young one. The news media’s having a wonderful time.” Smile gone, Hattie sighed. “Poor Monty. I expect the police are asking Elizabeth all kinds of questions.” She paused and turned over the beautifully browned piece of bread. “There. Doesn’t that smell lovely? Do the police know who did it?”

Cora Lee stood behind Hattie, rigid, hands clasped into fists at her sides, probably to keep from putting them around Hattie’s throat. She was going to have nail marks on her palms. Was it really all over the TV? I hoped not. The last thing we needed were TV trucks, reporters sticking microphones in our faces and newspaper people running around with cameras and little notebooks. Tension clawed at my stomach. What if one of the reporters found out about that syllabub glass? Impossible, but my stomach knotted.

“Hattie, take the damn French toast off the fire and tell me what we need to have to stock the kitchen.” I wasn’t the only victim of too much tension. Cora Lee sounded as if she’d snap any minute.

It was obvious Hattie knew it, too. Evidenced by the tiny smile on her lips as she slipped another piece of bread into the frying pan.

“I never could figure out why Elizabeth wants to do this. So much money to get that old plantation put back into authentic condition, and for what? Several of the old plantations around here give tours and all that, but they’re sure not getting rich. Colonial Williamsburg couldn’t even make Carter’s Grove pay for itself. Why does she think Smithwood will?” Hattie gave the pan a little shake.

“Smithwood won’t have tours. William would never have agreed to busloads of strangers trooping through our house.” Cora Lee sounded as if she was talking through clenched teeth.

“Then what’s she going to do?” Hattie left the toast to slather more butter on the fish.

“It’s going to be a cross between a school and a living history museum, but for students only.”

Hattie looked blank. The French toast sizzled. Aunt Mary glanced at it but did nothing. It needed turning but, from what I’d seen of Hattie, Aunt Mary’s help wouldn’t be appreciated.

Cora Lee took a deep breath and spoke more slowly, enunciating her words as if Hattie wouldn’t quite get them if she didn’t. The subtle insult wasn’t lost on Hattie, who flushed an unbecoming red.

“Elizabeth is a history major, has her PhD. She thinks people find history boring because it’s taught that way. She wants to make early American history come alive for the teachers so they’ll make it come alive for the kids. She’s going to have them step back in time.” Cora Lee cocked her head to one side and smiled brightly. “Isn’t that a good idea?”

“No.” Hattie’s eyes narrowed. “Won’t work.”

“Yes, it will.” Cora Lee walked closer to the fireplace. She gestured at the frying pan setting on the trivet and at the fish tied to its board, both giving off wonderful aromas. “She’s going to take the plantation back to the eighteenth century. The main house will be restored as
accurately as possible, so will the east wing. The students will cook, just like you’re doing here.”

Cora Lee
glanced at the fish, shuddered a little, walked back over to the table and reached out to touch a blue and white bowl of eggs. “I suppose you took these this morning from some poor unsuspecting chicken’s nest?”

“That’s not how I’d put it, but yes.” Hattie also looked at the bowl, her face
devoid of expression.

“The milk in that pitcher, that came from a cow?”

“Milk usually does.”

“Today, most people think it comes from a store. Did you milk the poor thing, or did someone else?”

“Someone else did. That’s yesterday’s milking. So’s the cream I just put in that.” She gestured toward a tall slopping barrel with a wood top and a long handle sticking out of it. “The dairy woman poured the milk into those round pans and let it sit all night, so the cream could rise. She skimmed it off for me this morning. I’ll make butter as soon as the bread’s finished.”

“Really?” Aunt Mary walked over to the barrel. “My great
aunt had one of these.”

Hattie stared at her with what was almost a sneer. “So you know how to churn?”

“No. I was little. I just remember her sitting on the porch, turning the paddle.”

“Go ahead. Try it. Grab that handle and start moving it around in a circle. I could use the help.”

Aunt Mary didn’t look one bit happy with Hattie’s tone of voice, but I could tell she was curious. She grabbed the handle and started moving it. “This isn’t hard at all.”

“Wait until it starts to turn. You can put out more effort than that. Let’s get it churned before tomorrow some time.”

Aunt Mary stopped churning. “I’ll stop by the store on our way home. Their butter’s already churned.”

Hattie’s face got red and she started to say something but apparently thought better of it.

Cora Lee laughed. “You just proved my point. Or rather, Elizabeth’s. People want to see how things were done and they want to see if they can do it. Not everyone, of course, but lots of people. If you hadn’t been so rude to Mary, you just might have gotten your butter churned.”

I was disgusted with both of them, and judging from Aunt Mary’s frown, so was she. Hattie was both rude and arrogant and Cora Lee’s needling only
egged her on. Elizabeth needed this very disagreeable person to help her and the chances of that happening were disappearing fast.

Aunt Mary glared at Cora Lee, which amused me, then returned to churn. “I’ll try again. Hattie, but I didn’t tolerate sarcasm from my seventh graders and don’t intend to start now.”

Hattie looked taken aback. Cora Lee seemed ready to explode with laughter. Aunt Mary gave her best disapproving look.

“You know, Hattie,
” Cora Lee said, “Elizabeth not only wants to talk to you about a list of utensils and things, but possibly acting as an instructor. She’ll need someone with your kind of expertise.” Cora Lee could change tactics faster than a chameleon changed color.

“I’ll bet you anything not one of them has the slightest idea of how to do any of this. Since we don’t want to starve Elizabeth’s students, or let them burn the place down, Elizabeth thought she’d ask you. It won’t interfere with your other job and it’ll pay a lot better.”

Hattie glared at her. “I’m already an instructor. I teach classes at home. I only work here when they need an expert to fill in. It’s not easy to find a descendent of one of the founding families, especially one who’s kept all the old traditions alive like I have.”

“Of course,” Cora Lee murmured. “First families like the Culpeppers. Right?”

“We can trace the history of the Culpeppers back to the beginnings of Williamsburg. There’s even a town named in their honor. I brought my Payton up to be proud of his heritage.”

“Yes. We know.” Cora Lee had that sucking-on-a-lemon look again. “By the way, didn’t I hear Payton was having a little trouble? Something about his lobbying funds? Seems people are getting pretty picky lately, what with all those lobbyists caught paying bribes, not using their clients’ money the way they
’re supposed to. It’d be a shame if Payton got himself in trouble.”

Cora Lee had really done it
this time.

Hattie caught her breath and turned an alarming shade of red. Aunt Mary stopped churning and watched. How would Cora Lee get herself out of this one?

“My Payton never did anything dishonest in his life. That’s a vicious rumor.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Cora Lee ducked her head to hide her smile. “DC can be a pretty tough town, rumors always flying every which
way. Do think about helping Elizabeth. You’d also be keeping the names and the traditions of all the first families alive.”

Cora Lee had obviously been the chairwoman of one too many committees. The chairwoman’s main job wasn’t to organize, although that came in handy, but to talk people into doing things they didn’t really want to do by making them feel only they could do the job. Cora Lee had just made Hattie feel she’d be letting the Culpeppers down if she didn’t help Elizabeth. Her southern accent had gotten thicker with every layer of flattery and family pride she
’d poured on. Masterful. Aunt Mary caught Cora Lee’s eye and nodded, just a little. A flicker of a smile flashed across Cora Lee’s lips and just as quickly disappeared.

Hattie stared at Cora Lee for a moment, hands on hips, cooking fork in one hand
and sticking out to the side. Her nose, curved a bit like a beak, and the curls sticking out from under her cap gave her the look of an angry canary. “What else does Elizabeth want me to do?”

“I have no idea.”

“These teachers, or whoever she’s planning on training. She’s going all the way with them? They’re going to sleep on rope beds and feather mattresses? Heat the house from the fireplace, wear the same clothes they did then? These folks won’t be going home at night and taking off their costumes? They’ll work in the garden and keep a chamber pot by the bed at night? Read by candlelight? Everything will be the same?” She paused and let her hand with the cooking fork drop down by her side. Her voice changed as well. A slight calculating note crept in. “Elizabeth’s going to bring out all the old stuff? China, silver, all that stuff, and use it? She’s not goin’ to sell it all off?”

Cora Lee solemnly shook her head.
“No. She wouldn’t even if the school idea doesn’t work out. Elizabeth’s a historian. She respects Smithwood’s historical importance, and that includes everything there.”

Cora Lee hadn’t mentioned founding families, just general historical importance.

“You sure about that?”

“Far as I know. That’s the idea of the school, of course, to preserve everything, to recreate the eighteenth century. She’ll need someone to help put it all together. That’s where you come in. You being an expert on the eighteenth century and a Culpepper and all.”

Hattie didn’t say anything but she chewed her lip for a moment. “She’s going to pay?”

“You always pay for expert advice.”

Cora Lee didn’t look as if she thought much of Hattie’s expert advice, but Hattie didn’t seem to notice. She’d clearly registered the praise part. I felt embarrassed by Cora Lee’s insincere flattery but also by Hattie’s need to take it, no matter how falsely given. I didn’t like the way this conversation was turning out.

Aunt Mary went back to turning the paddle, but
her task looked as if it was getting more arduous by the minute. She turned slower and slower.
She pushed a little harder. Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead, but she kept churning.

“I could teach those people a lot. About cooking, sure, but about life around here in those days and also about the families. The important families. That’d be a valuable thing, wouldn’t it?”

“Very valuable.” It was obvious to me that Cora Lee didn’t believe a word she said.

“How can you tell when this stuff is butter?” Aunt Mary quit paddling and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. The paddle barely turned and the stuff in the barrel no longer smelled like cream. It smelled like butter.

Hattie returned to the twenty-first century with a jerk. “Oh, I should have been watching. You don’t want it to get too hard. Move over.”

Aunt Mary seemed glad to relinquish her place at the churn. I thought it would have been nice of Hattie to thank her, but
I wasn’t surprised. My brief time with Hattie led me to suspect that she rarely bothered with politeness. Unless, of course, you were a descendant of one of the founding families. Aunt Mary rolled her shoulders and watched Hattie take the lid off the churn and peer inside.