Should I accompany the detectives forthwith, or devote my attention to the repast at hand, so as to avoid arousing any undue suspicion? Yet, should I grow inattentive once more… I shudder to think what might befall me—perhaps I would awaken to find myself insensible.
Jack considered the matter gravely. By "should I grow inattentive once more," he reminded himself to remain ever vigilant of his surroundings; he would not allow himself to be taken unawares again, as Melissa had so perilously been.
He slipped away from the balcony corridor and into the inner halls.
A few moments hence, Jack approached the kitchen, an expression of vexation firmly set upon his features.
Whoever designed this mansion ought to be thoroughly chastised… I cannot fathom how I became so utterly lost in the pursuit of the kitchen. How many chambers, pray tell, might there be in this sprawling abode?
He pushed open the kitchen doors, revealing a spacious workspace, its long counters gleaming, and the utensils meticulously arranged along the walls.
And yet—
The moment he stepped inside, he was taken quite aback. The kitchen was utterly deserted. Vanessa and the other maids were nowhere to be found.
Jack paused, composing himself. He smoothed his cuffs, adjusted his posture, and allowed his expression to settle into a semblance of calm before proceeding further.
Have I missed something during my absence? He wondered, advancing toward the counters, his gaze wandering over the empty kitchen.
Where, in all likelihood, is everyone? On second thought, he surmised with a faint, almost wry smile, they have likely gone in search of me.
He allowed the notion to linger a moment before shrugging lightly.
"Very well… I suppose I am left with no alternative but to commence preparations," he murmured to himself in a subdued tone.
His surmise that the others were in search of him proved accurate. Mere minutes after he had withdrawn from the kitchen, Vanessa was summoned by Sir Bernard to oversee the arrangements in the main hall, where the forthcoming welcoming event was to be held.
The other maids, seized with alarm, had dispersed throughout the mansion, scouring every chamber from top to bottom; yet none succeeded in discovering his whereabouts.
Fortunately, the ingredients had already been prepared and arrayed upon the counters; all that remained were the instructions, detailing the proper sequence and presentation of the various dishes.
Jack gave a slight shrug to himself, then removed his coat and carefully rolled up his sleeves. He lifted the cookbook that lay upon the counter, surveying its pages for a brief moment, before selecting the necessary implements and arranging them with meticulous order upon his workstation.
He spared not a single moment.
With practiced efficiency, he moved through the kitchen, his hands a blur as he chopped, sliced, and seasoned with remarkable rapidity. Pots simmered, pans hissed, and the sharp scent of herbs and roasting meat filled the air almost instantaneously.
Yet, despite the swift pace, each movement remained exact—no ingredient suffered neglect, and every implement was returned to its proper station. He employed techniques long honed through countless trials, blending them seamlessly into his motions.
What would ordinarily have consumed hours, he accomplished in mere minutes; the kitchen had become a whirlwind of orderly activity.
Every dish that passed beneath his hands bore the unmistakable mark of deliberate care and refined elegance.
"…And we are… finished, I believe?" Jack ventured, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
He stepped back, surveying the long counter. A variety of dishes rested neatly atop them, each still steaming, the curls of heat rising into the air. Every plate, bowl, and tray looked deliberate and carefully arranged.
That proved more arduous than I had anticipated… Yet, it is fortunate that the cookbook lay within reach. Without it, I cannot say what course I might have taken.
He paused, surveying the array of dishes before him. Pray, how much time does it ordinarily require to prepare so vast a repast?
He drew forth his pocket watch and cast a glance upon its face.
Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...
Fifty-three minutes. According to the watch and his own careful calculations.
Fifty-three minutes to accomplish what would ordinarily consume hours, and yet every dish appeared impeccable, both in presentation and in the fragrance that now filled the room.
He let out a breath, allowing himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
I even find myself with sufficient time to inspect other portions of the mansion… I must say, a most splendid piece of work.
He permitted himself a brief moment of satisfaction, conscious that ample time remained to verify the finer details or attend to any unforeseen disturbances before the repast was summoned.
Now that the preparations are complete… I suppose I may turn my attention to observing the proceedings beyond these walls.
In his mind, a scene began to unfold: Sil Bernard, positioned at the head of the main hall, delivering a formal address that surely numbed half the assembly with its tediousness. The detectives, Jack imagined, were reclining against one of the walls, their eyes heavy with ennui, no doubt silently tallying the seconds until they might liberate themselves from the tiresome display of wealth and ceremony.
Jack allowed himself a faint, amused smile, taking quiet pleasure in the mental image. There was a curious comfort in imagining the orderly disorder that surely prevailed beyond the kitchen walls.
He hastened to wash his hands and retrieved his coat, preparing to depart. Yet, just as he reached for the door, it was flung open with abrupt force. Seven maids, each in search of him, arrived in a near-simultaneous charge, almost sending the doors crashing upon Jack's person.
Fortunately, he had remained but a few steps behind, narrowly avoiding the collision.
"Ahh…" Jack murmured, momentarily at a loss for words.
"We are exceedingly sorry, sir!" one of the maids exclaimed, bowing with hurried deference. In an instant, the others followed suit, their countenances marked by anxiety and remorse.
Jack blinked, perplexed, his gaze flitting between the swinging doors and the assembled maids. He could have sworn that, had he not taken that slight step back, the doors would have struck him squarely in the face.
The disorderly entrance, coupled with their hasty apologies, rendered the moment nearly comical—yet Jack restrained a laugh, allowing himself to regain his composure.
"It is quite all right, I suppose. But, if you will excuse me, I have certain matters to attend to," he remarked, straightening his coat as he advanced toward the kitchen doorway.
The seven maids reluctantly parted, their expressions still tinged with apprehension.
It was not merely the near collision with the doors that troubled them; they were acutely aware of that. The true cause of their unease ran far deeper: Jack was departing once more without imparting so much as a single instruction regarding the culinary arrangements. What they failed to perceive, however, was that all had already been executed to perfection during their absence.
"...S, sir—" one of the maids began, hesitation woven tightly through her voice. Yet her companion placed a hand upon her shoulder, guiding her gaze toward the counters. There, their astonishment found its anchor: every dish meticulously prepared, each item steaming and arranged with flawless exactitude.
They remained silent, enraptured by the display, while Jack vanished around a corner of the corridor, gliding quietly toward the mansion's main halls.
The maids stood frozen for a brief moment, their eyes wide as they absorbed the spectacle before them.
Steam rose gently from each dish, carrying the rich aroma of precisely balanced spices and freshly baked bread. The repast was arranged with impeccable order; each plate resembled a miniature work of art.
"...I… I have never beheld aught like this," one of the maids whispered, her voice trembling with admiration.
"Nor I," another confessed, her hand suspended above a tray as if fearful to touch it. "He… he prepared all of this unaided?"
The first nodded, swallowing hard. "It is flawless… each dish could grace a royal banquet."
They advanced slowly along the counters, their eyes tracing the neat ranks of steaming plates and perfectly garnished platters. Expressions softened, a mingling of wonder and respect illuminating each face.
At last, one murmured almost to herself, "He… is truly remarkable. I know not by what means he accomplished it, but—he is leagues beyond the ordinary."
Silently, the others inclined their heads in agreement, their prior anxieties entirely replaced by admiration, as they stood, beholding the full scope of Jack's masterful work.