CHAPTER FIVEThe tension in the galley was unbearable.
As precious minutes ticked away bringing her deadline of half past eight ever nearer, Verena suddenly became clumsy.
She dropped the soup ladle with a resounding crash on the floor and then spilt hot soup on her hand as she attempted to pour it into the bone china tureen.
Jack the cook sat back and chuckled, sucking on a pencil.
“Why, I ain’t making you nervous, young lad, am I?” he taunted.
Verena forced a smile and pushed a lock of stray hair from her forehead. She picked up a dishcloth from the sink and began to wipe up the spilled soup.
Jack pointed the pencil in the direction of Verena’s temple, where she had pushed away the lock of hair to reveal the red wound sustained in the accident with the carriage.
“That’s quite some
