“I hope you like puff pastry,” Beatrice says as she lays a perfectly plated meal before me. I spear a roasted potato and jump into the discussion.
“You must feel terrible about what happened with Chef Smythe.”
Rather than answer, Beatrice’s eyes fill up, huge salty drops leaking out to drip right onto her gravy-covered plate. Oh god, what if they’re related? I didn’t think to ask Harry about extended family.
“I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident!”
H and I both stare at her in shock. Magic or not, apparently we unmasked the murderer by lunchtime.
Fortunately, Beatrice is oblivious to our momentary loss of words. “I had flubbed a big exam that afternoon, and I forgot that the left bread loaf was the gluten-free one and,” she breaks off into sobs again.
“And then you confronted her?” I ask, ready to push back my chair and dart away from the table.
“What? No, of course not. I didn’t do anything to Chef Smythe. It was her who did something to me. I made a simple mistake, and she shouted at me for nearly an hour. Nonstop!”
“Over bread?” My mind whirs as I try to make sense of her comment.
“Exactly! I have so much stress with my studies, but does she see any of that? All she ever saw was her precious kitchen. I made a tiny error at High Table and she threatened to have me fired.”
I can’t help but repeat myself. “Over bread?”
Beatrice’s eyes well up again, her hand trembling, a cadence of tiny clinks sounding as her fork hits the plate. “I work so hard, you know. I study every night, attend all my lectures and tutorials. And I’m never late to work in the morning… I wanted to run away and never look back again. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for Claudia.”
I look at H for a clue, but he shrugs and goes back to licking out his bowl of cream. “How did Claudia help you?”
Beatrice sniffles up a bit before giving up and blowing her nose in her napkin. “Claudia had to work under Chef Smythe day in and day out. She found me crying in the storeroom after everyone left. She should have been head chef somewhere, but Chef Smythe refused to give her a recommendation. Pure jealousy because she knew how talented she is! She needed Claudia to stay put because Claudia helped make her look even better.”
Ahh, now I know.
“The sous-chef!”
Beatrice nods in confirmation. “Claudia is so nice and generous. She sat down right there beside me in the storeroom. She didn’t care that the floor was a little dusty or that it was well past closing time. She told me all the things she wished she could say to Chef Smythe, and I did the same. The last thing she said to me was that she hoped someday someone would take care of our Mrs Smythe problem. I guess someone finally did.”
“I hate to ask this, and please don’t cry again, but where were you the other day? Dr Radcliffe and I were here for hours, I never saw you arrive.”
Beatrice sips her water, taking a moment to get her emotions back under control. “Even after my chat with Claudia, I still felt like rubbish. Then Chef Smythe yelled at me again at breakfast the next day. I was so stressed I kept getting everyone’s change wrong. I couldn’t deal with the thought of going back in there again. I called in sick at dinner.”
My next question slips out before I have time to think it through. “Did you stay in your room the whole night?”
Nodding, Beatrice replies, “All I wanted was my mum, you know? I called her, and she completely understood my troubles. She told me to come back home for the evening and she made my favourite meal. I stayed there until I came back yesterday morning.”
Eyes wide, I realise how narrowly Beatrice escaped being involved. “If you hadn’t been away, you might have witnessed the crime.”
Beatrice’s eyes fill again. “I might have saved her… or I might have been another victim. I keep second-guessing myself for having skipped out. I never behave that way.”
Passing her a tissue, I give her a gentle smile. “Don’t blame yourself. How were you to know? I can’t speak for everyone, but H and I are both glad you’re sitting here. Otherwise we’d be eating cold sandwiches back in my office. This is miles better. Hopefully, now things will calm down and you’ll be able to study and work without being berated on a regular basis.”
Beatrice smiles weakly at my reassurance. “I hope so, that’s the one thing I’m counting on.”
Before I can take another bite, H leaps onto the table and blurts out an urgent request.
“Oi Nat, I finished tha cream. Can ya ask iffen she’s got any poacher back there?”
❖
After Beatrice rushes off to make it to her afternoon class, H and I are left behind to mull over her words.
“Ya gonna finish up that bread roll?” H asks, one hand holding a slice of cheese while the other one taps on the item in question.
I pass him the roll and shudder as he slides the cheese inside before shoving the whole thing into his snout. “That was quite a tale Beatrice told, H. I have got a nagging suspicion about this Claudia person. From what Beatrice said, she’s overworked and overlooked, and was permanently trapped in the shadow of Chef Smythe. I bet she asked again for a reference the other morning and when the chef said no, she lost it and stabbed Chef Smythe with the closest knife to hand.”
H’s mouth hangs open, little pieces of half-eaten breadcrumbs clinging to the drool falling down his snout. “Ya
