CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY FOUR – THE NEW COOK

Over the course of the first few days, the elaborate meals he produced were nothing short of sublime. Delicate soups fragrant with exotic spices, tender meats dripping with rich demi-glace, and pastries so light they seemed to defy the laws of physics. Even Lady Griffith, whose puckered countenance typically soured at the simplest of dishes, grudgingly bestowed her approval. It soon became apparent, however, that Monsieur LeFay's genius in the kitchen was rivaled only by his legendary temper. The first hint of trouble came one bright Tuesday morning, when a hapless scullery maid accidentally dropped an armload of copper pots with an ear-splitting clang. Charlotte cringed as a bellow of outrage rent the air, Monsieur LeFay's crimson face appearing in the doorway like an irate tomato. "Imbecile!" he roared in thickly accented English, flecks of spittle flying from his lips. "Zis is a sacred space, not a barn for zes pigs! Out, out with you zis instant!" The unfortunate maid fled in