“Are ye goin’ to let me see it then?” Gurtie asked.
“Not if it’s the last thing I do!” Samuel stood by the door with the handle in one hand and the bunched up sheet in the other.
“Suit yer self then,” Gurtie sighed as turned to leave. “Come now, Betsy. How ‘bout a nice spot of tea?”
“That sounds nice,” Betsy nodded following her out the door.
He shut the door behind them, throwing the bolt home, “Holy Hell!” Samuel rested his head on the door, “What kind of household is this?” He turned, bracing his back against the frame. “Run’s like clockwork indeed,” he snorted, “It’s a bloody mad house!”
~*~
“Works every time,” Gurtie chuckled as Samuel slammed the door behind them.
“It’s a fine art,” Gurtie agreed.
“He did have quite a bit of fight in him,” Betsy commented. “Did ye give him enough laudanum?”
“He’s not as frail as he looks,” Gurtie replied thoughtfully. “I’ll have to up the dose I suppose.”
“Well?” Constance asked from the table as they entered the kitchen.
“He’ll be packed and out the door as soon as he gets his britches back on.” Betsy giggled as she set the plate of untainted rolls on the table.
“Only one problem,” Gurtie took one of the three cups Constance had poured. “I’m afraid that Iain is catching on.”
“We’ll have te mix it up a bit,” Gurtie nodded. “We’ll start next time with the itching powder ye make Connie, and perhaps forgo it altogether on this one.”
“Umm,” Betsy blinked, “Too late.”
“Ye’ve already powdered his britches?” Gurtie asked in surprise.
“Well, what did you think I was doin when ye called?” she snorted with laughter. “It’s not as if I was gettin' pretty for the old codger.”
Their laughter filled the kitchen.
“All in a day’s work,” Gurtie sighed.
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