Page 10 of Once Upon a Midnight Dream

Almost three in the afternoon that same day

Lilly placed the last bread dough rounds in the oven before brushing the flour from her starched white apron and rolling her sleeves down.

She gave an appreciative sniff.

Aromatic herbs, including lavender, basil, fennel, and oregano grown on the estate hung on hooks suspended from the ceiling to dry, adding to the already appealing aromas of fresh bread, stew, and apple pie.

She rarely lent a hand in the kitchen anymore, but two of the part-time scullery maids—sisters—had sent word they were abed with influenza. To avoid infecting the children, Lilly implemented a strict rule: sick employees were not welcome on the grounds.

Ailing teachers must remain confined to their bedchambers until they had recovered.

It was impossible for Mrs. B and Florence—the other part-time maid—to prepare three meals for five and forty mouths as well as do the baking, food preparation, wash dishes, attend the laundry, and the many other tasks required in the kitchen, and to maintain the rest of the house.

Even though the teachers kept their bedchamber and classroom clean, as well as pitched in wherever else the current situation required, there never seemed to be enough bodies to get everything completed.

So, Mrs. B had recruited Lilly to help with the baking this afternoon, or else they faced a week of breadless meals. Not an ideal situation when feeding so many.

Smiling, Lilly untied her apron.

Honestly, she did not mind baking. She found the task a pleasant reprieve from the never-ending paperwork sitting atop her desk. Besides, she had plenty of experience cooking and baking. As a child in this same orphanage, Lilly had been assigned kitchen duties by the former headmistress.

However, unlike most of her childhood, where chore after chore filled every moment not spent on lessons, the children at Kelston Hall Children’s Home today enjoyed more free time after their studies. Lilly insisted upon it when she had become the director and the headmistress eight years ago.

Besides traditional education, every child also engaged in swimming, archery, dancing, art, music, decorum, and riding lessons. The girls also received cooking, sewing, and medicinal herbs instructions, while the boys learned basic animal husbandry, agriculture, and carpentry skills.

Thus, when the time came to leave Kelston Hall at eighteen, the orphans would be better prepared to enter the world and find employment.

While running an organization of this size certainly benefited from, and required, the children’s help to operate efficiently, Lilly took care not to exploit the orphans. Not only were they allowed to have fun, but she also encouraged games and play within appropriate boundaries and with adequate supervision, of course.

Six and thirty children, ranging in age from five to sixteen, running amuck on the estate’s fourteen acres, which included several gardens, a small pond, an orchard, as well as livestock, and poultry, would not make for happy neighbors.

She could not afford to offend the nobility flanking Kelston Hall on three sides.

This manor, too, had once been an aristocrat’s country home.

Beaumont Davenport, Viscount of Merrivale, once owned Kelston Hall. When the viscountcy had fallen upon hard times a few decades ago, his lordship sold the unentailed manor house, gaining him respite from debtors’ prison.

His spinster elder sister bought the grand home.

Perchance, Matilda Davenport had possessed fond childhood memories of the slightly run-down manor and grounds.

In any event, she had founded Kelston Hall Children’s Home six and thirty years ago and had overseen the school’s administration until her death. The children highly anticipated her annual visits and receiving the sweets, small gifts, and new clothing Miss Davenport always provided.

To this day, Lilly remained partial to licorice drops.

Even Mrs. Edna Reubins, the former director, and her second in command, Miss Jane Brewer, put on their polite public façade for Miss Davenport’s annual appearances. Of course, the moment their benefactor left, Mrs. Reubins and Miss Brewer reverted to their true natures: punitive, lazy, miserly, and spiteful.

Miss Davenport had insisted Mrs. Reubins hire Lilly as a teacher at just sixteen—the age most children left Kelston Hall back then. Lilly would be forever grateful to the dame for her kindness and favor.

Unwilling to lose her position or Miss Davenport’s funding, Mrs. Reubins grudgingly complied, but she made sure Lilly knew she resented the appointment.

Even eight years later, Lilly still could not quite believe Miss Davenport had bequeathed her and Charles Kelston Hall as well as the dear lady’s remaining fortune. That was after paying for Charles to attend medical school.

Yes, Miss Davenport had been a gentle, generous soul.

So sad she had never married or had children.

One of Lilly’s first tasks as director had been to send sour-faced Mrs. Reubins and her sycophant, Miss Brewer, packing. Lilly replaced the mean-spirited women with kinder but firm, intelligent instructors who made educating and loving the children their utmost priority.