“It’s those blasted Americans, isn’t it?” (I had tactfully forgotten to mention that the idea was entirely my mother’s.) “They act as if they own the place. That Babe creature actually gave Hamilton a lecture about the lack of hot water this morning. She said it wasn’t good enough. Not good enough? I ask you. The nerve of it. That woman spends all too much time in the bathroom, if you ask me. It’s not healthy.”

Fig was clearly in a state now.

“It will be all right,” I said. “I’m sure Cook can whip up a big hearty soup or something as a first course to fill them up.”

“Would you go and tell her, Georgiana? I really don’t think that I can face her at the moment.”

“If you like,” I said, having been a real favorite of Cook’s during my childhood.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said yet again. Wonders would never cease.

As I had suspected, Cook took the news more calmly than my sister-in-law had done, but she clearly wasn’t pleased. “Eight more for dinner, you say? What does Her Grace think I am, a miracle worker? A conjurer? I’m supposed to produce a few rabbits out of a hat?”

I gave a sympathetic smile.

“She barely gives me enough money to feed the regular household and now I’m supposed to whip up banquets out of thin air?”

“Just do your best, Mrs. McPherson,” I said. “They’ll realize that this is all very last minute and they can’t expect haute cuisine.”

“It would never have been haute cuisine at the best of times,” she said dourly. “Good plain food, that’s what I do. None of this fancy French muck—snails covered in garlic.” She made a disgusted face. “What’s wrong with good local beef and Scottish salmon fresh from the stream?”

“Nothing at all,” I said. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. McPherson. Everybody says so.”

“Och, get away with you.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Well, it will have to be neeps and tatties for them tonight. I’ve nothing else.”

“Neeps and tatties?” I asked. She was referring to the Scottish peasant dish made with potatoes and turnips. Filling but not exactly elegant.

“Aye. Like I said, I’m no miracle worker. That roast should be big enough for a slice or two each but we’ll need to fill them up somehow. Do them good. They can sample our traditional Scottish fare. And lucky for you I made a nice rich broth with that leftover lamb from the other night. I can thicken that up into a soup. I don’t know about the fish course, though. It’s too late for the fishmonger to deliver anything. I can’t divide loaves and fishes meant for twelve and make enough for twenty.”