Beth commanded in her loudest, most authoritative voice as she pushed past the housekeeper and swept Percy up in her arms. A squab leg dangled from his mouth. he cook, an old woman as fat as Mistress Campbell was thin, lowered her cleaver grudgingly, her round red face scrunched with fury. “’Ee stole one 'o me bleedin' birds, 'ee did! 'Anging fer over a fortnight, it were! Just gettin' good 'n ripe fer roastin!” “Hester, you will cease such vulgar outbursts,” the housekeeper said in an icy voice that immediately changed the enraged cook's expression to fawning docility. “That sorry I am, Mistress Campbell,” the cook replied, bowing to the housekeeper before acknowledging the countess. As the housekeeper upbraided the cook for her cursing, Beth took Percy's prize from him and set him down, then made a swift visual inspection of the kitchen. She was appalled. Several braces of pigeons hung molting from a line stretched across the counter.
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