“Eat you.”
Milo was about to speak when the door opened and Brownlow appeared to remove the soup plates and leave them plates of chicken sandwiches and slices of pork pie with a dish of preserves. “I am afraid Cook is a little under the weather. I trust this will suffice?” he said.
“Of course. How is she?” Milo frowned. Cook and Brownlow had been the only people to care for him these past years. Although they never discussed it, he was inordinately fond of them both.
“Just a little tired, sir. This weather has been quite wearing and she needed a rest. She’s not getting any younger. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t. Anything she needs. Does she need a physician? Call Webster if she does.” He was feeling panicked. If anything happened to Cook…
“I will see to it, sir,” he said on a bow and left.
“She’s getting old,” Milo said to Robert, worry gnawing at him. “I don’t know what family she has, I…”
“What?”