A Fatal Feast at Bramsford Manor

“Morning, Bunny!” Lilly greeted her with a bright smile. “Your au jus is the talk of the kitchen. I’ve checked it and it’s reducing nicely.”
“Why, thank you, Lilly. It smells grand and is just the thing to accompany that succulent meat. Now to get the roast just right.”
“You’ll have no problem there,” Lilly said with confidence. “Before I forget, Callum Digby the Maître d’, wanted to talk with you about the table setting for tonight’s ghost feast. He asked if you’d meet him in the manor’s formal dining room. It’s going to be stunning.”
“You know, I wasn’t too keen on this food-baiting ghost hunting show, but I have to admit that I quite like it.” “It’s all in good fun, Bunny,” Lilly assured her. “We may have a ghost or three that haunt these walls, but that’s all part of the Bransford charm. Now, tell me what you need me to do.”
Bunny was grateful for the chaos of the kitchen. After discussing the table setting with Mr. Digby, including instructions for the extra place setting and, per Brett, a white sheet to cover the spirit chair, she was back in the kitchen for a filmed interview with Marcus Bean, Sir Charles Wallingford, and Lilly Plum. The four discussed what a historic Christmas wedding feast might have looked like in Ann Copeland’s day, and how the food and cooking methods had evolved since then. After that everyone but Cody left Bunny alone in the kitchen to do her thing. Bunny was used to having cameras in her kitchen and didn’t give much thought as she set about cleaning the vegetables.
She was just about to slice the carrots and parsnips into two-inch long chunks for roasting when she unrolled her leather knife roll and saw that one of her precious knives was missing. Certain it had been there the day before, Bunny turned to Lilly, who was working at the island counter, and asked, “I seem to be missing a knife. It’s not here. Do you know if anybody’s found a knife recently?”
Lilly looked alarmed. “What do you mean a knife has gone missing? It’s not in your knife kit?”
Bunny showed her the thick, leather roll. “It’s not here. It’s my boning knife. I used it yesterday to remove the ribs from the roast. I specifically remember cleaning it and putting it back with the others.”
Lilly immediately made an announcement in the kitchen and everyone working at their stations began searching for the missing knife. When the entire kitchen had been scoured, Lilly turned to Bunny. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine anyone working here would do such a thing. There’s no point in taking your knife. We’ll keep our eyes peeled. However, I should probably tell you that things do have a habit of disappearing only to turn up later. I wish I had a better explanation for it other than the fact that Bramsford is haunted.”
“Umm, not helpful,” Bunny said, backing away. She’d never heard of a knife-snatching ghost before but couldn’t rule it out. The world, after all, was full of strange happenings. She consoled herself with the fact that it was only her boning knife. With its long, thin, perfectly balanced blade she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want it, unless they were deboning a whole chicken. At least it wasn’t her trusty chef’s knife, her 6-inch utility knife, or her paring knife. Pushing all thoughts of her missing knife aside, Bunny turned to the long counter beneath the windows and concentrated on the night’s intricate dinner.
The kitchen was her happy place, and Bunny marveled once again at how nice it felt to work in Bramsford’s modernized scullery alongside Lilly. It helped that it was a beautiful autumn day. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the festive punchbowl of wassail Bunny was putting the finishing touches on. Cody, having taken more than enough footage for a cooking montage, and after sampling the wassail, had left with Brett to set up for the Dumb Supper, only technically they’d be talking. That was just fine with Bunny. However, when she went to the sink to wash her hands, she happened to look out the window. That was when something on the lawn caught her eye. An odd, surreal feeling washed over her at the same moment, causing her hands to shake. She closed her eyes, thinking it was just her imagination. However, when she opened them again it was still there, sitting prettily on the lawn while nibbling clover. The white rabbit. As if sensing her, its long ears wiggled before turning its head. It looked like it was staring directly at her. “No,” Bunny anxiously whispered. “You’re not really there. It’s just my imagination.” But it was there, clear as day.
It was just a rabbit, a wee white rabbit, which on any green lawn appeared odd. Yet that was only the half of it. She knew that symbolically a white rabbit was good luck. It meant love, tenderness, inner power. That made her laugh, because to her whenever the white rabbit had appeared it meant quite the opposite. It was a reminder of her greatest tragedy. As Bunny stared at the ridiculously harmless rabbit, visions and memories of that day long ago came flooding back—a moment that had changed her world forever. She felt the cold water lapping around her, sucking her under, closing over her, until her lungs burned. It was just a memory, but the ache in her heart was real. Gripping the edge of the sink, Bunny took a series of deep, cleansing breaths, fighting to expunge the vision before turning to Lilly. With a forced smile, she asked, “Do you… do you, by chance, see a white rabbit on the lawn?”
With a questioning look, Lilly walked to the sink and looked out the window. A moment later she turned to Bunny. “No. All I see are a flurry of scattered leaves. Why?”
Another glance out the window confirmed Bunny’s suspicions. The white rabbit was gone. “It must have been a trick of the light. I thought I saw a white rabbit out there.”
“That would be something,” Lilly said, brushing off the notion. “We have plenty of wild rabbits here, but I’ve never seen a white one.”
Indeed, because the white rabbit was that rare. It was exactly what she had been afraid of. Running away had helped. So too had shunning all thoughts of the macabre. Yet she had played with fire by coming back to the UK, and it was just as she had feared, likely worse. Bunny could ignore the messenger, the white rabbit, but she could not ignore the visceral sense of doom that had settled into her bones. “Damn you,” she said to the imaginary rabbit, and kept chopping.