Winter Is Past

Giles coughed. “It seems she has fallen asleep.”

“Asleep?” Althea reached the cook and leaned over her, touching her on the arm. Her head did not lie cushioned on her arms, but rested sideways on the table itself. Deep, rough breathing emanated from her nostrils. Her lips parted slightly and Althea received the full force of her breath at close range.

She knew that smell. “Why, she’s inebriated!”

Chapter Five

Althea looked up in indignation at Giles, then at Mrs. Coates, then at each of the younger maidservants and footmen in turn. They all stared back at her, their looks scared.

“How long has she been this way?”

Again Giles coughed, his demeanor no longer dour. “It’s hard to say, miss. She seemed all right this morning. She was making all her preparations. Then she served us some soup at noon. After that…well, I don’t know…I don’t remember seeing her much after that. I was down in the wine cellar for a while, then upstairs inspecting the rooms.”

Althea turned to Mrs. Coates.

“He’s right, miss. It was after lunch we lost track of ’er.”

Althea looked at the serving girls.

One bobbed a quick curtsy. “I work with Mrs. Bentwood, miss.” She motioned to another girl in a dingy gray apron. “Me and Martha. She’s scullery maid.”

“Weren’t you assisting Cook with this evening’s preparations?”

They both nodded their heads vigorously. “Oh, yes, miss. But she put us to work first, scrubbing the pots and dishes from our dinner, then told us to start on the vegetables.” She motioned to the other end of the long table littered with vegetables and parings.

Again Giles gave a discreet cough. “If you please, miss.”

Althea turned questioning eyes to him.

“I…that is…we all know Mrs. Bentwood likes to take a nip now and then. Oh, nothing more than that. She’s never shirked on her work. But she’s not opposed to a little swig in her tea.”

“I see.” Yes, the explanation of all those overcooked and frequently cold dinners became clear. “This is more than a little nip, however.”

“Yes, indeed. You are most correct, miss. I found this in the cellar.” Giles held up an empty bottle.

Althea took the bottle from him and brought it to her nostrils. She didn’t need the smell of stale rum to tell her what it was. Many such a bottle lay strewn in the streets of the East End on a foggy dawn.

“Where did she get this?”

“We don’t know, miss. She must have had her own supply. I keep the wine cellar keys with me at all times.” Giles tapped the key ring at his waistcoat.

Althea put her hands on her hips and looked around. “There is nothing to be done about Mrs. Bentwood now. How are the preparations for the meal coming?”

“Oh, Miss Breton, there’s not nearly enough done,” said Mrs. Coates, ringing her hands. “Without Cook, none o’ us knows enough about cooking to carry on.”

Althea turned to the first kitchen maid. “Show me what she has done.” The girl showed her around the room then took her into the kitchen and pantry. Althea found the cook’s scrawled menu and a few written recipes she had left beside it.

Back at the dining table, she addressed the assembled servants. “It is now three o’clock. We have between four and five hours to prepare a dinner for the sixteen people who will assemble upstairs. It is not much time for a dinner of this many covers. I’m going to need the help and cooperation of each one of you.” She looked at each face in turn. “Can I count on all of you?”

“But surely, miss, you can’t… We can’t prepare such a meal,” protested a chorus of voices.

“We not only can, but will. Mr. Aguilar expects a dinner to be served by eight o’clock this evening.” She gave them a smile of reassurance. “I believe enough preparations are under way. I have sufficient experience in a large kitchen to guide me somewhat. I’m relying on your collective know-how to do the rest.

“Now, if someone would be so good as to hand me an apron, we shall begin.” Althea began to roll up her sleeves. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She took the large apron the kitchen maid had brought her. “What is your name, please?”

“Daisy, miss.”

“Very well, Daisy. You stick by me.” She glanced at Giles, who was still looking at her, his mouth slack. “Giles, could you and Harry be so kind as to take Mrs. Bentwood to her room? Or perhaps to your sitting room down here, Mrs. Coates?”

“Yes, miss, right away.” Apparently relieved at being dismissed from the coming activity of the kitchen, the butler quickly signaled to one of the footmen to help him.

“When you come back, we can go over your wine selections,” she told him.

“Yes, miss.”

“Now, the first thing is to get the roasts in the oven,” Althea told the remaining staff. “Daisy and I will see to those. Let’s see, there’s the pheasant and venison, which thankfully have already been dressed. Now, Mrs. Coates, if you would be so good as to don an apron and oversee the vegetables at this table.

“Oh!” Althea slapped her forehead. “Rebecca! I forgot about Rebecca!”

“That’s all right, miss.” A young parlor maid spoke up shyly. “I can take her tray up and sit with her.”

“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. Tell her I’ll be in to see her later. Perhaps you could read to her?”

The woman blushed and began twisting her hand in her apron. “I’d like to, miss, only…only I can’t.”

It took Althea a few seconds to catch her meaning. “You can’t read—is that what you are trying to tell me?”

She nodded, her eyes downcast.

“Well, look at a picture book with her. Sometimes she feels like reading, and you can have her read to you. If not, you can make up the story as you go along, with the pictures. Do you think you can do that?” She gave her an encouraging smile.

The girl nodded, her eyes hopeful.

“Martha—” Althea turned to the scullery maid “—you start setting up a kettle to boil water for the lobster. I may dispense with the bisque and simply serve the meat on a bed of greens. All right, to work….”

Nearly five hours later Althea took her damp handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Her dress clung to her body; the only thing keeping her from collapsing over the suffocating coal stove was the knowledge that the clock was ticking without mercy. Every second counted.

She kept her eye on the various pots simmering before her, all the while stirring the sauce in front of her. She had concocted what she could from the cook’s receipes. Other dishes she had improvised from all her girlhood years spent in the kitchen with her own family’s cook, who had been more of a mother to her than anyone. She also drew on her experience in recent years from her work at the mission’s kitchen. She knew what feeding a multitude entailed.

“How does this look, miss?”

Althea glanced at the tray Martha held out to her. She had filled the pastry cups with the creamy fricassee. “Very good. We shall have to keep them warm until they are ready to be served. Place them here.” She indicated a spot with the tip of her wooden spoon, then went back to stirring.

“Miss, we’ve finished cutting the fruit into the crystal bowl.”

“Very good, keep the bowl on ice. How is the syllabub?”

“All set. We’re also keeping it cold.”