Page 1 of A Moveable Feast
Chapter 1
London 1884
On Saturday morning, the day before Easter, Mrs. Bywater, the mistress of the house, sailed into my kitchen in a rather somber gray frock and announced that I would be cooking Easter dinner at the home of her friend, Lady Babcock, in Portman Square.
In dismay, I yanked my hands from the bread dough I’d been kneading. Pots, pans, and crockery surrounded me on the table and the dresser, all in fullest use. Stewed mushrooms and beef stock bubbled on the stove, and the oven emitted scents of a rhubarb tart nearing completion.
What? I wanted to shriek.
I’d begun my labors on the Easter meal days ago. I had a large ham hock brined, ready for the oven tomorrow, plus a half dozen small fowl as well as a shank of mutton, all in their own stages of preparation. I’d stocked plenty of greens and vegetables to be cut and cooked at the last minute and had already made a start on the desserts. A cake with a roasted strawberry filling awaited fresh cream, and additional strawberries, along with other baked pastries, were in the larder.
My assistant, Tess, had spent hours chopping onions and celery into separate bowls for seasoning the meats and adding body to the vegetable dishes.
Mr. Davis, the butler, and I had gone over the wines both for the sauces and for serving at table, to pair just right with what I cooked.
In short, we had everything primed and organized so that I could finish the meal as efficiently as possible the next day. It would be ready for the family and staff members the moment they returned from the Easter service at the chapel around the corner.
And now the mistress calmly stood before me, ordering me to abandon it all and go cook in another woman’s kitchen, without so much as a by-your-leave.
“I beg your pardon?” I finally managed to say.
My outrage must have shown, no matter how hard I tried to restrain myself, because Mrs. Bywater blinked.
“It should not be too much trouble, should it?” she asked. “Lady Babcock’s cook is unwell, and her ladyship is hosting a large Easter dinner. She is at her wits’ end. I had the thought: We could join Lord and Lady Babcock’s dinner party and lend her our Mrs. Holloway. Why not? Lady Babcock readily agreed. You can cook a meal in another kitchen as well as this one, I’m certain. You are quite skilled.”
She tacked on the flattery, which did not soften the blow. I imagined Mrs. Bywater pushing Lady Babcock into this decision as much as she was pushing me.
“It is not that simple, madam,” I said stiffly. “Everything is at the ready. Do you mean for us to abandon this entire meal?” I waved at the food laid out around me. “Is that not a waste?”
Mrs. Bywater, the frugal soul, couldn’t abide any sort of wastage—of money, time, or foodstuffs. She constantly reminded me of this.
“Not at all,” was her brisk reply. “You will pack up everything and bring it with you.”
I would, would I? My ire rose. Many of the dishes would not survive a move any farther than the upstairs dining room.
“Even if I could do such a thing, all this will not be enough if her ladyship is hosting a large dinner,” I pointed out. “How many are attending?”
Mrs. Bywater shrugged. “Ten? Perhaps twenty, with our party joining? Lady Babcock’s housekeeper will tell you when we arrive.”
Tess listened to all this with her brown eyes wide, freckles standing out on her paling face. Her lips were parted, but fortunately she did not express her alarm out loud.
I barely contained my own. “There is a vast difference between cooking for ten and cooking for twenty, madam. Portions must be known, with extra planned in case there are hearty diners. It cannot be done. Her ladyship will simply have to hire out the meal or cancel it.”
Mrs. Bywater’s hazel eyes held impatience. “I fail to understand why you are creating such difficulties. Lady Babcock’s cook will have already brought in the supplies for the meal, which, combined with ours, will be more than plenty. I have already promised Lady Babcock, so put these things together and come along. I’ve hired a cart to take you and all your dishes over, but we must make a start. Lady Babcock’s housekeeper will arrange a place for you to sleep the night so you can begin cooking at the earliest possible hour in the morning.”
I nearly gave my notice then and there. Tess, her knife poised over the endless stalks of celery, obviously feared I would do just that. If I walked off in anger, then she would be left with a half-cooked Easter dinner and a furious Mrs. Bywater.
For Tess’s sake, I cooled my anger the best I could. Mrs. Bywater was correct that I could fix a fine meal to please her ladyship, even in the most difficult of circumstances. I reasoned that, like me, Lady Babcock’s cook and housekeeper had already stocked the kitchen and been busy with preparations.
While Mrs. Bywater’s faith in my skill was not misplaced, I did not fancy the mountain of extra work she’d abruptly piled upon Tess and me.
Also, she might have asked me beforehand instead of rashly promising my labor to her ladyship without my knowledge. Mrs. Bywater was ever in awe of a title, and no doubt she’d wanted to ingratiate herself with Lady Babcock, second wife of a widowed marquess.
I released a heavy sigh, conveying that anything I did henceforth was under duress. “I suppose we can salvage some of our foodstuffs. Tess and I will load the cart and take ourselves to her ladyship’s kitchen. The kitchen staff do know we are arriving?”
“Not Tess,” Mrs. Bywater stopped me by saying. “Only you. Though of course Tess must help you carry things up to the road.”
I let my hands fall to my sides, my anger renewed. “I must have Tess,” I told her firmly. “Or else I shall not go.”
