Esther had to excuse herself, her hand clamped over her mouth as laughter slipped between her fingers. Valerie could not have agreed more, butshehad to be diplomatic, or her entire party would fall to pieces before it had even begun.
“The boys relished your marzipan creations,” Valerie said, changing tactic. “Might you do more of those? Indeed, it should be the most festive array you can think of. Every little thing you have always wanted to make for a Christmas feast!”
“Roast goose, perhaps?” Kate interjected with a subtle wink to Valerie. “A few of those, and servants to slice. People could eat whenever they please—a buffet of sorts.”
The cook physically recoiled. “A buffet? I’ve never served a buffet in my life, and I don’t mean to start now. Nothing will be warm, nothing will taste as it should; it would be utter chaos.”
“You serve breakfast every day,” Kate replied. “That istechnicallya buffet, and the eggs are always warm and delicious. Besides, Mrs. Leggat, this is a party. There are always refreshments being served in such a fashion at a party.”
Valerie clasped her hands together, figuring it would not hurt to beg since everything else had failed. “Remember, Mrs. Leggat,this is for those dear boys who so enjoyed your marzipans and your stories. I remember Isaac saying how envious he was of the roast goose that other children get to eat at Christmas.”
“And David talked of the crispy, buttery potatoes that he had seen the merchant’s family eating last Christmas,” Kate added, so seamlessly and earnestly that Valerie could not tell if the merchant was made up or not.
“The plum pudding with the brandy, too,” Valerie agreed. “He asked me what my family enjoy at Christmas, and I told him of the golden parsnips and the buttered leeks—oh, and the oranges and sweet Christmas pies and candied fruits.”
Huffing out a breath, rather like an angry bull in a summer field, the cook pursed her lips and stared at the other two women as if she did not know whether to shoo them out of her kitchen or consider their suggestions.
“Well, I don’t know where I shall get geese with such little notice,” Mrs. Leggat muttered, after a short while. “And I shall be chained to this kitchen day and night if I’m to make the sweets as well as the savories, and I hardly have the time or kitchen maids to spare for the task.”
Valerie’s eyes widened, sensing a ‘but’ in the woman’s reticence.
“But,” the cook continued, “if I don’t take this opportunity while I have it, I might never make food for a party again. It has been so many years since I provided a feast for the season. I was a slip of a thing back then, little more than a girl.”
It took the utmost discipline for Valerie to keep a smirk off her face and a snort out of her nose, for there was no possible way that the cook had been a young woman the last time there was a Christmas celebration at Blackwall. Mrs. Leggat was at the tail end of her forties at least, in the midst of her fifties at most.
Kate, however, clearly felt no such compulsion to play along. “Iwas a young woman, Mrs. Leggat.Youhad two children almost grown.” She paused. “But I remember how magnificent you were, whirling around the kitchens like a dancer, conjuring up the most delicious food I have ever tasted. Istilldream of those sweet tarts with the lattice on top. The ones with the currants and apples?”
A pinch of anxiety tightened Valerie’s throat. The cook had been in a bad mood anyway after the departure of the boys, made worse by Valerie insinuating that the food she had been planning would be no good at all. Correcting the older woman’s version of the past could well tip her over the edge, making her refuse to do anything for the party at all. And they had been so close to winning her over to a more… informal feast, too.
Still, at least fighting with the cook had helped to take Valerie’s mind off what had happened in the carriage.
To her surprise, Mrs. Leggat suddenly burst out laughing, her hands reaching behind her to retie the strings of her apron. “I forgot you were there, Mrs. Mullens! Goodness, but itdoesfeel like I was nothing more than a girl back then. You think you’re a grown woman when you’re five-and-twenty, five-and-thirty, certainly at five-and-forty, but it’s not until you’re fiftythat you realize how young and naïve you still were.” She cast a bright smile at Kate. “Those were my Christmas pies. You really remember them?”
“I can’t forget them,” Kate replied. “Whenever this time of year comes around, and Christmas creeps closer, I can’t forget any of the parties and gatherings and balls we used to have here.”
The cook nodded, her smile fading. “Now, it passes like any other week.”
Listening to the shared past of the two older women, hearing the bittersweet tone of their voices and seeing the soft reminiscence on their faces, Valerie did not know if she should intrude.Shecould only imagine how glorious the parties must have been at Blackwall Castle, though the vibrant visions were tinged with the shadow of everything Adrian had revealed to her about his mother.
But hedidsay that he was certain it had been her favorite time of year. And I know it must have been his, too.
“This year will be different,” she said decisively. “We shall concentrate our efforts on the party, of course, but… do you think we might bring that cheer to this castle, too? A smaller feast for the household on Christmas Eve, perhaps? And… I know I saw some holly and ivy in the gardens. We could make wreaths and garlands!”
She braced for the other two to tell her that it was a foolish notion that would end in trouble, not at all expecting the girlish shrieks that squealed from the pair of them.
“There are bows and decorations somewhere,” Kate urged, clapping her hands together. “Oh, where on earth did they end up? I shall have to enlist the footmen to hunt them down.”
“There is bunting in the cellar!” Mrs. Leggat joined in, enthused. “And the gardener would be glad to pick out the perfect yule log. Some mistletoe, too, though not where any maids and footmen might cross paths. Laurel is essential. Rosemary, for the scent. And I shallhaveto make a twelfth night cake, more elaborate than anything those bakers in Blackwall can make.”
At that, Valerie’s buoyant heart began to sink, a heavy stone dropping from her chest into her stomach where it sat uncomfortably. By Twelfth Night, the eve before Epiphany, five days into the new year, she would not be there anymore. She would be in Scotland to continue her mission, or she would be on her way back, empty-handed, with no choice but to face the fate she had been running from. Either way, she would not be at Blackwall Castle, amongst these lovely people.
Chances are, I will never see Adrian again…
“Miss Wightman?” Kate’s gentle voice yanked her out of her heavy thoughts.
Valerie blinked. “Hmm?”
“Are you well?” Kate reached out to rest a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You seemed sad for a moment.”
