1
February 1882
He’s asking for you, Mrs. H.”
Ordinarily, these words, spoken by a lad called James, the son of my dear friend, Daniel McAdam, would give me a flutter of pleasant anticipation. I hadn’t spoken to Daniel in several long weeks, as he’d been traveling, this time to Ireland.
Tonight, however, Daniel would have to wait. The kitchen of the Mount Street house where I was cook boiled with activity, the oven hot as a blacksmith’s forge, as I turned out meats, puddings, and tasty sauces as quickly as my assistant, Tess, and I could make them. The odors of roasted flesh and burned sugar competed with that of boiling vegetables and sautéed fish. I’d recruited Charlie, the boy who tended the fires, to help with peeling and chopping. Maids and footmen streamed to and fro, and Elsie, the scullery maid, washed dishes with the vigor of a sailor swabbing down a deck.
“He is most inconvenient, your father,” I called to James as I ladled pan juices over a roasted duck on a platter and arranged boiled new potatoes around it. “Please tell him Mrs. Bywater decided to host a supper ball, of all things, with half a week’s notice. A great part of Mayfair is upstairs now, trying to waltz in what’s meant to be the parlor. Food must flow, Mrs. Bywater said, as though I am a fish-and-chips man.” I slammed the spoon back into the pan and shoved it at Elsie, who fled with it to the scullery.
James took no offense at my brisk words. He sidestepped out of Elsie’s way then helped her balance the pan on the way to the sink, to her delight.
“When service is done, he means,” James said cheerily over his shoulder. “Anything I can do to help, Mrs. H.?”
He was a lovely young man. Going on seventeen now, James was a good foot taller than he’d been when I’d first met him. I was pleased to see that his coat and trousers covered his long arms and legs, new clothes if I were any judge, or at least sturdy secondhand ones.
I wiped my sleeve over my sweat-streaked face. “Take the other end of this platter, and we’ll haul it to the dumbwaiter. And for heaven’s sake spill nothing. A day’s work, this is.”
James lifted his end of the duck’s tray robustly, the lad strong, and it nearly tilted out of my hands. I gave him an exasperated look, and he grinned and eased the platter down to my height.
We had the duck safely into the lift at last, and James cranked the ropes to haul it upstairs. I could only hope that the footmen above who retrieved it treated it with care.
James lingered, and so I used him shamelessly. Another pair of hands was not unwelcome.
Tess and I had spent much of yesterday making a large layer cake with icing and spun sugar decorations. I entered the larder, where I’d stored it, and of course found the cake sagging in the middle, the icing and sugar half-melted and broken. My shriek brought Tess running. When she saw the wreck, she stared in dismay, her language burning the air.
I hadn’t the heart to admonish her for her curses. Many of the words she used were ones that leapt readily to my mind.
“Never mind,” I shouted over her. “We must send something. Help me.”
In the next half hour we worked a miracle of sorts. Into the dumbwaiter went a large apple charlotte thrown together from apples I’d cooked down earlier in the day along with ladyfingers left over in the larder. I surrounded this with plates of macaroons for those with daintier appetites and the rhubarb tart I’d made for the staff. It had been meant as a treat after our hard work, but needs must.
Once all the food was gone, Tess and I could not collapse, because the kitchen had to be thoroughly cleaned and organized for the morrow. I’d have to cook for the family and any guests all the next day, not to mention the servants.
James vanished somewhere in the process, but I didn’t begrudge him his escape.
As I scrubbed down the work table, removing every bit of flour, grease, grit, and meat juices so I’d have a clean surface tomorrow, one of the footmen bounded into the kitchen, out of breath.
He was new—footmen here tended to come and go. Mrs. Bywater had a penny-pinching nature, and an employer had to pay an extra tax on male servants of any kind, as they were considered a luxury. Therefore, she encouraged the lads to seek employment in other houses once they had a bit of experience, while the maids took on the extra work. Of the footmen who’d been here when I’d first arrived, only Paul remained.
This footman, who went by the name of Hector, ran headlong into the kitchen then stopped short, no doubt remembering my admonishments not to blunder through my territory.
“They’re asking for you, Mrs. Holloway,” he said, eyes wide. “The upstairs.”
I continued to scrub, seeing no reason for excitability. “To do what, precisely? If they wish me to send up more dishes, they will have to wait a few minutes. I’m behindhand.”
Hector stared in confusion. I did not think this young man would last long under the firm hand of Mr. Davis, our butler, nor the keen eye of the new housekeeper, Mrs. Redfern.
“I mean they’re asking you to come up. Mr. Davis sent me to fetch you.”
“Ooh.” Tess, her temper restored, looked up from scraping out a bowl that had held pureed potatoes. “I wager they want you to take your bow, Mrs. H.”
Cooks generally remained anonymous in the kitchen, which I preferred, but every once in a while were summoned to the dining room, where the master or mistress, or her guests, could thank her for the meal. Or, dress her down for her shortcomings—either could be the case.
I disliked these rare summonses above stairs, preferring to remain in the kitchen to get on with my job. But the mistress decided whether I kept my employment or was turned out, so I sighed, removed my apron, and tried to smooth my hair.
Another reason I disliked being summoned to the dining room was that cooking left me sweaty, grimy, and mussed. I brushed off my sleeves as best I could and straightened my cap.
“Wait.” Tess grabbed me, wet her thumb in her mouth, and rubbed at a smudge on my cheek. “There,” she proclaimed. “You’re perfect. Maybe one of them will give you a vail.”
Guests did sometimes hand a servant who pleased them a coin. These tokens I did not mind—an unmarried woman with a growing daughter cannot turn up her nose at an extra bob or two. But to stand in front of company while they scrutinized me was not to my taste.
Once Tess released me, upstairs I went.
The back stairs emerged in the rear of the house, the door opening to a wide hall leading to the front. The house had once been two, the walls knocked out by a previous owner to create one great mansion.
Guests thronged the house tonight, filling the hall and moving between rooms. Few noticed me appear, and those who did gave me no acknowledgment or even curiosity. A domestic was hardly worth a glance.