As if sensing his master’s fractious mood, Braan pressed his wet nose against Flora’s hand and she scratched behind the black velvet of his ears to reassure him. ‘Honestly, Dad, don’t worry,’ she called back. ‘I’m glad to be helping out.’
Settling his tweed deerstalker back on to his head, her father shot her a fond look as he called Braan to his side. ‘You’re a good lass, Flora,’ he said softly. ‘I just hope they all appreciate that, too.’
Ardtuath House was silent when Flora walked up the drive. The building had a handsome, pleasingly symmetrical façade, the original two-storey hunting lodge flanked by twin towers in the Scottish Baronial style that had been added a century ago by Sir Charles’s forebears. Automatically, she walked round to the back and retrieved the iron key from its hiding place behind the stone trough by the door, letting herself in. The cavernous kitchen was stuffy with the heat from the range, which muttered away quietly to itself, and she pushed open a window to let in the fresh air. On the broad table in the centre of the room sat a bowl covered with a clean dishcloth, and a note in Lady Helen’s flowing hand written on a sheet of cream notepaper.
Flora, dear, thank you for helping.
There’s a salmon in the larder, which I’ve already poached. It just needs the skin taking off and some decoration on the platter (cucumber in larder, too, for this purpose).
You’ll find a haunch of venison there, for roasting. Please put it in the oven about five o’clock with some juniper berries and a little of the claret that you’ll find in the dining room. There are potatoes and carrots in the store room to accompany it.
Mrs McTaggart has made pastry (in bowl) for a rhubarb pie, if you wouldn’t mind preparing that, too.
Thank you again for all your help.
H. M-G.
Tying her apron, Flora set to work, fetching the ingredients and utensils she’d need to prepare the meat first, a fine haunch from a stag that her father and Sir Charles had shot a couple of weeks ago, with Ruaridh along, as usual, to lead the garron. Just the other day at Keeper’s Cottage, she’d made a stew from the tougher offcuts that her father had brought home, once the carcass had hung in the game store. The finer cuts were always saved for the house, of course. The game from the estate made a big difference to their rations, although her father always shared their allocation with others in the community who needed a little extra.
Setting the haunch in a large roasting dish, Flora added a handful of juniper berries and some dried mountain thyme. Then she went along the corridor and through the green baize-covered door that led to the front of the house. The air there was perfumed with the smell of the beeswax used to polish the rich mahogany of the furniture, overlaid with a faint scent of wood smoke. The dining room had been prepared for the evening, the table draped with a white damask cloth and set with silver cutlery and candlesticks. An arrangement of roses and trailing swathes of ivy from the walled garden formed a graceful centrepiece – surely Lady Helen’s work. On the sideboard stood several bottles of red wine. Flora uncorked one, carefully pouring most of the contents into a crystal decanter, and then took the remainder back through to the kitchen to pour over the meat before letting it rest in its marinade back in the larder again.
Once she’d peeled the vegetables and prepared the fruit for the pie, Flora set the kettle on the range and made herself a cup of tea before rolling out the pastry. She worked steadily and methodically with the capable neatness of one well used to such cooking, humming to herself to dispel the heavy silence that seemed to hang suspended within the walls of the empty house.
Just before six o’clock, as she was checking the roasting meat, she heard the sound of cars drawing up in front of the house and the voices of the returning fishing party. A minute later, Lady Helen hurried into the kitchen, pulling her broad-brimmed hat from her head and smoothing her hair into place.
‘Flora, dear, it all smells wonderful! You are a gem, stepping in like this. My husband was adamant that I should accompany them today so I couldn’t have managed without you. What can I do