Keeping the Castle - By Patrice Kindl Page 0,5
a cheerful modern house with a great many fireplaces, all blasting out prodigious amounts of heat. “Why your grandfather chose to build this place in such an exposed situation, hanging out over a cliff on the North Sea,” she said to my mother, “I will never know. You haven’t even an ocean view from inside this great, dark barn.”
“Some tea will warm you, Sir Quentin,” Mother said, handing him a cup.
“Thank you, m’dear,” said Sir Quentin, looking with sad eyes down into the cup of pale brown water.
“One lump or two?” she asked, her hand hovering over the lid of the elaborate silver sugar caddy. I awaited his answer with some trepidation.
Sir Quentin brightened. “Oh, is there sugar? I’ll have—”
“None.” Lady Throstletwist finished his sentence. “Sir Quentin is watching his waistline.”
This was manifestly untrue. Sir Quentin was as slender as a blade of wheat. It was simply that Lady Throstletwist had guessed that, handsome as the caddy was, it in fact contained no sugar lumps. I had used the sugar for the cakes, which had been meant to last the week but which were swiftly disappearing. I smiled at Lady Throstletwist gratefully; now Mama need not know the empty state of the sugar caddy.
“Very wise,” said my mama. “I daresay you shall outlive us all, Sir Quentin.”
“Have you heard about the arrival of Lord Boring’s party?” Lady Throstletwist enquired, changing the subject. “Quite an excitement for us here in quiet little Lesser Hoo.”
“I believe five young men are coming to enliven our neighborhood,” said Miss Clara.
“I must differ with you, my dear Miss Clara,” said Lady Throstletwist. “I have it on excellent authority that there will be six!”
“Miss Sneech and Mr. Bold,” announced Greengages gloomily, showing yet two more neighbors, our vicar and his niece, into the room.
“How delightful,” said my mama. “Greengages, more tea and cakes please.” Greengages looked at her reproachfully, but took the tray and went to boil more water in the kitchen. After seeing our new visitors seated, I took the opportunity to excuse myself and followed him.
“Oh, miss,” wailed the cook when I showed myself in this domestic office. “Whatever shall we give them to eat? Your lovely little cakes are gone.”
“Is there any bread?” I asked.
Cook allowed as how there was a bit of bread, “But I was planning on it for breakfast.”
“Never mind breakfast. Slice it very, very thin and toast it—carefully, mind, don’t burn it—then spread it with butter.”
“Nay, there’s none, miss,” said Cook dolefully.
“Plain will have to do, then,” I said. “Boil a vast amount of water,” I instructed, and returned to the drawing room.
Little Miss Sneech, always anxious to think the best of everyone, credited the Baron with bringing an even larger party. “Eight young men, I hear,” she was saying as I sat down next to her. She clutched my wrist with a small, hot hand. “Is it not the most amazing news?”
“Doctor and Mrs. Haxhamptonshire,” sighed Greengages (correctly pronouncing this, by the by, as “Doctor and Mrs. Hamster”), “Mr. Eliot, Mrs. Eliot, Miss Eliot, Miss Cynthia Eliot, Master Samuel Eliot, Miss Agatha Eliot, and Master Augustus Eliot.”
I returned to the kitchen as this large group filed in.
“Tiddlers from the moat,” I ordered. “Set the kitchen boy to catching them.” Our moat was more of a lake than a moat. It did not entirely encircle the castle, situated as it was on the very edge of a cliff—it had been constructed solely to provide the need for a drawbridge—but it was nevertheless a sizeable body of water, regularly flooding after a heavy rain. Once upon a time it had been stocked with fish for the table, but we had eaten our way through these larger specimens long ago. Tiddlers were all that were left.
Cook looked at me doubtfully. “There’s no’ much eating on one of them tiddlers, miss. Wouldn’t even call ’em tiddlers, I wouldn’t. More like a minnow than a proper fish.”
“That is why he must catch a great many of them. Have him use a fine-mesh net. Broil them and salt them and put them on one of the good platters. And then we can garnish the platter with watercress, also from the moat. I suppose we have watercress?”
“Oh, aye, miss. Any amount. Oh, and miss? The fireplace crane is rusted near through. Hope the whole great pot don’t come crashing down, if you understand me. That would be a picture, that would.”
“Very well. You must have Jock call in the blacksmith to repair it,” I said,