A Family For Christmas (8 page)

‘Without the complete receipt you
won't be able to make those cakes, will you?' Eliza shook her head and he sighed.
‘Can I help?'

‘Do you know what crimson-coloured aril
is?' she burst out.

‘As it happens, I do.'

Hope flared in her heart. ‘And is that what
you put in the Ashcombe wassail cup?'

‘Crimson aril is the lacy covering of
nutmeg, young un. When it's dried it turns yellow or tan.'

‘Oh, thank you,' she cried, taking
the paper from him. ‘But that can't be right,' she said, her heart sinking.
‘Nutmeg has six letters and there's room for only four on the receipt, look,'
she said, stabbing at the notes with her finger.

‘Dear, dear, young un, mace is the word you
need. It's what the outer covering of the nutmeg is called.'

‘Oh. So you put this mace into both the
apple cakes and the wassail cup?'

‘No, mace, the outer covering of the
nutmeg, is what the Ashleys use for their apple cakes. The nutmeg itself they put into the
wassail cup. They have very similar, yet not quite the same, tastes, which complement each other
perfectly. Clever, eh?'

As he smiled gently at her across the table,
Eliza felt
herself going warm. He made her feel
loved like Grampy used to. Yet like those two spices, mace and nutmeg, not in quite the same
way. While she was musing he disappeared into the pantry, reappearing with what looked like two
dark, oval conkers, which rattled together when he shook them. In his other hand he held some
bark-like strips.

‘I'll be back shortly to complete
your spice lesson,' he said grinning. Eliza went back to Rose's notes but was none
the wiser when Duncan returned holding out two jars.

‘I've ground the spices and, as you
can see, this nutmeg is darker than the mace here. Now what can you smell? Careful, they are
quite pungent.' He held first one and then the other jar under her nose. She inhaled.

‘Hmm, they are lovely. Warm and very spicy
but this one is sweeter, isn't it?' she said, pointing to the nutmeg.

‘Well done, little un. You have a very good
nose. The mace here is more refined and slightly bitter. Hence you put mace in the cakes and
save the nutmeg for the wassail cup. Well, for the Ashcombe receipts, anyway.'

As Rose came into the kitchen Duncan jumped to
his feet, snatching up the jar of nutmeg.

‘I'll leave you to it. I know
you'll be itching to get on with your baking now,' he said, winking at Eliza.

As the door shut behind him, Rose arched an
eyebrow.

‘Good news,' Eliza said excitedly.
‘We've found the secret ingredient.' She held up the jar of mace. Rose clapped
her hands in delight. ‘But that's not all. I discovered we need to sprinkle sugar on
the tops to ensure a crispy coating.'

‘Thank the Lord,' Rose muttered.
‘Right, let's get mixing these wretched cakes.'

While Eliza peeled and smashed the apples, Rose mixed the dry
ingredients together.

‘Hey, go easy,' Eliza cautioned, as
the other woman went to tip in the mace. ‘Duncan says that's pungent and the receipt
does say a pinch.'

‘Surely that won't be enough,'
Rose scoffed. ‘There's loads of cake mixture.'

‘Yes, but smell the spice. It's very
strong,' Eliza pointed out. ‘Look, this is a sample batch so let's use a pinch
and if these aren't spicy enough we can add more when we bake tomorrow.'

Once the cakes were cooking in the range, they
made tea and collapsed onto the chairs to recover. Before long, the kitchen was suffused with
the aroma of spices.

‘Well, they smell all right, don't
they?' Rose observed, topping up their mugs.

‘Yes, and they smell ready, too,'
Eliza said, getting to her feet.

‘But they've not been in long enough
yet,' Rose said, frowning at the ormolu clock on the dresser. ‘My mother gave us
that expensive clock for our wedding present. It came from the very best clockmaker in London
and is accurate to the second.'

‘Yes, and it's quite lovely,'
Eliza said, crossing her fingers beneath her apron. ‘But all ranges have different
temperatures. You have to trust your nose, not the time.' Privately she thought the ornate
timepiece looked out of place in the cosy room.

‘All right, it won't do any harm if
we have a look,' agreed Rose.

Eliza bent down and opened the range door.
Carefully
she took out the cakes and placed the
tray onto the table. ‘These are ready, see.'

‘Goodness, so they are,' Rose
exclaimed, looking up as she heard the latch click. Ben popped his head around the door.

‘Something smells good,' he said.

‘Oh, Ben,' she gushed, throwing
herself into his arms, ‘come in and try one of our apple cakes.'

‘Is that invitation extended to me?'
Duncan asked, following in behind. As they stood sampling the cakes, Rose and Eliza exchanged
anxious glances.

‘Delicious. The best I've ever tasted
and with just the right amount of spice, too,' Ben said, putting his arm around his wife
and drawing her close. ‘What a clever girl you are,' he murmured. As Rose flushed
with pleasure, Duncan winked at Eliza. It seemed good relations had been restored.

‘By the way, Tinks called by with a message
from your mother. She simply cannot wait any longer to see her grandson. The weather down the
valley has cleared sufficiently for her to make the journey so she'll be arriving after
luncheon tomorrow.'

‘Oh, no,' Rose groaned.

‘But that's good, isn't
it?' Ben asked. ‘She'll be able to do her first spot of babysitting whilst we
host the festivities. Come on, Duncan, no peace for the wicked,' he said, kissing
Rose's cheek.

As the door shut behind them, Rose grimaced.

‘Now I'll have to make sure
everywhere is spick and span. Mother can spot a dust mote from a hundred paces. Still, as Ben
says, it does mean I can join in the wassailing.'

Eliza smiled but she was wondering what was going to happen to
her. Rose's mother would expect to sleep in the room she was using, wouldn't
she?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of
Joshua's whimpering. While Rose hurried to attend to him, Eliza set about clearing up the
kitchen. At the least the apple cakes had turned out successfully. Now they knew how to make
them, it wouldn't take long to knock up sufficient for the festivities.

‘Come on, Eliza, let's see what we
can find for you to wear for the celebrations.' She was roused from her reverie by Rose
calling to her from the doorway. Eliza followed her up the stairs and into a bedroom with dainty
yellow sprigged curtains at the window and a matching coverlet on the bed.

Rose rummaged in a chest, then tossed two dark
red flannel petticoats onto the bed. ‘Didn't you say you only had a thin dress with
you?' Eliza nodded. ‘Well, these should go nicely underneath and add an extra layer.
I imagine it's freezing higher up the moors.'

‘It is, but don't you want
them?' Eliza asked, running her hand over the warm material.

‘Not now I'm a married woman,'
Rose giggled. ‘Right then, let's see what else is in here. Ah, yes.' Rose drew
out a leaf-green cape, edged with emerald velvet, followed by a gown in corded dimity. Then a
cotton lawn petticoat trimmed with broderie anglaise joined the pile. Rose dangled a stomacher
in front of her, grimacing. ‘Mother will make me wear this, I know she will, and no doubt
she'll have me tightly laced in stays, too.' She pouted down at her post-baby
figure. ‘One mustn't let oneself go, Rosaline,' she parroted in a hoity-toity
voice.

Eliza giggled. ‘I didn't know your name was
Rosaline.'

Rose sighed. ‘Rosaline Evangaline Josaphine
Madaleine, to be precise. Mouthful or what? What's your full name?'

‘I don't have any fancy middle names.
Nor do my sisters Hester and Isabel,' she said.

‘Oh, you have sisters?'

Eliza nodded, feeling a sudden pang.
‘Don't you?' she asked.

Rose shook her head. ‘No, I'm an only
child. Obviously one time of “it” was enough for Mother,' she said. As Eliza
eyed her curiously she giggled. ‘I shall definitely be having lots more children, in case
you're wondering.'

Not knowing what to say, Eliza stared down at the
clothes on the bed.

‘Here, Eliza Dryad, these are for
you,' Rose said, scooping them up and handing them to her.

‘I can't take them all,' Eliza
protested.

‘Well, they won't fit me for a while
and if I don't have anything suitable to wear, Mother will take pity on me and insist on
treating me to some new outfits,' Rose said shamelessly. ‘Besides, you'll need
to dress up for the Wassail tomorrow night and that cape will bring out the colour of your
eyes.'

Eliza ran her fingers over the soft nap of the
velvet trim. ‘I've never worn anything so beautiful,' she sighed.

Next morning, the farmhouse was a frenzy of
activity, but by lunchtime the cakes, wassail cup and slices of toasted bread were laid out on
the scrubbed kitchen table ready for the evening's festivities. While Rose fed the baby,
Eliza put clean linen on the bed. She looked around the room
she'd been using and sighed. The apple-green curtains and
matching coverlet gave it a cosy feel whilst the wool rug was bliss to step onto first thing in
the morning. Resolutely, she tied her things into a bundle, donned the gown Rose had given her
and brushed her hair until it crackled with electricity.

‘Oh, you look really pretty. That dress
suits you,' Rose said, appearing in the doorway. She was wearing a satin gown in soft
claret, which made her gentian eyes look bluer than ever. ‘You can leave your things in
the cupboard by the kitchen. Are you sure you don't mind sleeping by the range tonight? I
don't like asking you to move but Mother will expect to sleep in here. The rooms down the
old hallway haven't been used in ages and need a good airing.'

Eliza smiled, and gave a final look around the
room she'd spent the two most comfortable nights of her life in.

‘It's been kind of you to let me use
it,' she said, her gaze coming to rest on a miniature painting of a gentian.

‘Phooey. I don't know how I'd
have managed without your help, Eliza. Fay painted that for our wedding present,' Rose
said, noticing her interest. ‘She wouldn't come to the ceremony herself but insisted
on giving us something for our home.'

‘It's exquisite,' Eliza
whispered.

‘I think it's amazing that a woman
who can heft hay bales and shear sheep should have such a delicate touch,' Rose said. She
looked as though she was going to say something else but was distracted by the sound of
voices.

‘You can put my luggage in my room,
Benjamin.'

‘Certainly, Mother Evangaline,' Ben
answered.

Eliza stared at Rose in surprise.

‘Just Ben's little joke,' Rose
whispered.

‘Then I simply must see my grandson,'
the strident voice rang down the hallway. ‘And where is Rosaline?'

Rose stared at Eliza in dismay. ‘Why do I
always feel like a child as soon as I hear her?' she whispered, smoothing down her skirts.
‘Please come with me for moral support.'

With a last look around the room, Eliza hurried
after her. A woman of middle years, fair hair swept up in a coronet and wearing a grey day
dress, stood waiting impatiently in the parlour.

‘Mother, how lovely to see you,' Rose
said, kissing the woman's cheek. ‘May I introduce Eliza Dryad. She has been helping
me until you could get here.'

The woman accepted her daughter's kiss,
then lifted her lorgnette. She had eyes the same gentian as Rose but her gaze, as it swept over
Eliza, was hard and assessing.

‘I didn't know you'd engaged
the services of a nanny?' she said finally.

Rose raised her eyebrows at Eliza behind the
woman's back. ‘I haven't, Mother. Eliza is a friend.'

‘Dryad, you say? I can't say
I've ever heard that of name. You're not from around these parts, then?'

Eliza shook her head.

‘Eliza is a friend of
Duncan's.'

The woman sniffed dismissively. ‘Well,
I'm sure you have plenty to do, Miss Dryad. Now, Rose, you must take me to the nursery. I
simply cannot wait a moment longer to see my grandson.'

As Rose led her mother up the stairs, Eliza shook
her head. What a pompous woman, and clearly she'd found
Eliza wanting. Ben, who had stayed out of the way until the coast
was clear, suddenly appeared.

‘Don't worry about Mother Evangaline.
She has ideas far above her station,' he said, giving a rueful grin. They heard the woman
cooing, followed by an angry wail. ‘Babies are wondrous levellers, aren't
they?' he grinned. ‘Fancy a brew before the festivities? With any luck we've
time to drink it in the kitchen before Mother E comes back. She insists we use the parlour. Only
one's staff partake of refreshment in the kitchen, Benjamin,' he parroted in that
hoity-toity voice Rose had affected earlier. ‘Of course, that'd be fine if one had
staff.'