The Cockermouth Mail by Dinah Dean

Author:Dinah Dean [Dean, Dinah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cover & Page

Seven

When the diners felt that they had demolished sufficient of the main course, Sir Richard gave Jem the nod and the servants cleared the dishes. Then they brought in clean plates, a large jug of custard—smelling strongly of brandy—two jellies moulded like castles, and a pink blancmanger. There was a short hiatus, and then steps were heard in the hall, Jem opened the door with one of his flourishes, and the landlord entered, red-faced and beaming, with the Pudding!

It was worthy of the capital letter. It was round and dark, rich with plums and suet, steaming fragrantly, crowned with a sprig of holly bright with berries, and the diners gave it a spontaneous round of applause.

The landlord conveyed it safely to the table, and placed it before Sir Richard, who inspected it admiringly, and exclaimed, “What an excellent pudding! You’re a lucky man, landlord, to be married to such a cook!”

“Oh, aye!’ the landlord agreed, patting his round belly. “Ah’ll allow she’m a gradely cook!” He took a glass of wine with them, at Sir Richard’s invitation, to toast the pudding, and then withdrew, bowing a great many times, and backing out of the presence of the Quality.

Sir Richard removed the holly and presented it to Miss Minster with a courtly bow, and then squared up to the pudding with knife and spoon. It cut beautifully, being neither soggy nor too dry.

“A small piece please!” Miss Minster said hurriedly when she saw where Sir Richard’s second cut was taking him, for she was already near repletion with goose and vegetables.

He obligingly halved the quantity he had first estimated, but she still thought it very large, and looked at it with misgiving. Jem appeared at her elbow and concealed it under a ladleful of brandy sauce, which he served with enthusiasm and liberality, while Sir Richard went on to serve man-sized slices to the others.

It was as delicious as it looked. They all said it was the best pudding they had ever tasted, but no-one was capable of a second helping, or even of toying with the jelly or blancmanger, for its richness was particularly filling.

“I trust there’s another for you, Jem?” Sir Richard said, surveying the wreckage.

“Bless you, yes! Us’ll get urn arterwards. There’s another goose, bigger’n yourn, and two-three puddings bin a-boiling in the copper all day. We gets done prahd in the kitchen! Beat’s cockfighting!”

After the debris of the pudding had been removed, there was still dessert to follow. A large bowl of apples— a trifle wizened, but still sweet and sound—a bowl of walnuts, mincepies, sugar comfits, almond biscuits, sugarplums, a large crumbly cheese and crusty bread and butter for anyone who still felt hungry. Some more port, a stone bottle of cherry brandy and a couple of bottles of cognac with unashamedly French labels were brought too, and everyone pushed back from the table a little, with some surreptitious loosening of waistbands in one or two cases. Mr. Kirby, who had already consumed a fair quantity

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