The Lark Shall Sing by Cadell Elizabeth

Author:Cadell, Elizabeth [Cadell, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: The Friendly Air Publishing
Published: 2016-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The next few hours were busy ones for everybody. Fires had to be stoked to provide extra bath water; garments had to be shared out among those who needed them, food had to be prepared. There was no question of the visitors going to other quarters; Miss Cornhill, though now able to borrow money, could not travel until her own clothes were repaired or others obtained for her. Pietro was fitted out in a suit belonging to Nicholas; Robert was still immaculate, but his car gave him the excuse he needed for staying, and he seized it firmly. He was in this thing—well in—and he was enjoying it. He would have to go soon—but not to-night.

In the meantime, they could all make themselves useful. Miss Cornhill would have liked to be upstairs seeing to the children’s baths and clothes, but she felt that on this, their only night with Lucille, she should leave them together. She therefore turned her energies to providing supper, and found her way to the kitchen, to discover that Pietro was already there, peering distractedly into drawers and cupboards and assembling the results of his search on the kitchen table. He greeted Miss Cornhill with an exasperated wave of his arms.

“Here there is nothing,” he said. “I tell myself that I shall make a good dinner for everybody, and where is the things to prepare? Look.”

Miss Cornhill looked. On the table were three tins of baked beans, three tins of sardines, two loaves of bread, a packet of butter and a dozen eggs: Jeff’s response to Lucille’s request to him to lay in a few provisions for her use during her stay at Wood Mount.

“I plan a little thing—my little speciality,” went on Pietro. “Terrine of duck—but where shall I get everything? I need so little, but it is not here: how I do it, I shall tell you. A duck—large, of course; the feet of a calf and some pork, and one or two things more—some red wine, some brandy, thyme, spice to mix, onions, garlic, shallots, some—”

“You can put the beans on toast,” suggested Miss Cornhill.

“Beans on...! But who will eat that?” Pietro shuddered. “If there is no duck, give me chicken,” he besought; “two chickens, and I will make my Poulet à la Madame Pompadour; this perhaps will be better for the children. But I shall want ham and some veal—soft, soft veal—and some mushrooms. But of course, mushrooms. Brandy and a little champagne—how can it hurt children, just a little-little? And then I shall need to have—”

“Or you could see,” said Miss Cornhill, who had given the matter further thought, “if there were any potatoes in the garden and boil them and mash them up with the sardines—it makes them go a surprisingly long way. Or—’ ’

“Sardines...mashed with—! But no! How shall we eat that? You see me here,” declared Pietro passionately, “ready to cook. For my little Miss Julia, a gâteau...yes! Gâteau Pèche d’Artagnan. With some ice and some—”

“If you will try to be practical, Mr.

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