Following Andrews’ orders, Charles made his way to the back of the house towards the kitchen to check in with Mathilda regarding his luncheon arrangements.
Mathilda, the head cook, reigned over a very large kitchen. Her domain included multiple adjoining pantries, a scullery hanging with many impressively shining copper pots, multiple table tops and ovens, and a large dining area for herself and the household’s many workers. She also managed a small staff that included Alice, a day-girl from the nearby village and sometimes, Alice’s little sister, Maybelle. This extra help was often necessary, as Mathilda cooked not only for the immediate family, but for the entire household staff and the grounds’ keepers as well. In addition to breakfast, lunch, and the main evening meal for her Mistress’ family, she often had the extra responsibilities of fancy tea luncheons, and dinner parties for their many and varied guests.
This herculean work load meant that most of the time, Mathilda was present in body only, as her spirit soared in clouds of smoked salmon hors d’oeuvres, strawberry and lemon-cream crepes, jelly molds, preserves, condiments and myriad other gourmet delicacies to tempt the palates of her Master and Mistress and their frequent guests.
As Charles rounded the house and approached the stone steps leading down to the kitchen, he recalled the many pleasant times he had sat down to lunch at its huge dining table, surrounded by all of the household staff gathered together; Andrews presiding at the head, and Mathilda at her place of equal authority directly opposite.
There was always a feeling of warm comradery with much jovial banter and harmless ribbing of one another going on. Charles remembered one particular time, though, when the teasing went a bit too far.
Alice
When time was limited because of the need for preparations for a special social event, Charles was sometimes required to have his lunch with the staff. On one such occasion, he was privy to their intimate bit of gossip of the day. Paying no heed to the young master’s presence, the close-knit group set about their usual habit of goading and teasing one another. Today’s target was Alice, Mathilda’s young helper from the village. It was said that she was “sweet on” Germaine, one of Cholly’s young garden helpers, second in line to Jock.
Jock was the one who started the ribbing that day. Having finished a satisfying meal, he leaned back smugly in his chair and looked pointedly down the table toward Alice.
Using his customary fracturing of the English language, he said, “Alice, you outdone yerseln with bakin’ these pies today. Somebody ‘roun here’s ‘smartin’ special to Alice, and I know it ain’t me!”
Alice was mortified. However fondly she felt toward Germaine, any reference to this personal bit of information made her turn a very pretty shade of pink. Becoming flustered, she countered these remarks with an unintelligible spluttering of denials.
Alice could hardly be blamed for directing her affections to Germaine who was a most independent young man, with a strong constitution and handsome youthful countenance. Just the sight of him demolishing a meal was something to behold.
The teasing escalated as Marie, the parlor maid, piped in saying, “Ach, Jock, ye be knowin’ fool weel it’s a’cause of Gerrrmaine”, rolling her r’s as she spoke in her heavy Scot’s brogue. “The lass is sure ‘sweet on’ the lad”, which comment was met with snickering grins all around the table.
“I am not! I am not!” countermanded Alice with a rebellious stomp of her foot, becoming increasingly agitated by the minute.
Unable to tolerate the teasing any longer, she jumped up with tears streaming down her face, knocking over her chair with a crash.
Shocking herself more than any of her antagonists, she prepared to bolt from the room, when Andrews interceded.
Deeming it his responsibility to keep the peace below stairs, Andrews was ever ready to step in when necessary to smooth any ruffled feathers. Arching one of his aristocratic eyebrows, with a meaningful look towards the errant Jock, he remonstrated, “Here now, let the girl be.”
That was all it took to silence the unruly group. Feeling duly admonished, poor Jock learned, to his chagrin, that girls were obviously different from fellows in their emotional makeup. It had been just a little game to him, as young men challenge and bait one another at the least opportunity for just that very reason – fun and games. He promised himself he would make it up to Alice for his ungentlemanly behavior, especially when he heard Mathilda’s sharp words aimed at the poor girl.
Mathilde, though a generous and good-hearted soul, was far too busy for the niceties of diplomacy or gentle mannerisms. Having had enough, she snapped at Alice, “Sit ye down, girl.”
“Let’s have no more of this!” she scolded.
Mathilda’s brusque reprimand shocked Alice into quiet submission, as if ice water had been thrown into her face. Andrews and Mathilda were always, without fail, quickly obeyed. Alice’s convulsive sobs turned into little gulps, then finally abated altogether; peace and harmony ruled again.
Germaine, though having been the object of their discussion, was unflappable throughout the entire exchange and ate his lunch with his usual gusto noticing nothing unusual.
This stoic self- control was one of the qualities that made him so attractive to Alice, not to mention his muscular, broad shoulders and shock of thick sun-bleached hair.
Charles and Maybelle, for their part, being the youngsters of the group, were completely puzzled by the whole debacle. They looked at each other, raised their eyebrows in confusion and shrugged their shoulders. To Charles all that had transpired was a mention of how Alice had outdone herself on the apple pie they had that day for dessert. How could this possibly be a bad thing? He had wholeheartedly agreed!
Maybelle
Charles had found something of a kindred spirit in Maybelle, she being the only person in the entire household anywhere near him in age.
Alice had brought her little sister along with her one day to help in Mathilda’s kitchen. When Mathilda first set eyes on little Maybelle she remarked, “Oh no, another child to get in the way and underfoot. Whatever are you thinking, Alice, bringing that child into a busy kitchen?”
“Well, Mathilda, you did say that I could bring help when when we were going to be extra busy.”
“Yes, girl, but a little slip of a child like that? Whatever has gotten hold of you!?” Meanwhile, Maybelle proceeded on her own initiative to retrieve flour, sugar and lard from the pantry and bowls, pans and cooking utensils from the cupboards. She began busily laying them out on a worktable.
“Here now, child,” remonstrated Mathilda, “Whatever are you doing?”
“Don’t worry, Miss Mathilda,” replied Maybelle, “If you fetch me some yeast, I’ll have the dough rising in no time.”
“Well, I never”, muttered Mathilda under her breath, then added sharply, “You’ll be about cleaning up after yourself; I’ll let you know that right now, little miss!”
“Oh, yes Ma’am” responded Maybell succinctly, “and the floor too, if there’s any spillage.”
“Well, I never,” repeated Mathilda as she shook her head in disbelief.
Maybelle turned in a pivot on her foot, donned an apron and started humming softly. She moved around the kitchen with expert familiarity.
“Here’s the yeast, Maybelle,” said Alice. “I’ll start on the stew.”
Mathilda could plainly see that these two were a team. With a sigh of resignation, she sat down to her second cup of coffee.
Belying her age, Maybelle was a quiet studious child with mature workmanship qualities far beyond her years. Even so, Mathilda was shocked at Alice’s giving her such a free hand with the baking. “Humph,” she thought, “We’ll see.” When the finished product was brought to their dinner table, Mathilda couldn’t believe her eyes—four finished loaves of bread, more professional looking than she could have imagined. This put Mathilda’s nose out of joint a bit at first; however, eventually she came to find the extra free time it gave her a welcome relief. Thinking back, Mathilda remembered she was just about Maybelle’s age when she started cooking in her own mother’s kitchen. She too, had taken over all of the baking as well. Chuckling to herself, she thought, “Some of us are just born to the kitchen.”
Charles especially liked the days Maybelle came. She would let Charles help make his very own little loaf of bread and sprinkle on cinnamon and sugar. She also was very good at telling stories. As they worked together, Charles would beg her over and over, “Tell me about Robin Hood; tell me again about Tom Thumb– please, please, Maybelle” These were all stories she had heard as a very little girl from her big sister, Alice. Now, she was well read herself and enjoyed entertaining and even teaching Charles.
Charles was also looking very forward to spending lunch time with Jock and Germaine. Germaine was forever poking Charles with his elbow at some bit of shared humor, or mussing Charles’ hair good-naturedly. Then there was always the possibility that Jock might produce a miniature animal, boat, or other wooden toy from his pocket that he had carved himself, “specially for the Young Master.”
With these pleasant expectations of seeing Jock, Germaine, Maybelle and all the rest of his downstairs “family” swirling in his head, Charles descended the stone steps to the kitchen with a smile of eager anticipation on his face.
Charles entered the kitchen expecting to be warmly welcomed by Mathilda to come and join all of his friends gathered cozily around the staff dining table. Imagine his surprise to see no one at all sitting at the table. Instead, it was laden end to end with glass jars and ceramic containers of every shape and size. At one end, the jars were empty. At the other, they were filled with jams, jellies and preserves in an array of jewel-like colors. Alice was standing at the table, her sleeves rolled up well above her elbows and her apron stained with various shades of red and purple, ladling hot viscous liquid into the empty jars. Blowing an errant strand of hair from her forehead with a puff, she swiped at her brow with the back of her hand, her face even pinker than usual in the oppressive heat of the kitchen.
Maybelle was seated at a smaller work table, well away from the scorching hot preserves, surrounded by bowls mounded high with pared apples, berries and other fruits that she was preparing. Germaine was hovering near the hot stove, having been recruited by Mathilda to help with the heavy lifting and pouring from the huge pots used for boiling down the preserves. Jock was nowhere to be seen, having been sent back to the garden with a thick slab of bread, a large chunk of cheese and a flask of tea that would have to suffice for the noontime meal that day. Mathilda and her staff had also made do with a quick cold lunch that day so that they could “get on with the puttin’ by.”
Mathilda came scuttling in from one of the pantries with a very large enamel strainer and greeted Charles with exasperation. “Where have you been child!? Its near past your lunch time.” Seeing Charles confused expression, Mathilda explained, “It’s preservin’ day and we are up to our elbows in boiling fruit. It’s no place to have a youngster underfoot.”
Seeing Charles’ crestfallen face, Mathilda thought it was a lack of food rather than companionship that was bothering Charles and quickly continued, “Don’t fret yourself. Old Mathilda would never forget about the young Master’s lunch, no matter how busy the day. You get to have tea in the staff parlor, with Marie.”
The sensitive Alice, seeing Charles’ face fall even further at this bit of news, approached him with her hand behind her back.
She slipped him a cookie, saying in a low voice, “Just make sure to save it ’til after your lunch. Now run along out of this hot kitchen so’s I can help Miss Mathilda with the puttin’ by. Marie will be waiting for you.”
Charles left the kitchen reluctantly, hot as it was. Dragging his feet, he made his way down the dark hall to the staff sitting room, comforting himself with the thought that Alice must be “sweet on” him as well as Germaine, as she was forever coaxing him out of their vicinity with small treats.
