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Cook
‘Oh, aye, Miz Bunce,’ said Ferdy, nodding his head at Cook’s instructions. ‘I can do that, but best I fix that first thing you mentioned, as it will take the longest. Once it’s done, the others will finish lickety-split.’
‘Well, that’s up to you Master Ferdy,’ Cook said, nodding at his reasoning. ‘I want the kitchen in tip-top shape. Lot’s of cooking to be done for the handfasting.’ She eyed him as he picked up his tool box and headed for the cellar stairs. She’d given it some thought, she told him, and wanted some small joined bins, tightly jointed, and with close-fitting lids that the sacks of flour, the dried corn, the bags of oats for porridge and scones, the littler sacks of dried fruits, where they could all be stored without the mice finding their way in for a free meal. And after that he could fix the cabinet door in the kitchen, and could he see to the table, too – it was wobbling more than usual.
‘I’ll have a plate of cinnamon, sugar buns waiting for you when you’ve finished the bins.’ She motioned toward the counter where racks of snailed buns stuck full of fat raisins and iced with a shiny glaze stood waiting to be plundered by the hungry patrons of the Inn. ‘Ginger had hand in these,’ she went on in an artless seeming manner. ‘Wonderful help she is! Lightest hand I’ve seen with batters and eggs and such.’ She sighed, and said, almost to herself, ‘Why some lad has not snatched her up is quite beyond me.’ ‘Ah well,’ she went on, a little louder. ‘She’s certain to be taken up at the dance, isn’t she now?’
She glanced over at Ferdy who’d come to a halt at the head of the stairs, and was looking a little scared as if she expected some answer from him. Cook smiled at him and motioned him off, breaking the small tension that hung in the air. ‘Here now I’m going on and you’re wanting to get on with your task. My stars! We can keep the conversation for the cinnamon buns and tea, can’t we. You go on, Master Ferdy, see to the bins.’ He started down the stairs, getting about halfway down before he heard her once again.
‘And mind the old cat – she’s a bit on the blind side and her hearing’s not as keen as it was . . .’
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