[piosenniel]

The cake was done at last. Four tiers of moist lemon cake, their layers filled with rich raspberry jam from the Inn’s own bushes. And overall a light, white foamy frosting set all about with the sugared violets Ginger had done earlier in the week. Cook set it carefully on a wide counter in the pantry, next to the trays of frosted cookies. All was ready for the tomorrow as far as the deserts were concerned. And of course there would be contributions from the goodwives who came in for the party. All vying for compliments as they put their best recipes forward.

Cook sat down heavily in her chair. Goodness, but it had been a long day standing in the kitchen. Productive . . . and satisfying . . . but long and tiring none the less. Servers were coming in and out of the kitchen, taking out platters of sandwiches and pickle for the lunchtime crowd, returning with dishes to be washed. She noted that fewer trays of food were going out and more of the dirty dishes were finding their way back. Lunch must almost be over then already! Buttercup had started the large pot of rich vegetable soup with chicken for dinner and was lining up loaves of bread to be sliced later to accompany it. She saw Cook casting an eye about, her brow furrowed. ‘If it’s dessert you’re looking for, it’s going to be simple, too,’ Buttercup told her, giving the soup another stir. ‘Nice crisp pears from our own trees, a lovely wedge of sharp cheese, and a glass of port.’ Cook nodding her head, thinking suddenly how hungry she was and how she’d like a little of that.

Earlier in the day Zimzi had brought her family in to greet Cook. She knew them already of course from when she’d travel with Zimzi and Master Derufin as chaperone to Lindon to see them; it was a great delight to see them once again. Aman, still in her riding breeches, had come in with them, and Cook noted the surreptitious glances the brothers made toward her. And how they vied for her attention – one pulling out a chair for her, the other offering to fetch a glass of water were she thirsty. Cook tsk’d keeping the comment to herself that perhaps the Innkeeper should be dressing in a way more befitting her station. It’s what comes of hiring one of those Big Folk from Rohan she supposed; perhaps that is how they dress there she thought reconsidering her opinion.

All had seen the cake and approved of it, though the men mostly nodded their heads at the comments which the ladies made about it, bemused looks on their faces. Zimzi was delighted, too, with the cookies Ginger and Gwenneth had done, and asked Cook to be sure to give her thanks to them. Cook said that she would, saying they were out with the others putting up the lanterns and garlands about the front yard. She could see that Zimzi’s family was tired from their long journey, so she left them in their daughter’s able hands and bade them rest up as they wished or relax in the Common Room.

Ginger had come in later, her cheeks flushed, trailed by Ferdy and his companions. Gwenneth had gone for a short ride before supper, she explained, and the fellows had helped her with the rest of the lanterns and some of the garlands. ‘I’m just going to get us something to eat and drink,’ she told Cook, motioning for the lads to go on into the Common Room.’ She piled some sandwiches onto a tray and fetched a large pitcher of cold cider with six mugs for the lot of them. ‘Once the dinner crowd’s thinned out tonight,’ she said backing through the door with her tray, ‘we’ll get started on the garlands for the inside of the Inn. Oh, and could you let Gwenneth know where we are if she comes in through the kitchen?’ She was out the door before Cook could respond in any manner but with a smile and a quick nod of her head.

‘Girl’s feeling much perkier, I’ve noticed,’ said Buttercup, drying up the washed plates and putting them away. ‘And young Master Ferdy’s not quite so tongue-tied any more, either.’ She took out the bowls for the soup to be served in later and lined them in stacks on one of the counters. Once done, she brought a glass of cider each and a plate of sandwiches for herself and Cook. Pulling a chair near, she perched her legs on it with a satisfied ‘Ahhhh!’

Cook took a long swig of her drink and tucked into one of the thick ham sandwiches, speaking around it as she chewed. ‘Best we finish up here soon and get back to it, I suppose. There’s still platters of cheeses and meats to be sliced for tomorrow, though I think Miz Hawthorne and her friend might be handling that. We’ll just get them set up. And we’d best see if the tablecloths were ironed.’ Cook sighed. ‘And then of course, there’s the hungry hordes who’ll be wanting supper soon . . .’