|
Midnight in the Inn . . .
Cook was making a last round of the kitchen before retiring to her room. She was looking forward to the mug of hot spiced wine she’d made for herself, once she’d banked her little fire and snuggled under her quilts. The kitchen was all in readiness for managing the food and drink for tomorrow. She’d recruited one of the local lasses to finish the platters of sliced meats and cheeses which Zimzi had started. And sent Zimzi off to be with her family. The cookies were done; the cake finished; the huge Inn punchbowl drug out and washed.
Her next step, and last she hoped for the night, was a quick trip to the bar where Miz Aman was busy drying the last of the mugs for tomorrow. The two ladies nodded at each other, both too tired to begin a conversation. Cook raised her brows and Aman tipped her head to one of the shelves below the bar. There she had placed the various bottles of spirits which were to make up the punch. Cook tucked two bottles under each arm and grasped the other two in her hands. ‘Should be enough,’ she muttered to herself as she ran through the secret recipe. ‘At least for the first round!’ she chuckled. With a quick step she retreated back to the kitchen, lining up the bottles on the counter next to the bowl. Like little soldiers, she thought, ready for battle.
The old cat was curled up on her rug by the stove. Cook scooped her up under one arm and trundled her off to bed, making a nice little nest in the quilts for the tabby. Then, with a sigh of contentment, she removed her robe and slid under the covers. A mug of wine later found her snoring soundly on her pillows, her little lamp still burning softly . . .
|