Page 58 of One More Christmas at the Castle
The soup for lunch was gently simmering as I got out the scales and a giant mixing bowl, blue inside and biscuit-coloured out, into which went the mixed fruit and citrus peel for the Christmas cake, which would be a substantial one.
Then I poured a generous amount of dark rum over it, gave it a good stir, placed a plate over the top and finally stowed it away on a nice cold shelf in the larder.
It’s best left for at least three days to soak up the rum, before making the cake, stirring it every day and adding a little more alcohol if necessary. I think it tastes even nicer than Christmas cake made the traditional way, but the amount of treacle I add later is probably the clincher …
I still had the giant Christmas pudding to make, but I’d already discovered the football-sized metal mould for it in one of the cupboards.
Henry took the soup tureen through and then beat the gong for lunch, while I made thecroque-madamesin the French way.
At least now the supplies had arrived, there was a better choice on the cheeseboard, as well as a replenished fruit bowl: the jewel-bright satsumas looked festive in themselves.
Later, when we’d cleared lunch, Henry said he was going to make a few little savoury scones for tea and some vol-au-vents for tonight’s starter while I was indulging my passion for cleanliness and order in the study with Xan.
I took him a handful of large elastic bands I’d found in a drawer.
‘Just what I need!’ he said gratefully. ‘Now I’ve sorted a lot of them out, I don’t want them mixed up again.’
‘You’ve really done a lot since yesterday,’ I said admiringly. ‘The first table’s almost clear.’
‘I’ve put some of the material back in the first cupboards, but at least everything’s now labelled and tagged, so I know what’s what.’
‘Let’s see what’s in the next one along, then,’ I said, going over to open the doors, but cautiously, in case everything sprang out like the previous ones.
But this time everything was so tightly packed, it was more of an excavation, layer by careful layer. Right at the bottom were some strange, flat canisters.
‘Old cine film,’ Xan said, looking at the faded labels. ‘Copies of ones in Grandpa’s collection, which I’ve got now. Oddly enough, I’ve brought one with me, along with the old screen and projector, because I don’t think Sabine’s seen it.’
‘Oh, a film show!’ I said. ‘You’ll have to lock the door to keep Henry out!’
‘I don’t think it’s going to be that exciting: just film of parties and picnics and maybe an archaeological site or two.’
He looked down at one of the teetering stacks of papers I’d dumped on the table and said, ‘I suspect Asa’s old college won’t want to treasure several years’ worth of his Inland Revenue correspondence!’
I left him after an hour, and when I’d washed the dust off and changed, laid the tea trolley.
The kitchen smelled deliciously of Henry’s baking, the fruits of which were cooling on wire racks that covered half the table.
He buttered a warm scone for me and then watched as I assembled the Christmas pudding ingredients, wrapping the silver charms individually in foil. They went into the mixture last.
‘Bags me the bachelor’s button,’ Henry said.
‘You’ll be lucky to get any of this one,’ I told him, but we both took turns to stir the pudding, while making a wish.
Mine was that Henry would finally find Mr Right and live happily ever after.
I have no idea what he wished for, but his expression was unusually serious.
For that night’s main course, I dished up the sausages, mash and peas straight into the giant Yorkshire puddings and poured on a little onion gravy, before Henry took them through.
‘Mrs Powys said the Yorkshire puddings were just the way Mrs Hill used to make them, and Xan said they were wonderful,’ he reported back later, with a grin.
‘Only Lucy seemed to have trouble eating all of hers, though she still managed to get through the apple crumble and custardall right. But, of course, she’d finished off the last of my vol-au-vents before dinner,’ he said complacently. ‘They were too delish to resist.’
Mrs Powys rang the bell when they moved back to the sitting room and were ready for coffee.
‘No rest for the wicked!’ Henry said.
‘I’ll put our dinner out and we’ll have it before we clear up,’ I suggested.
