Page 25 of One More Christmas at the Castle
‘I’m amazed at all the work you have been doing single-handed,’ Henry told her admiringly.
Maria shrugged. ‘I have done my best. Now, there is nothing more to do in here. Henry, you come with me to the cellar, to fetch a bottle of red wine. You will see the boiler there, too, but rarely does it need attention.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed, and they went off back towards the servants’ wing. I followed more slowly, past the doors of the library and the locked study that had been Asa Powys’s, which were at the back of the house.
‘It’s an Aladdin’s cave of alcohol down there,’ Henry said, reappearing in the kitchen with a bottle of wine.
‘They used to entertain a lot. Mr Powys loved to have a house full of guests and he especially enjoyed Christmas – and the Lady, too. She told me once she had happy memories of Christmas when she was a little girl and her mother was alive.’
Perhaps a combination of those long-ago Christmases and the more recent ones with her husband was what Mrs Powys yearned for now.
Maria added, ‘She said that one year her present was a Shetland pony and she came down to find it standing in the hall, wearing a ribbon, though they had put down matting to protect the tiles. They are quite mad, the English gentry.’
‘I know, it’s the sort of thing some of my relatives would do, too,’ Henry agreed. ‘My great-aunt Pamela once rode her hunter up the main staircase and along the gallery for a bet, but it wasn’t too keen on coming back down again.’
Maria looked unsure if he was joking or not, then decided he was and smiled at him.
‘They kept on the Christmas parties until Mr Powys died, even though less and less friends were left … but the young ones came, like Xan, and the few relatives remaining. But after Mr Powys died, there were no parties, no Christmas. The Lady shut up the house and went to stay with her friend Mrs Kane in Oxford. But now, the friend will come here. She is very nice, Mrs Kane, though I find it odd that she was a vicar.’
‘Oh, really?’ I said, thinking that she probably stillwasavicar, unless she was unfrocked or whatever they called it, which seemed unlikely.
‘Before that, she lectured at the university – she is very clever,’ Maria said. ‘She and the Lady went to Oxford together.’
‘I look forward to meeting the learned Reverend Mrs Kane,’ Henry said.
Maria had switched on the oven and now put the large casserole in the middle.
‘There – and I have peeled sprouts to go with it. I cook them in the microwave just before I serve dinner. They take only minutes.’
I suppressed a shudder.
‘The starter is ready, in the fridge. I told you the Lady likes that to be served in the sitting room?’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I take them through now.’
‘I’ll carry the tray,’ Henry offered and they went out together. I wondered how I could tactfully suggest I take charge of the sprouts, before they were microwaved to mush.
Henry and Maria came back chatting amicably. He can twist practically anyone round his finger and he genuinely finds people interesting. I bet he had already got her to promise to write down her baklava recipe for him.
That reminded me about dessert, but she showed me a huge jar of pears in Calvados – from Fortnum and Mason, no less – chilling in the fridge. These were to be served with thick cream.
‘We switched on the hotplate in the dining room on the way back,’ Henry told me, ‘so there isn’t really much more to do than dish up and serve, then clear away, Dido. I’ve been trying to persuade Maria to go home and leave it all to us now.’
‘Oh, yes, do! You must be exhausted!’
‘You’ve been here all day and I know you said you usuallywent home once you’d put the dessert on the table,’ Henry said to her. ‘I’m positive that Dido and I can manage perfectly well now. Why not go home?’
‘It makes sense because you’re going to have a busy day tomorrow,’ I pointed out.
‘I suppose I could do that …’ she said. ‘It has been a very long day and I still have things to do at home.’
She looked at me doubtfully. ‘You understand about breakfast?’
‘Yes, I set the table in the morning room for two, and take up Mrs Powys’s tray at exactly eight. It’ll be fine.’
‘I come back in the morning about ten, just to show you where is the oil tank.’
‘Fine, we’ll see you then,’ Henry said, and with a lot more last-minute instructions, she finally went home.
‘At last we’re alone together, darling,’ Henry said, gazing soulfully at me.
