Page 36 of The Sisters of Sea View
She reviewed a few recipes and gathered ingredients. Thankfully, Lowen had grated extra sugar the last time, so she had some ready to use.
Finding butter already on the table, Sarah measured out a quarter peck of flour and sugar, then began mixing in the softened butter. The recipe she’d chosen called forenough water to make it up in a light paste. No measurement given, as was often the case in these books. She sloshed in some water from the nearby kettle and dug into the dough with both hands, attempting to work it into a light paste. Instead, she ended up with wet, gooey muck that stuck to her hands and everything else. She frowned at the cookery book in disgust. Then she realized she had missed the phrasecold water.
Mrs. Besley walked over to survey her progress. She clucked her tongue and advised her to start all over again.
With their finances as they were, Sarah hated to waste anything, but Mrs. Besley assured her she would find a use for the sticky paste. Dumplings, perhaps.
Retrieving more butter from the larder as well as a beaker of cold water, Sarah began afresh.
Since the butter was hard, she cut it into fine pieces before rubbing it into the flour. Then she added cold water in small increments, working it in until Mrs. Besley pronounced the consistency right. Then Sarah rolled it out as instructed—as thick as a crownpiece. The recipe suggested doubling it up and rolling it out again seven or eight times. But Sarah’s arms were already tired, and she still had work to do outside, so she decided to cut the pastry for tarts as it was and hope for the best. She pressed the rounds of dough into small tins and left them in the cold larder to fill and bake later.
After that, she spent time working in the gardens around the grounds. The white roses had bloomed early this year, and she cut some for the house. Finding a vase in a cupboard, she arranged the stems and carried them into the hall.
There she met Mr. Henshall coming down the stairs, a brown leather book in hand.
Eyeing the flowers, he asked, “From the walled garden?”
She looked up at him in astonishment. “How did you know?”
He hesitated. “Oh, I remembered seeing them ... from a window upstairs.”
Sarah knew perfectly well the rooms she had given the Henshalls overlooked the front lawn, not the walled garden. If he and his wife had visited Sea View’s former tenants in the past, why not just say so?
“Well.” He lifted the book. “Just off to read on the veranda. I wish you a pleasant day.”
“You as well,” she murmured, even though uneasiness filled her. If he was lying about the flowers, what else might he be lying about? She told herself not to let something so trivial bother her.
But it did.
In the end, Emily decided she should be the one to talk to Mr. Cordey about Bibi helping at Sea View. She didn’t want to put her youngest sister in an awkward position, should he refuse, since Bibi and Georgiana were friends.
So after again accompanying Mamma to the medical baths,Emily walked toward Heffer’s Row and found Mr. Cordey near his beached boat.
“Mr. Cordey, we were wondering,” she began. “How would you feel about Bibi working for us for a few hours in the mornings? There’s a lot for us to do, making beds and tidying rooms for our guests, and it would be a great help to us. We would pay her for her time, of course.”
Mr. Cordey frowned, deep lines webbing his sun-weathered forehead and the skin around his eyes. “Like a chambermaid, you mean?”
“Well, yes, though she would be working alongside Georgiana. Me too, at times. We all help out where needed.”
“Hmm.” He frowned a second time, wincing out at the sea, clearly absorbed in his thoughts.
“If you don’t like the idea, it’s not a problem,” Emily hurried to assure him. “We simply thought she might like coming to Sea View and earning a bit of money.”
He slowly nodded. “Her would indeed.”
“If you don’t approve, we shan’t mention it to her.”
Another slow nod, and Emily suspected that was exactly what he wished—for her to let the subject drop. She drew herself up, planning to depart, when he finally spoke.
“Be good fer me babber to be ’round womenfolk. Spends too much time with our rough lot.” He nodded. “Her may go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cordey.”
Dare she address the topic of clothing? Emily swallowed and said, “Georgiana was thinking Bibi might wear one of the dresses she’s outgrown while she’s at Sea View. We don’t have an official uniform, but—”
He raised a calloused hand. “No need. Been meanin’ to buy ’er a new frock. Well, new from the second-hand shop. Even Sunday best is shabby now. Leave it wi’ me. We shan’t shame you and yourn.”
“Of course not. I never meant to imply—”
