Page 122 of A Winter By the Sea
Sarah inhaled deeply. “Mmm. Smells heavenly.”
“That, my dear mademoiselle, is the smell of a French patisserie—Carême’s patisserie.”
When the chicken was done, he drained the fowls, removed the trussing strings, and placed the birds on a serving dish. To the boiled rice, he added white sauce, egg yolks, pepper, gratednutmeg, and a pat of butter. He formed the mixture into egg shapes and arranged them around the chickens.
“We will serve this with a creamy béchamel sauce.”
Sarah shook her head, both impressed and amused. “Not exactly the simple dish of chicken and rice I had in mind.”
“You are not pleased?”
She held up her hand. “Do not mistake me. I am more than pleased.”
Then Sarah added, “Although I do feel bad for Mrs. Novak. She shall have her work cut out for her to match this when she returns.”
———
Word of the forthcoming meal spread around the house and Mr. Thomson was quick to offer his help. He hurried over to Woolbrook to borrow a carriage and horses to transport the covered dishes and those serving the food.
Knowing Mr. Hornbeam often visited his friend Miss Reed at the poor house, Sarah invited him to join them for the meal, and he cheerfully agreed.
Then Sarah went to Mr. During’s room to ask if he might like to set the table for them. His door was open, and she found him sitting at the small table within, a letter spread before him, his head in his hands. When she knocked on the doorframe, his head shot up and he quickly refolded the letter.
“Yes? What is it?”
She explained the reason for her visit. For a moment, his fair eyes lit, then he looked down at the table. “I am afraid I shall have to decline that pleasure, but thank you for asking.”
She followed the direction of his gaze. “You received another letter?”
He winced. “Yes.” But he did not expand on his reply.
His reaction and his refusal surprised Sarah, since the manclearly delighted in any opportunity to display his skills. She decided not to press him.
Soon the carriage from Woolbrook arrived. Mr. Thomson and Mr. Gwilt carried up the side dishes and sauce boats from belowstairs, while Mr. Bernardi admonished them to be careful and not to spill. The men delivered their burdens to the waiting carriage and returned for another load. Mr. Gwilt took up the tea-making supplies, and Mr. Bernardi carried the heavy serving dish of chicken and rice. He entrusted Sarah with the prizedgâteau.
Holding it carefully, Sarah surveyed the workroom and spied one last remaining item. “Mr. Thomson, if you might carry that basket of utensils?”
“Of course.”
Once he’d lifted it, Sarah looked around to see if they had forgotten anything and only then noticed Emily left standing by the door, empty-handed.
“Oh. I did not realize you wanted to help.” Her gaze skimmed the now empty work surface.
“Perhaps you might ... set the table when we get there.”
With no change in expression, Mr. Thomson silently pulled a serving spoon from the basket and handed it to her.
She wanly accepted it, her customary sparkle absent. Sarah wondered if the two had quarreled.
When they reached the poor house, Emily began laying the table. They had brought linens from Sea View but had decided to use the poor house’s modest tableware. Emily was no Mr. During, but she did the best she could, smoothing the cloth over the rough, nicked table, setting the plates, forks, knives, and spoons in place, and folding the serviettes into simple rectangles.
The poor house did not have a fully equipped kitchen, only a simple room with a pump and sink, cabinets that held afew essential utensils, and a small stove for heating water or pots of soup.
Sarah assisted Mr. Bernardi in the small workroom as he grumbled about the insufficient space, insufficient stove, and insufficient utensils.
“That is why we brought what we needed from Sea View. Stop complaining. The residents might hear you, and this is supposed to be a pleasant occasion.”
He grumbled something more that she did not understand. Something rude in French or Italian, perhaps.
