Pinnacle (ONGOING)

Chapter Fifteen

     We began the recipe by adding the cream to our two dozen eggs and heating the mixture in a big metal cauldron which was sat precariously over a hungry fire.

     "This smells amazing..." I murmured, reaching a finger towards it.

     "Continue if you want to lose that hand." Mama dubiously advised, and I retracted the proffered appendage with a laugh.

     "Is the lemon rind ready?"

     "All 12." She sighed, dumping the yellow curls into the solution. After it had been brought to a boil, we left it to cool and spooned it into 10 dainty little glass dishes that had been filled with a little lemon juice, followed by a splash of cream over the top.

     "Alright. Let us set the table, then." Mama instructed and we began distributing the cutlery around the 17th century family heirloom; The dishes being set down with a cacophony of thuds as the servants joined in.

     Mama in her haste would catch the side of the table with her bum roll intermittently, and I wondered if the old fashion had a function in some respect despite my constant nagging her to get with the times. That was the way of every older generation though, I reflected. I imagined I would favor my present style myself whenever it came time for the next big trend. Nothing, however, was more beautiful, nor more comfortable than a skirt without a cage and a head without a mob-cap. I rolled my shoulders reflexively, feeling the freedom that was a loose bodice and short puff sleeves.

     As the feast had been laid out over the course of an hour, her and I began our ascension into the settee as exhaustion struck.

     "Madam, your guests have arrived." The footman enlightened us at our side.

     The sun had begun to spill into the dining room, and we rose, surveying our work. I heard a contented sigh escape me as I found enough roasted potatoes bathed in garlic butter to feed us twice, Espagnole sauce coated Chateaubriand steak to give the men some energy, lemon cream, and hot, brown onion soup, Harmony's favorite.

    "You have done a marvelous job, mama." I congratulated, squeezing her in a side hug. She giggled, flattered. As she should be of course, the poor woman had been working on the spread since 6 am this morning. I could see then why mama insisted that she do it all by herself, the reward far outweighed the labor.

     "Mrs. Thompson could not have bested this." I said, referring to our cook.

     "Madam?" The young footman called, still waiting on her direction.

     "Oh, yes." Mama said faintly. "Do show them in, and fetch Harmony for us." She instructed, hobbling past him and towards the staircase to change.

     "Hello!" I called, spying my relations shuffling through the entrance with bright faces. I imagined this was a treat for them to visit a clean place with hot food as their financial situation could not afford them.

     "Papa should be here any minute with Uncle Michael and Cousin Alan, and mama and Harmony should be here soon. William too. Please join me in the sitting room, that I might tell you of news." I invited, gesturing to the stair-well that would lead us to the turquoise room.

     Upon hearing this, they nearly ran to the lounge. News was one of life's few pleasures in the country. Shortly thereafter, the rest of our party joined us in the sitting room. Mama and I both took turns playing the piano forte and singing. Nelly, the youngest child, displayed a frank expression of boredom throughout most of the procession which her mother did not care to correct.

     Manners were further absent once we moved to the dining room, as the food was ravenously consumed with cutlery utterly forgotten save the knife. Often, I would have to remember that they came from a different world than I did. They were accomplishing a task they set out to do, and manners had no place in their life of hustle and bustle. In the past couple of days, I started to wonder if anything I had been taught; how to be a gentle-woman, and what fork I would use for what food, if it was all utterly pointless.