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Returning to the dresser, she found on an upper shelf—right in the middle, as if on display—a rounded teapot, and next to it a tall, thinner pot and a small jug. All were decorated china in the same style as the Royal Doulton bone china cups and saucers. There was also a small silver strainer with a matching bowl.
Under the teapots, resting on the dresser surface was a small tray with ornately carved handles and a lacy white cloth lying over it.
As the kettle boiled, she laid everything out on the tray, including another clean cup and saucer. In the cupboard above the kettle was a small tin and inside was more loose-leaf tea. This tin smelt fragrant and fruity, as if made from rose petals and maybe something lemony.
Shutting her eyes, Casey pictured her granny in her kitchen and savoured the memories of moments she spent there while granny made tea for her granddaughter. A pang of regret entered Casey’s head. She wished she had listened to her granny more.
The kettle boiled in a haze of steam, and she poured a little in the round teapot, swirled it about, and emptied it down the sink. To the warmed pot, she added two heaped spoons of tea. The lid on, she poured more water in the smaller pot and a little milk in the jug. Looking at the arrangement on the tray, she thought something was missing. On the windowsill was a small single stem vase with a fresh rose. The gardener had given it to her that morning with a smile. She put the vase on the tray, and then as an afterthought, she added a rich tea biscuit on a side plate.
Nervously she approached the study door. How to open it? To one side in the hallway was a small round table. She placed the tray down and knocked.
* * *
“Come!”
He did not look up, but he could sense something was different. He waited until the tray was placed gently in front of him. Nothing had been spilt. The rose was a delightful addition, and the biscuit was welcomed after the exertion of spanking her bottom.
Resting his pen on his pad, he watched as Casey poured a little milk into the cup.
“Is that sufficient, sir, or would you like more?” she asked.
“That is sufficient, Casey,” he said with an agreeable nod.
Stirring the pot with the teaspoon, the aroma of tea was pervasive and appealing. A fresh, hot smell that drifted up the nostrils and invigorated the mind. Pouring the tea through the strainer, the light amber colour swirled into the milk. As it reached the top, she tapped the strainer carefully and placed it back on the bowl. She then refilled the teapot with hot water. It would make two further cups for him.
The cup and saucer were placed on the coaster, with the handle directed towards his right hand, the biscuit alongside on the plate. Stepping back, she rested her hands in front of her and waited with eyes on the table, not his face.
“Will that be all, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, Casey, thank you. That will be all for now.”
Mr Tolchard could not help noticing the jaunty smile on her face—the sense of satisfaction she had gained from doing him a service. She practically skipped out of the room. Once she had gone, he smiled to himself. The day’s lesson had been most successful and enjoyable.
Chapter Two: Following Instructions
Casey thought she knew Mr Tolchard’s enormous house very well. Over the several weeks she had being working for him, she had found many rooms. She had believed he kept all his books in his study. She was wrong. He had another room: a library towards the back of the house, which was lined on all four sides with floor to ceiling antique bookshelves. Books covering all ages, from antiquated tomes to modern classics. Most were non-fiction, and she frowned slightly at the lack of novels.
He had brought her to the room for a special task. Peering at the shelves, she had feared he expected her to dust them. She hated book dust as it made her sneeze. However, they appeared very clean and dust free. In the middle of the room was a large table, and on the table a pile of books, all hardbacks and of various sizes. She waited patiently for him to explain what it was she was to do.
“These books have been gifted to me by a friend,” he began to explain. He rested his hand on the top of the pile. “As you can see about you, I have an extensive collection covering many subjects. These books need to be added to my catalogue and found a suitable location on the shelves.”
Casey nodded. The task seemed relatively simple. The card catalogue was in a long wooden drawer, and each book was indexed onto a small, rectangular-shaped card.
“You write the title and author on the card, and then the subject under which it is to be classified and shelved. If you familiarise yourself with my existing books, you will understand how things are classified.”
“Yes, sir,” she said sweetly. She did not think the task would take her very long to do. She approached the table and peered at the title of the first book. It was in French.
“I don’t speak French,” she uttered under her breath. The next book was in German. She knew only a smattering of German.
“The dictionaries are over on these shelves.”
Casey could see the line of language dictionaries and sighed with relief.
“Now listen carefully to me, Casey,” he said in a clear tone. “You must not open the book until you have translated the title. Then and only then, when you have written the title down on the card, can you open the book and look inside.”
Casey thought it was the strangest request she had ever heard. Surely opening the book would allow her to understand the contents and catalogue the book correctly. Nevertheless, she had learnt one important thing about Mr Tolchard; she did not disobey him.
“Very good, sir,” she said dutifully.
