Page 61 of Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘We’ve only gone and done it!’ squealed Rachel. So, the second lot of puddings she had delivered to the Gazette recently, as a thank you for their promotion of the Pudding Club, must have inspired the paper to run a competition. A little goodwill had gone a hell of a long way this time.

‘Congratulations,’ said Frank, with a wide grin. ‘Well, I always knew you had something special here. You deserve it.’

‘Well, Granny Ruth deserves it,’ said Rachel. ‘I need to call her up right away. She doesn’t know anything about this either.’

‘Oh yes, we’ll have to let her know. It’s her recipe, after all,’ agreed Jill.

‘Granny, hello. Have you heard?’ Rachel was on her mobile straight away, with Frank and Jill listening in.

‘Heard what, pet?’

‘You’ve won an award for Best Christmas Pudding in the local Gazette.’

‘Well, I never,’ came Ruth’s shocked tones from the phone on loudspeaker. ‘Well, my neighbour Jean’s just here …’ There was the sound of footsteps and a door opening. ‘Hang on, she says she’s called in with a newspaper clipping for me. So, it’s all true, then. I can’t believe it. What an honour.’

‘You’re famous, Granny, and so’s your Whisky and Orange Christmas Pudding.’

‘Maybe I will have my Mary Berry moment after all.’

Rachel could tell her grandmother was grinning away at the other end of the phone.

‘And you definitely deserve it.’

Rachel was out in the yard the next morning, collecting the still-warm eggs in her wicker basket, ready for Jill’s next round of baking. The air was fresh and cool and there had been a touch of frost on the ground when they woke. Things were looking up, and Rachel had an extra spring in her step as she carried the eggs carefully back to the kitchen. Mind you, there were only about two dozen here – the hens would never keep up with the amount of pudding orders they were getting. They’d have to start buying some extra ones in at this rate. But it was a very good problem to be having.

The next few days were a whirlwind of Christmas Pudding orders, and there were several new customers calling in at Primrose Farm for tea and cakes, to see what this ‘award-winning’ Pudding Pantry was all about. Business had never been so good. To keep up with demand, Rachel and Jill were baking every night till the late hours. On the down side, it had meant that Rachel had hardly had chance to catch up with Tom lately. They’d had a few snatched phone calls and a brief hello over his elevenses the day before yesterday. But she suddenly realised that she hadn’t seen him since, and that was unusual. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, but it made her feel a little churned up somewhere deep inside.

Granny had offered to come in and help with the pudding production line too, if need be, but Rachel had heard her coughing over the phone and told her they were managing fine. It sounded as if Ruth still needed some rest and a bit of TLC. Rachel promised she’d pop by with some soup, fresh ham and eggs, and a pudding from the Pantry as soon as she got chance. As well as making sure her grandmother had some hearty food to hand, she wanted to see for herself how the old lady really was. The pudding success was brilliant – but Ruth’s good health was the most important thing.

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Rachel was determined to give the Pudding Pantry every chance of success, so even with the upturn in trade from Granny’s Christmas Puddings there was still no resting on their laurels. Before the flurry of extra orders had started, she’d managed to get a stand next to Eve’s at the Claverham Castle Christmas Craft Fayre, and she was really looking forward to it.

The Land Rover, laden with puddings, arrived at the huge wrought-iron entrance gates of the castle. Even though the castle was located in the countryside just six miles away from Primrose Farm, she had never actually stepped inside.

Tom – who she’d managed to finally speak to, albeit briefly, the night before – had offered to bring Maisy along later, as she was singing carols with the Kirkton First School Choir here this afternoon. It would have been a very long day for her, otherwise. She was to stay the morning with Grandma Jill, plus Jill’s friend Jan, and Granny Ruth, who had insisted on helping at the Pantry despite her niggly cough.

Rachel still hadn’t broached the enigma of Caitlin’s apparent return with Tom. Life was busy and complicated enough right now. She was also waiting for the right moment, and a snatched hello in a phone call, or over an elevenses cup of coffee in the Pantry was not the time or the place.

So today, puddings were on the brain once again. Rachel’s boot was filled with Christmas Puddings, Sticky Toffee Puddings, Sticky Chocolates and Ginger. They’d decided to keep the selection simple and festive. All the cartons were wrapped in Christmas-inspired material, with a bold holly pattern on the Christmas puds, and angels, stars and snowflakes on the others, along with pretty ribbon ties and tags – all thanks to talented Eve, and a production line with Jill, Maisy and Rachel packaging them up yesterday evening.

The castle’s grand driveway was undeniably awe-inspiring as Rachel drove on through. Tall, grey-gnarled trees lined each side of a wide, gravelled road. She felt a bit like royalty driving in. She had heard that kings had stayed there in the distant past. Mind you, she reminded herself, she was here in more of a serving capacity. As she reached the castle itself, she saw a huge grey-blonde stone building, five stories high, with crenulations and towers – the works! – and there were several cars and vans parked in the half-moon-shaped arrival area. The place was already buzzing with activity, with stallholders ferrying goods up the old stone steps like little ants, in and out with boxes, bags, gifts, crafts …

Rachel parked and thought she’d get her bearings and find out where her stall was before starting to move her puddings. She walked up the castle steps, past a flaming torch propped on the wall like something out of Game of Thrones, and continued in through the huge, solid wooden door. She stumbled on an entrance passage before coming out into a large, stone-flagged courtyard, with stone steps that made their way up to the main interior of the castle. A woman was working away, intent on her task, busy weaving ivy, pine and holly branches along the balustrades. Rachel realised she knew her; it was Wendy from the florists in Kirkton.

‘Oh, hi, Wendy, look at all this, it’s incredible.’

‘Rachel, hi. Have you got a stall here today?’

‘Yes, they’ve managed to squeeze the Pudding Pantry in at the last minute.’

‘Well done. Should be busy; last year’s event was a big success.’

‘Sounds promising. Well, I’ll not keep you. That floral weave looks beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’

Rachel then gazed up at the castle walls, the evidently once-grand steps. It made you wonder who had walked those same steps in years gone by. Who had lived there, loved there, centuries ago? Well, this country pad was way bigger than Primrose Farm and would certainly take a bit of looking after – but what a legacy it’d be.