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Mr. Pembroke glanced at the servants and gave a nod toward the house. They had all previously worked out the proper way to return from the funeral and go back into the house by way of the servants’ entrance. First Enid and Belinda, followed by June, with Mad bringing up the rear. Mr. Pembroke, meanwhile, would escort Reina to the front entrance and open the door for her. And Norman, as Reina’s private secretary, would remain in the carriage until she and Mr. Pembroke had moved ahead. Then he would step out on his own and follow them through the main entrance.
Maybe it was all a bit elaborate, but the entire group wanted very much to do everything properly. They were determined to follow the rituals, out of respect for not only Tuppence but also themselves. One of their own had died, and the occasion would be handled with the dignity it deserved.
As they proceeded to the side entrance, June thought about the potato soup she was going to make for dinner. She would put a hambone on to boil, along with an onion and a bundle of herbs—
A nice smell wafted out of the house as soon as Mad opened the door. Meat and fresh bread, and—it was coming from her kitchen! Who the blazes had been cooking in her kitchen?
The others seemed as puzzled as she was.
June went to investigate with the rest of them at her heels.
To her amazement, the long table had been covered with a pretty lavender cloth, and a feast had been laid out. A banquet. There were slabs of beefsteak cooked with tiny button onions, sliced potatoes baked in layers with cream, a bowl of tender braised cabbage spiked with vinegar, a salad of cress and radishes, and baskets of milk rolls. For dessert, there was a deep dish of cold rice pudding, and bowls of preserved cherries pooling with syrup.
June’s wide-eyed gaze landed on a neat little envelope bordered in black. Proper mourning stationery, it was, with her name written in a Copperplate hand: Miss June Rummage.
While Enid, Belinda, and Mad moved around the table, taking stock of the bounty, June opened the envelope and read aloud:
Dear Miss Rummage,
We were all quite saddened to learn of the recent loss of your housekeeper. On behalf of the students and staff of the London Cookery School, we extend our deepest condolences to you, the household, and Miss Martin during this time of mourning.
As you are unable to attend class this week, we have sent a small token of our care and regard. Our day students have prepared a simple meal for the household, in the hope that it may ease your burden, if only in some small way. Everything has been arranged on the table for your convenience.
We trust that God will soothe your sorrow in time. It is our sincere desire that you will prevail on us should there be any need.
We shall look forward to welcoming you and Mr. Maddock upon your eventual return to class.
With warmest sympathies,
Mrs. Bannsright
Mrs. Blot
P.S. We have also sent along a plate of apple tarts for Mr. Maddock, spiced with extra cinnamon, as he prefers.
The unexpected kindness of her teachers and friends brought a wondering smile to June’s face. “Mad,” she said, “did you hear that last bit? They sent a plate of—” She broke off as she saw that he was already halfway through one of the apple tarts.
Mad stopped chewing as he met her indignant gaze.
“You ain’t even washed your hands, you greedy derelict!” she exclaimed, trying not to laugh at his guilty expression.
“Why did they give all the tarts to Maddock?” Belinda asked, bringing a stack of plates to the table.
“They set a store by him,” June explained, “ ’cause he lends a hand in class now and then.”
“I lend a mouth, more like,” Mad said, finishing the last of his tart.
“But they ain’t all his tarts,” June told Belinda.
“Can I have one?” Belinda asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Sweets before dinner is a harassment to the liver,” June said, quoting a cookery school textbook. “That’s a scientifical fact.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mad covertly hand a tart to Belinda as she passed behind his back.
Norman came into the kitchen. “Is it time to eat?”
