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“Your boot couldn’t even reach his arse,” June told the guard scornfully, and led Mad into the entrance hall.
“Let the man have a bit o’ pride, June,” Mad surprised her by saying quietly. “He’s only doing his job.”
“It weren’t respectful, what he said to you.”
“It’s how we blokes talk, man to man.”
The entrance hall was warm, bright, and well-ventilated; the oak-paneled walls gleamed with wax polish. An assortment of women’s coats, cloaks, and hats hung on a long row of brass hooks. To June’s surprise, Mad came to help remove her coat and hat, and took them to hang on hooks. She wouldn’t have expected him to be so proficient—but of course, he’d been driving Reina to meetings and events, which had given him practice. He took off his greatcoat and low-crowned coachman’s hat and hung them up as well. The heavy masculine coat looked out of place in the row of women’s garments.
It occurred to June that she was bringing Mad into an environment unlike any he’d experienced before. The disciplined atmosphere was purely female, with a mixture of students from different levels of society. Some of the women aspired to cook professionally, while others sought to improve their skills for the benefit of their families. Two of the women had silver-fork accents, and June doubted Mad had ever been in a room with anyone of their class before.
Panic squeezed the breath from her lungs. He could ruin this for her. He might cause an accident. He might do or say something so awful, she’d never be able to come back.
She glanced up at his face and wondered how he could look so calm. “Your hair’s mussed,” she said.
Mad ran a hand through the heavy locks and shook his head briefly, the shiny dark strands seeming to come alive before settling again.
“No,” June said, “now it’s worse—here, hold still—” She reached up and began to smooth the layers down.
He ducked his head to make it easier for her.
“You should use a dab of pomade to hold it in place,” June said, thinking What beautiful hair this is. Thick and satiny, with just a hint of curl.
She looked up into his eyes, clear light gray, with darker spokes radiating out from the centers.
Mad looked very presentable, all scrubbed and clean-shaven, his boots polished. Instead of a plain everyday necktie, he’d worn his best one, made of blue Italian silk, and tied it in a perfect knot. The realization that he had taken extra pains to look nice started a warm glow in her chest. She thought of the countless hours he’d spent in her kitchen, how quiet and helpful he’d always been, and she relaxed a little.
“Thank you, Mad,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being turned out proper tonight.” She squared her shoulders and said, “Let’s go in.”
“Want me to wait here while you do your class?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I want you to stay where I can keep an eye on yer.”
“Awright then.” He seemed far more pleased than the situation warranted.
They entered the spacious classroom, which had been equipped with a demonstration counter in the front. Eleven students were stationed at three long tables stacked with utensils and bowls. Two porcelain basins had been set at each student’s place, one for discarding scraps and peelings, and the other filled with clean water. During the course of the three-hour lesson, a pair of kitchen attendants would walk back and forth to change the scraps and water bowls.
The school superintendent, Mrs. Bannsright, was using a pointer to indicate items written in chalk on a large blackboard:
COOKERY FOR INVALIDS
Quick Beef Tea
Barley Water
Vegetable Broth
Milk Rolls
Blancmange
Plain Sponge Cake
“Tonight’s recipes, along with the others listed in chapter twelve of the textbook,” Mrs. Bannsright was saying, “will provide suitable nourishment for the sick and convalescent. According to modern dietetical science—” She paused as June and Mad crossed the threshold.
