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Chapter Fourteen
“The diseases of the school-room are, principally, indolence, carelessness, sluttishness of person, fits of grandeur.”
Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.
Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.
“Jus’ have some hot crumpets,” Betty soothed, thrusting a plateful across the schoolroom table.
Blobs of butter liquefied into the crumpet holes, and Matilda closed her eyes to the sight.
Mr Hawkins had been in error last night. The god Thor wasn’t beating upon her head with a hammer. No, he was trudging about her belly in hobnail boots, roiling her innards and causing perfectly wonderful crumpets to be scarcely beholdable.
“Thank you but no.” Matilda drew a deep breath and pushed the plate towards Chloe, who sat beside her. “You have them, dear.” She clasped her fingers together. “I don’t know how people can drink ale. It causes a terrible upset within.”
Betty shrugged. “Well, ale’s cheap, cleanish and Ma fed it to me as a babe, so I s’pose me belly is used to it, whereas yer were a virgin last night.”
Quite.
And still was, as far as Matilda understood the parlance.
But somehow her ale-house excursion had become known to all and sundry, despite her tip-toed progress up the stairs upon their return.
“So…” Betty mumbled, helping herself to a biscuit. “Wot did yer want all this crinkum-crankum brought up for?”
They all stared at the “crinkum-crankum” upon the mahogany trolley: a filigree silver tray was laid with the Hawkins household’s finest bone-china tea service comprising tea caddy, mote skimmer, hot water pot, teapot, three teacups upon saucers, jug of milk, sugar pot with tongs and three silver teaspoons.
“We are to have an etiquette lesson on how one prepares tea. For if a duchess came to call, for example.”
Betty pulled out a chair and seated herself.
“Miss Griffin…” Chloe chewed her lip, nose scrunched. “I’ve been making tea since I could reach the kettle.”
“I know, but society ladies have certain rules that must be adhered to. Now,” Matilda daintily grasped the silver mote skimmer and held it aloft. “This has many uses, but one is to place the tea leaves into the pot.” And she carefully measured out two spoonfuls. Then added another – strong tea cured all ills. “Next we add the hot water with a steady hand, ensuring there is no uncouth gurgling. Replace the lid. Then the hostess leaves it to steep whilst she and her guests converse upon a pleasant subject.”
They all looked at one another.
Pursed their lips.
Stared at the teapot.
“So did yer have a rollickin’ time of it last night?” asked Betty. “Yer look a dab peaky.”
Matilda twisted to Chloe. “The weather being a suitable subject.”
“Bit dull though,” bemoaned her charge. “Can’t we talk about last night and–”
“I believe the tea has steeped sufficiently for the purposes of this demonstration.” Matilda leaned forward to grip the pot. “I shall serve my own and then you may duplicate my action. The tea is always poured first. Balanced and slow to maintain the leaves at the bottom of the pot and to prevent drippage upon the saucer.”
Betty sniffed. “But why take yer to a bowsing ken of all places? Thought Mr H had more breedin’.”
Matilda scrabbled for the mote skimmer once more. “Now, any leaf remnants can be removed with this, hence the fine holes. And then milk is added afterwards. Without exception afterwards.”
Chloe peered into the cup. “I like to add the milk first. Did Pa behave himself?”
Matilda swooped upon a stray tealeaf. “Adding the tea first warms the cup so one does not serve it cold. However, too hot and it may crack the bone china. ’Tis a delicate balance.”
“So Pa didn’t behave himself then?”
