Page 8

Chapter 8

January 1911

‘I completely forgot, John,’ said Ursula at breakfast, ‘a parcel arrived yesterday. I left it in the kitchen.’

‘A parcel for me?’ he replied.

‘Maybe it’s for me!’ Ann couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.

‘After all, it’s my birthday soon, and I hope there will be presents.

’

Ursula shook her head.

‘I’m afraid it’s for me.

’

Ann slumped in her seat, disappointed.

Ursula squashed the urge to walk through to the kitchen and collect the package.

‘I’ll ring the bell and Isobel can bring it through.

’

Finlay, engrossed with spreading butter right to the edges of his toast so there was no part of the surface left uncovered, didn’t look up.

‘She won’t hear it. She’s up the garden doing something with clothes pegs and the washing line.

I saw her walk up there with a basket a couple of minutes ago.

’

‘I’ll get it, it might be for me after all.

’ Ann didn’t wait to be told she couldn’t go, and was off her chair and out of the room before anyone could stop her.

‘She’s going to be impossible.

’ Finlay lifted the slice of perfectly buttered toast to his mouth.

‘Anyone would think no one in the history of the world had ever had a birthday before, and it’s still months away.

’

Before John had the opportunity to admonish his son, Ann was back.

‘It does say your name on the outside,’ she put the package down beside Ursula, ‘but that might be a mistake?’

‘Let me see.’ John held his hand out for the parcel and looked closely at the stamps before passing it back.

‘A couple here for your collection, Finlay.’

‘Is it a present for me, then?’ Ann’s impatience got the better of her.

‘I don’t think so, my dear.

’ John looked at his pocket watch and checked it against the clock on the sideboard.

‘I need to get moving; if the printing presses aren’t running properly on a Monday we never catch up for the rest of the week.

’ He smiled at Ursula.

‘But of course, you’ll remember that.

’

‘Indeed.’

‘Last night’s dinner was excellent.

’ He rubbed his stomach.

‘I am very much looking forward to tonight’s meal.

’

*

Ursula carried the parcel back into the empty kitchen.

‘Hello?’ She heard a scraping noise coming from the maid’s room above the scullery, followed by footsteps clattering down the uncarpeted staircase.

Isobel appeared, twisting her long hair into a bun and pinning it awkwardly.

‘Sorry, Mrs Black. I was just tidying myself up, it’s been a bit of a rush this morning.

’

‘I need to speak to you about tonight’s dinner.

’

‘The pie?’

‘No, not the pie, which I am sure will be perfectly adequate. I mean the vegetables.’

‘The vegetables?’ Isobel echoed.

‘I was wondering what you have in the larder, and hoping there is something more interesting than cabbage.’ Ursula started to walk towards the scullery and the larder with its cold marble shelf.

Isobel got there before her.

‘There are onions and potatoes and at least a pound of carrots.’

‘I was hoping we might have some parsnips. I have an idea for them.’

‘Sorry. Perhaps if they are added to the order for next week?’

‘Maybe the carrots would do.’ Ursula moved back into the kitchen and unlocked the tall cupboard beside the range.

‘Do we have any honey?’

‘Of course, Mrs Black. It’s on the breakfast table every Sunday.

Are you wanting me to make a cake?

’

Ursula shook her head.

‘My mother used to make roast parsnips with honey and sage, and I was just thinking it would be more interesting than plain boiled carrots.’

‘There is sage. It grows up at the end of the garden. Miss Ann and I planted it last summer; we grew it from some seeds the postman gave me.’

Ursula turned around at the second mention of the postman in as many days.

‘Really?’

‘I cut it down at the end of the summer and dried it above the stove. There’s a full jar of it behind the cornflour.

’ She pointed into the cupboard.

‘And rosemary, and some thyme as well.’

‘And this is all from the postman?’

Isobel blushed.

‘The seeds were. The rosemary was a cutting from his allotment. He’s always telling me we could grow more in the garden here.

’

‘Is he indeed?’

Isobel felt some sort of explanation was needed.

‘We just share a few words when he brings the parcels. It’s been the same postman now for all the time I’ve been here.

’ She tried to change the subject.

‘How do you cook the parsnips with honey?’

‘I can’t really remember.

I just thought we could try it.

Like roast potatoes, I suppose; part cook them and then toss them in the honey and sprinkle sage on top, or thyme, perhaps.

’

‘Or both?’

‘Quite possibly.’

‘And then you just roast them in the oven?’ Isobel was willing to try anything if it stopped Ursula asking about the postman.

She didn’t want her supply of Edinburgh Rock and boilings to stop.

‘Why don’t you try it with a bit of golden syrup the first time you do it?

That will be less wasteful if it doesn’t work.

’ Ursula picked up the parcel.

‘Now what I actually came in here for is a pair of scissors, to cut this string. Are they in the middle drawer?’

Isobel held her hand out for the package.

‘I can undo those knots for you if you like. It won’t take a minute, and string is always useful for tying a cloth around the top of the bowl when I’m making a steamed pudding.

’

Ursula shrugged.

‘You can try if you want; they look very tight to me.’

But in no more than a minute or two, the string was untied and zigzagged in a twisted loop around Isobel’s fingers, making a sort of bow.

She handed the loosely wrapped parcel back.

‘Thank you.’ Ursula turned to leave.

‘I’ll take it upstairs.

The breakfast things are still to be cleared in the dining room and you’ll be able to get on with doing that if I’m not in the way.

’

Isobel picked up the empty tray and hid her disappointment well.

She, like Ann, was very keen to know what was inside the mysterious package.