What's Cook'n | Sunday 18th afternoon

[George Hardwick III]

 

 

MacGregor/MacBain rental property

A pretty Tudor style home with four bedrooms, a dining room, parlor, and library.  A small stable that can hold 3 horses and tack and carriage resides on the property as well.  A walled garden, most of it settling down to slumber for the winter, completes the rental. Perfect for 5 females.

 

It was not the 'done' way to do it, but Chichester never the less strolled up the path and knocked on the door, all without prior invitation nor messaging ahead.  But Catriona was not your typical courtier, so George felt a little liberty to try his luck.  

It had been a long while since he'd seen her; thought of her evoked a fond memory of a violin serenaded carriage ride to church once.  It was something to chuckle about, though at the time he'd been intent to propose to the bold as brass woman!  Much time had since passed, and he still housed a fondness born of the connection made on that day.  

It was surely a fine time for a visit, a catch up on all which had transpired since, and future plans newly made.

Still very dapperly dressed in his Sunday best , he placed a smile upon his face as he heard footsteps beyond the door.  Was it his imagination, but did he smell baking? His stomach let out a protest, reminding him that he'd forgotten to take lunch. 

[Catriona MacGregor]

Since a good portion of the guards had gone off to keep the girls safe (Douglas was perfectly capable of taking care of himself), George reached the door without being questioned.  The door was opened by a footman and out from house wafted the scent of sweet desserts and other baked goods.  Cinnamon and vanilla and apple and fig rode the breeze, though that wasn't the only thing drifting out the back of the house.  There was also the sound of singing, a female voice, alto, the words were bright but they were also in Gaelic.

Quote

Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Gaol ise, gaol i
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Gaol air Anna ni'n Nill
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Mi torrach, mi trom
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Chan ann le balach mo throm
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Ach leis an lasgaire dhonn
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Mac fir Bhalie nan Long
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo
Ro-ho ì o hì o
Leis an èireadh na suinn
E ho hùo hùo
Hu ri rì o hùo

 

 

"Good afternoon, my lord," the man at the door said, recognizing the craftsmanship of George's clothing as well as his bearing.  "May I ask who's calling?"

[George Hardwick III]

An enchanting song with words that held no meaning to him wafted with other sweet scents from the back of the house.  "It is George Hardwick calling, or perhaps your lady knows me as Earl Chichester - if she can forgive my without-notice intrusion, I thought to visit." these words he spoke warmly enough, but his brows then rose to ask in an aside "do tell me is that her singing?"

George hardly wanted to make her stop, for it was too terribly charming.

[Catriona MacGregor]

The footman nodded, both in receiving George's name and at the non-verbal question of the identity of the songbird.  "She is in the kitchen.  If you'd like to wait in the parlor, I'll see if she can break away from her baking," the man (who was obviously Scots based on his speech) said, ready to escort George to the room.  He added before going to the mistress of the house, "I hope you're hungry."  It was no secret in the Alyth/MacBain household that the lady of the house liked to feed people.

 

The singing stopped and it was only a minute afterward that Cat came sailing in the room, dressed in trousers and a linen shirt, her hair plaited and pinned up in a bun at the back of her head.  There was a streak of flour on her neck that she had missed in her hasty ablutions.  "Lord Chichester, I apologize for the wait.  You caught me just as the scones had to come out.  I do hope you can stay for tea.  I have some brewing now and a tray being made up of some delicious desserts, as well as some savory items," she said, the scent of warm sugar following in her wake.

[George Hardwick III]

George was curious, and really wanted to follow after the footman into Cat's musical kitchens... but did as he was told, managing to thank the chap for his courtesy. 

So he moved to the window, clasping hands behind his back.  He'd liked the mention of food, though he'd hoped it not a result of the footman having heard his belly growl. What with all the food fragrances about he was becoming more ravenous by the minute, a belly ache of it's emptiness was starting to set in! 

 "Lady Alyth," he'd turned hearing her approach, and his smile grew at her sight.  "So much industry, you put me to shame!" he chuckled.  She'd said scones. He was partial to scones. "But that sounds like heaven itself, which makes you some sort of pastry angel. What a fine sight you make." 

George was usually quite fastidious, extremely so, but Cat with hair all informal and the a glow of oven on her cheeks made such a fine sight he'd no desire to tamper. He would not even tell her that there was flour on her neck.  

"Err... would you mind an odd request... might we take tea in your Kitchen? I feel utterly fascinated, and properly long to see you in that habitat." 

[Catriona MacGregor]

The comment on being fed was because when the head lady of the house was in a baking mood, people got treats.  Even people she was mad at ended up leaving with food.  It was days like this when the guards would find reasons to wander through the kitchen.  No one left empty handed.

 

She chuckled as he commented on her being industrious, then broke into a bright smile at the 'odd request'.  "Of course we can.  I'll just catch...Ah, Anne.  We're going to have tea in the kitchen, so if you don't mind," she said as the maid walked in with the tea set and a different footman carried the platter of delicacies.  The guard nodded and Anne, with the matching kettle and cups, just grinned and turned as well and led the way.  No shock shown on either servants' faces.  "My lord, shall we step into the domain that few nobles would tread?"  There was a hint of mischief in her eyes.  "By the way, congratulations are in order.  I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your bride."  She would take his arm if offered and lead him into her second favorite room in the house.  

[George Hardwick III]

Catriona was content to agree (he'd had a hunch she would!) and effortlessly redirected the servants to fulfil the wish.  She plainly had the household running like clockwork.  

"Few but the most intrepid!" George laughed in reply, and stepped forward with the hostess, eyes bright with interest.  He had no memory of his mother ever cooking, nor did his late sister...  "How did you learn?"

"Ah thank you." he replied easily to the subject of a bride on the hook (at last), "You are not regretting that it isn’t you?" that was a tease, and his laugh showed he held no ill feeling of her rejection to his proposal. "You shall like her I think, she is clearly spoken, and says what she is thinking.  She is entirely sensible, and... I think I quite like her." 

He was almost bashful of that last detail. 

 

[Catriona MacGregor]

Indeed, Cat’s servants were almost military precise in following orders, a combination of her innate bossiness and the manservants’ time in the military.  One of the many benefits of hiring veterans.

“I spent quite a few hours in our kitchen growing up.  Despite the noisiness, it always relaxed me,” she said as they entered the kitchen, the smell of fresh baked bread, warm sugar, and other aromatics filled the air.  There was also the fragrance of a stew left to stay warm over the fire in the fireplace.  It was warmer than the rest of the house, of course.  A window was cracked to allow the outside’s cooler air to mingle with the heat of the kitchen, circulating the scents.  George would see a tray of cooling scones on a table next to the oven, a glossy sheen coating the top where a simple syrup had been brushed over and was cooling, little drips snaking down the side.

 

On the large kitchen table, the guard placed his tray and Anne deposited the tea set, placing two cups down, one on the end seat and one in the chair next to it.  “Please, sit and be comfortable.  Give me just a moment…”

 

A maid had been at the stove when they walked in.  “Thank you for keeping an eye on the tarts,Tiffany,” Cat said as she picked up two tea towels, each of which had at least one burn mark.  She opened the oven and as the steam poured out, it wafted the fine hairs that had escaped her braid back.  Had she needed spectacles, they would have fogged up immediately.  Instead the smell of pear and fig filled the air as she reached in, a towel in each hand, and pulled out a tray of individual tarts, which she placed next to the scones.  Using the same simple syrup, she brushed a quick swipe over each one, using the remaining internal heat of the pastries to melt it down into the filling.  All the while, she kept talking.

 

“Please, sit.  Anne, would you pour out for Lord Chichester?  Thank you.”  Anne waited for Geroge to sit and then waited to see how he would like his tea before departing the kitchen.  “Our cook growing up was a German woman who had a deft hand at not only German cuisine but also French, English and Scottish.  My father employed her around the time that I was born and she was with us until she passed.  So I would sneak into the kitchen to try and get a treat without it being noted.  At the age of 5, it seems, my sneaking skills were exceptionally poor, as she caught me with my hand in the biscuit jar, literally.  From that day on, when I would retreat there, she would put me on a stool next to her and give me dough to knead.  From there, other recipes were learned, as well as finding the joy of feeding people.  I always felt a lightness when I saw someone enjoy something I made.  Perhaps it is similar to what you feel when someone appreciates your art?”

 

While the tarts cooled, she walked back to the table and took the other chair.  Anne had already set up her own tea.  “I’m truly devastated. It will be a case of the one who got away,” she said with a wink.  “You sound quite surprised to find you like your bride to be.  I’m sure if you like her, I will surely do so as well.  Tell me more about her.”

[George Hardwick III]

The kitchen did not look unlike any other kitchen he'd been inside, there were no fancy allowances made for the high rank of the woman that worked within it, no chaise lounge for her breaks, nor flower arrangements to beautify the room, nor teams of persons to hand the Countess this ingredient or that.  It was simply a very practical place.  

His mouths anticipation, watering since he'd arrived at the house, was now joined by a visual appreciation of the possibilities here; the glistening candied tops of scones were frankly magnificent. 

"I had never thought of a kitchen as relaxing," he returned as she begun her story of how cooking had become her occupation of preference, "I'd always thought they were too hectic in fact." 

He took the chair next to the head.  Were he in his own home he'd take the head of course, and while he might say he out ranked for while upon a parallel he had a vote in the lords; but this was her house, and this was her arena. She deserved the honour of primary table placing, even if it a table used for cooking. Rather, expecially for that fact. 

"With milk, no sugar." with a small smile he advised the girl Cat called Anne, "Your German cook sounds charmingly motherly, though I wouldn’t have thought that your actual mother approved of your kitchen work.  How was it that she agreed?" Cat's work was not typical, but perhaps her mother had also been unique.

The fig tarts smelt even better.  

"When somebody likes one of my paintings, I do feel extremely validated, and... with a sense of increased worth." he nodded, as Cat struck upon a way to help him understand her love of cooking.  "And if anyone ever told me I could not express my self that way, I would rail against.  When something is ones passion, it is not a want, it is a need."

George chuckled with her tease and wink, "I should have pressed my case harder." he returned. "Imagine all of this, every day.  Ack, though I would no longer be the Lean Lord I am right now." he chuckled again.

But seriously, did Caroline know how to cook?  George was almost aroused at all this sight, although not. 

"She is the daughter of a French soldier, and was raised in a non traditional way also.  Do you know, I wonder if England’s Governesses are doing us a disservice... for in the absence of, my Caroline, is a terribly unique and interesting woman.  She had opinions upon things, such as Spain. Might I warn you not to mention the Spanish within her hearing. " he smiled, and took a sip of his tea, "but one of her traits that I find most agreeable, is that she listens to me, and considers what I have said.  And h, in a kind manner.  Then her replying thoughts are oftentimes compatible with mine.  She really is quite nice." He understated his sentiment, "I think we shall work well together." 

 

[Catriona MacGregor]

"Oh, it can be quite hectic, especially when there's a gathering to prepare for or change of shift for the guards or any meal time.  Those are the times when I know to stay out," Cat replied as she moved.  "For me, there is something soothing about the order of baking.  Step A has to be done before Step B so that Step C can be started.  Orderly, precise and linear."  She shrugged, then smiled.  "Order in a home full of chaos, I suspect."

Anne followed George's direction on the tea.  The teapot had a white enamel finish, brightly decorated with a Eastern scene of plums and crysanthemum growing from rocks (see here).  The cups were painted similarly.  She fixed George's, waiting until he was satisfied before starting on Cat's.  She poured the tea and placed it where Lady Alyth would sit, setting the honey pot nearby.  By the time Cat was at her seat, the tea should have cooled to a warm temperature and would be ready for the honey.

 

Ah, her mother.  "My mother was often ill.  I started performing the tasks of the lady of the house around the age of 10?  I think.  So mostly, I asked myself for permission.  And wouldn't you know it, I gave myself that permission."  She looked at the cooling table, then back at George.  "Anything from here you'd like?  I should let you know, most of the fig tarts are spoken for.  But I can spare a few.  I have a habit of making more than I have need of.  But never fear, nothing ever goes to waste.  So if a basket mysteriously shows up at your door, have no worries."  She'd, of course, include a note.  Which reminded her, she also needed to send something over to Duncan's room.  He needed some fattening up.  

 

It was probably best that he hadn't pressed any harder.  Cat was contrary that way.  Besides, definitely better as friends, the two of them.  She listened as he described his bride to be.  She had to work hard to keep her dislike of the French to herself, but also made a note of the lady's dislike of the Spanish.  Ah, the ever changing political landscape of Europe.  "The daughter of a soldier?  How scandalous," she teased.  While she was born of noble blood herself, she didn't think a person's birth defined them and narrowed their marriage prospects.  Just look at her brother.  "She does sound interesting.  I do look forward to meeting her.  Anyone who can carry on a conversation with actual thoughtful answers is a rarity at court.  A gem of a woman."

[George Hardwick III]

"See now I’d have never guessed that you were a woman who enjoyed regimen.” George replied, “but rather I had taken you for a wild card, what with your dynamic and bold determination.  I shall have to rearrange my erroneous view. Though I suppose both qualities are not necessarily exclusive.”

Which had him idly consider the effect it had on her various sisters…

It was a cottage-y style of teapot, which made a good cup of tea.  George gave a nod to Anne to indicate his satisfaction, and returned his attention back to Cat. “I am so sorry to hear that.  My own mother passed when I was just young, though there was no protracted illness as it seems was your case.  We must thank heaven that you are not likewise afflicted.” He added the latter kindly, and then in a moment of reflection added, “I don’t truly know if lifes joy can return after being robbed like that.  It must be fair to say that a mother is ones first love, and loss of, is the most cutting  heartbreak.”

Cat generously offered him his pick of the table, and while the scones held natural appeal, those fig tarts were alluring in a forbidden fruits sort of way (more so after he’d heard that they were promised already!) .  “Might I try just one?” George asked in a modest tone, “and one of your scones please also.”  It was rather like being a kid in a candy shop!

“While now you have me most curious, Lady Aylth, to whom the rest of the tarts are promised? Might you have a favoured admirer? If so, he is a most fortunate man indeed…”

For his part he had a pleased smile with Cat’s praise of his intendeds qualities. “Not a came follower of course.” He was certain to remove that unspoken thought that seemed to appear in the air, “Here soldier father is…” well actually George knew very little about Caroline’s father.  Somehow he’d not come into their conversations much at all.  “… well he is invited to the wedding, so we are sure to learn more about him there.”

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat nodded.  "The regimented part of my life pretty much stays in the kitchen.  I have to be quick to adjust and change for every other aspect of my life.  So, perhaps I'm a bit of both."  Indeed, court life required adjustments on the fly fairly often and quiet women never made history.  

 

The talk of mothers wasn't one of Cat's favorite topics, but that could be said about either parent.  Especially when it came to 'health'.  She had brushed quite hard against her mother's illness of the mind after Adam's passing.  She still had bouts of incredible sadness and lethargy, but her life (and her own stubbornness) made indulging in such moods quite difficult.  "Indeed," she replied to George's idea of mothers being a child's first love.  In her own mind, she had lost her mother well before her death.  No specific date was highlighted in her mind.  Just, one day, she knew her mother was never going to be a true mother, just a spiteful, sad woman who pit her children against each other and against Douglas.  

 

She surveyed the tarts and decided on one, which she placed on a plate along with a scone, that she placed in front of George.  Then, she went and got the clotted cream and a jar of Kingston's paw paw butter as well as a jar of strawberry preserves.  "No admirer, just Lord Kingston.  He did me a favor and I tend to send baked goods as a thank you.  He mentioned in passing that he enjoys fig tarts.  I'm beginning to bleed the market of its fig supply, as I've found quite a few people enjoy them.  Not that I'm complaining.  I like to feed people.  That's why I have to have my larder stocked frequently.  Especially when Douglas is around.  Thank goodness he can now supply his own kippers."  Her nose wrinkled at the thought of the fish.  "I love my brother, but some of his food choices..."

 

Cat wouldn't care if Caroline had been born of a camp follower, except for the chance of there being an illness the lady carried that might affect George.  Adam had been a thief before she met him and that hadn't stopped her heart from falling in love with him.  "I shall be delighted to meet him.  Goodness knows, I'm surrounded by former soldiers."  

[George Hardwick III]

“There that is it.” George agreed with a warm smile as Cat decided she was a bit of both, “which is the healthy way to be – with a variety of focus, perhaps an entire library of choices. ” his eyes then lost focus and he speculated, “conversely a single obsession might be the undoing of a one, for it would present a single target, or goal.  If unrealised the failure would seem catastrophic.” 

George did like to wax philosophic, and in this case there was some self reflection also.

“Ha.” He huffed a laugh of embarrassment, and nodded his thanks for the then offered treats.  He took a hearty bite of the tart, the filling was a tad to hot still, but he managed it, and an exposition of flavour was his reward.  “Mmm  Kingston? I barely know the man, but he plainly has good taste.  This is divine.” He took a sip of tea (intended to be between bites) and eyes then widened as Cat mentioned Douglas.

“Doug is returned? What that is fantastic news!” He vaguely wondered what she meant about Doug being able to supply his own Kippers now. “I’ve not seen him since, well Brighton, it must be a year and a half ago at least.  How is he faring? Lud, I possibly owe him an apology. Ha!”

[Catriona MacGregor]

“A singular obsession would be far from healthy,” Cat replied, taking a sip of tea.  Ah…  “Imagine reaching that goal and then finding yourself cut loose.  No further forward motion.  I can’t even begin to think of how…”  She picked up a scone, put some of the strange butter on it and took a bite, chewing to give herself time to even ponder such a situation.  “Bleak.   That’s the only word that comes to mind.”  She gave a small shudder to the idea, but not the flavor of the topping.  “Oh, now that is interesting,” she almost muttered to herself though it was clearly audible to George.

 

He had to laugh at his joy at hearing about Douglas.  “Indeed and he’s doing quite well.  Seems the lands he was given by the Crown are near the sea so there’s plenty of fishing.  He’s doing me a great service today, so he is currently my favorite brother right now.  Of course, he’s my ONLY brother, but semantics.  The house is so quiet because he has all the girls.”  She laughed loudly in pure joy at the freedom.  Perhaps there might be a slight hint of evil tinging the laugh because the idea of a single man with 2 female teenagers, a preteen and a baby to handle all by himself (plus the nanny).

[George Hardwick III]

George had not found a woman at court who was inclined to talk theory this way, it was a welcome surprise to him when Cat reciprocated and added on to his thought process.  "Bleak indeed, you might feel like you are stood atop a rock midst a desolate sea, and I rather doubt that even a view would console at that point."   

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“Oh, now that is interesting,”

Granted Cat had just taken a bite of scone, but George did not think she commenting on it's taste. "Do go on?.." he encouraged her to complete her thought, his dark eyes looking into hers.

Her laughter was good to hear, and now wonder she was so relaxed, as she revealed that all her concerns were off for the day with Douglas. "Ha-ha, and I thought he was a clever man!  He shall return exhausted, if he returns at all!" George chuckled, and reached for one of the Scones, applying a generous helping of jam and cream.

 

 

 

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat wasn't normally of a philosophical bent, but it was an interesting subject and she had been known to become singularly focused.  Look at the mad way she acted after losing Adam.  She needed to avoid such another situation.  

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 "Bleak indeed, you might feel like you are stood atop a rock midst a desolate sea, and I rather doubt that even a view would console at that point."

She tilted her head to the side before she spoke, imagining the view.  "Aye," she said, her Scottish lilt slipping out in the comfort of her own home.  While her accent had never been as bad as Douglas', it still slipped out now and again.  "If I want bleak, I'll hie back to Scotland for the winter," she joked.

 

A bit of a blush washed over Cat's cheeks.  "I was muttering about this 'paw paw butter' a friend gifted me.  The flavor is most intriguing and had me wondering where I could use it in my baking.  I didn't think I said that aloud," she replied wryly.  

 

The tease about how tired Douglas would be after an afternoon with all the MacBain/MacGregor girls had her chuckling.  "I'm sure it shall be a looooooooooonnnnnnnnnnggggggg time before he makes such an offer again," she agreed.  "The mighty soldier will be felled by 3 teenagers and a toddler."

[George Hardwick III]

"Then best you stay in England for the foreseeable future!" George laughed at her rubbing of Scotland - he fully knew that the Scotts were a very patriotic people, thus Cat's jest all the funnier for it's being said with in Scottish brogue.

"By the by, you received an invite to the wedding I hope? You are most certainly invited." he added that in as he took another sizeable bite of the scone.   Conversation was thus interrupted with bouts of chewing and savouring the flavours, then the clatter of cup with the odd sip washing the treats down. 

"Now there would be an amusing painting; Douglas laid prone in the heath with your sisters foot on his side like he is a slaughtered lion.  Nessia might claim his dirk as her first trophy." he hummed then added, "Though I wonder if I might add his eye open secretly peeking at the girls sport, and a bemused smirk on his face."  

    

[Catriona MacGregor]

Cat gave George a wink.  "No plans to head back up north any time soon, I promise," she replied.  Indeed, having made that trek multiple times already this year, wintering in the south was much more likely.  "Besides, the girls might mutiny.  You can only be in a carriage with multiple females for so long before chaos breaks out.  Especially Scottish females that are related."  Indeed, just the ride from London to Windsor nearly erupted in battle.  

 

Cat tried to remember if she had received an invitation, not remembering one, but with all the traveling North then South then out to Windsor, it likely got lost somewhere in between.  "I thank you," she said instead of admitting she didn't know if she had received a formal invite.  She had one from the groom now, and that's what counts.  "I shall definitely be there," she promised.

 

The image that popped into her mind at the suggestion caused Cat to practically guffaw.  "I would pay you good money for that and hang it in a place of pride," she said as she wound down to giggles.  "Aye, that would be a masterpiece!"  Fiona might turn up her nose, but Shona and Aileen would love it.  And Nessia with a dirk...well, her mother was known to love a sharp object or two.