She passed the drawing room and noted that the door was closed. Before retiring, Mr Merivale had insisted that they keep away from it until he cleared up the room. In the meantime, she was to teach the children at the kitchen table.
The delicious smell of pancakes filled the house.
Arabella’s stomach growled.
Entering the kitchen, she came to a halt. “Goodness!” she exclaimed.
For the cook, standing on a chair in front of the stove, holding the heavy iron skillet in his hand, was none other than Robin. The apron was doubled and tied around his waist.
Robin looked over his shoulder and nearly toppled off his chair. “Good morning, Miss Weston. Just in time! We are having the world’s best pancakes.”
“You’re cooking? Don’t you have a cook? And where is your father?”
“Papa’s outside. Peggy won’t be coming the next few days, so we have to cook for ourselves. Today is my day.”
“What do you mean, today is your day?”
Robin, a fold of concentration on his forehead as he held the heavy iron skillet with both hands, somehow manoeuvred the pancake onto the plate without dropping it.
Arabella jumped forward to help him, but he managed to cope himself.
“We each have a day. Yesterday was Papa’s day. The day before was Katy’s. Today is mine. And —” he beamed at her, “what would you know? Tomorrow’s yours!”
Arabella’s mouth dropped open. “You mean I must cook?” That hadn’t been part of the job description. This house had an alarming lack of servants. Was she expected to fill this lack?
“Good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning.” Philip strode in, and suddenly the room seemed too small. “Ah. Miss Weston. I hope you had a good night’s sleep?”
“Like a log,” she replied. She watched how he washed his hands in a pitcher, then went over to Robin and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Robinkin. This smells divine.” He sniffed the air. “A bit burned.” He helped Robin set the skillet aside.
Katy and Joy entered. “Good morning, Miss Weston.”
Philip sat down, and Joy crawled into his lap, popping her thumb into her mouth as she watched Miss Weston. “Ah,” he said, “I see Robinkin has cooked us some delicious — beefsteak with kidneys. What are we waiting for?”
Katy rolled her eyes.
Arabella stared at the half-burnt pancake in front of her and opened her mouth to ask where the steak was, when it clicked.
“Excellent — beefsteak, indeed. Very well done.” Arabella chewed on a piece of charred pancake but was surprised that if one disregarded the burned bits, it did not taste too bad.
Philip investigated a piece on his fork before popping it into his mouth. “Well done. In the truest meaning of the word.”
“You have to add mint sauce over it,” Robin said and pushed a jar of blackberry jam towards her.
“Mouse!” Joy contributed to no one in general.
“This is the best beefsteak I have ever eaten.” Arabella said. Then she remembered what Robin said before Philip entered. She put down her fork.
“Mr Merivale, am I to understand that it is my turn to produce, er, beefsteak with mint sauce tomorrow morning?”
“Indeed,” Mr Merivale replied with full mouth. He swallowed and took a big gulp of a glass of milk that Robin had poured out for them all. “I forgot to mention that.”
“I don’t think that cooking is part of a governess’ curriculum,” Arabella replied stiffly. The problem was that she had no idea how to cook.
Philip set down his fork. “Oh. I see.” A gleam of speculation entered his eyes. “I see I have to clarify. We Merivales are a working-class family, in case you haven’t noticed. You may think this is shocking, but we work very hard for our food. We also cook. We make our own beds. We also clean. And when Peggy’s not around —” He bent forward with a diabolical look in his eyes. “We have to wash laundry. With our own hands. In the brook.”
Arabella swallowed. “But… but… none of these are part of my skillset. I have never cooked, cleaned, or washed laundry.” She wouldn’t have an inkling of an idea how to go about doing any of it.
