‘Indeed. It’s why we wanted to drive you back. We need to know you’re living somewhere half decent. All this talk of you wanting to stay in London to be a waitress is worrying. You’ll be wanting to be a barmaid next!’
Lizzie had suspected this was the reason for her lift back to London. She decided to take her parents in through the front door. She had a key to the basement, via the area steps, but if she rang on the door someone would have to come up and open the door and maybe alert the household to what amounted to intruders.
Alexandra opened the front door. She was wearing hut slippers: embroidered red woollen stockings attached to leather feet, going up to her knees, as well as a pinafore dress that might have been froma little boutique or from a long-dead ancestor, Lizzie couldn’t tell.
‘Oh, hello, Mr and Mrs Spencer?’ she said. ‘You’ve brought Lizzie home. How nice.’
‘Her name is Elizabeth, and we’ve brought her to her temporary home,’ said Mr Spencer crossly. ‘We’d like to reassure ourselves about where she’s living.’ Then he smiled, possibly aware he had sounded rather grumpy.
‘Of course!’ said Alexandra, holding the door open wider. ‘Do come in!’
‘We’d better go down to the kitchen,’ said Lizzie, knowing the dust-sheeted drawing room would be anything but reassuring to her parents.
‘Yes! It’s a bit of a mess,’ said Alexandra. ‘You know how it is on a Sunday night, everyone getting ready for Monday.’
Her parents followed Alexandra down the stairs and Lizzie came behind them. She was hoping that the obvious grandness of the property would make a greater impression on them than the equally obvious fact that the house hadn’t seen a paintbrush for fifty years or so.
‘We live in the kitchen,’ Alexandra explained. ‘It’s so expensive to heat the whole house.’
‘The kitchen?’ Lizzie’s mother seemed bewildered by this thought.
‘You’ll see, Mum – Mummy!’ said Lizzie.
In the basement Meg was experimenting with aspic, it seemed, as there was a tray of shapes on a sheet of greaseproof paper. Alexandra had a collection of tiny copper moulds and so there was a row of green pods with peas in them, made out of some sort of mousse. It must have taken ages, thought Lizzie, waiting for the mousse to set so Meg could turn out the shape and re-use the mould.
Where was David and how on earth could she explain him to her parents if he appeared?
He appeared from behind the kitchen table, obviously having been doing something to the sink. He was wearing a brown apron and a put-upon expression. ‘I’ve done my best with it, but I can’t guarantee anything,’ he said, in an accent more Cockney than Terry’s from the antiques market.
‘Have you a problem?’ asked Lizzie’s father, going further into the room.
‘It’s the trap under the sink, sir. Dripping something chronic,’ said David.
‘It’s making the sink smell dreadfully,’ said Meg.
‘Mummy, Daddy, this is Meg,’ said Lizzie. ‘She’s the best of us at cooking. And this is Clover, who used to be Meg’s dog but we all sort of own her now.’ Clover wagged her tail politely.
‘How do you do?’ said Meg. ‘I may be the best cook, but Lizzie is by far the best at sewing. There’s nothing she can’t make!’
‘Her name is Elizabeth,’ said Lizzie’s mother. ‘But yes, she’s always been adept with her needle.’
‘Can I offer you a cup of tea or something?’ said Meg. ‘I’ve made some rock cakes that could go with it.’
‘We had tea some time ago,’ said Lizzie’s father, ‘before we left for London.’
‘Come and sit down by the fire, anyway,’ said Lizzie.
David, possibly dissatisfied with his walk-on part as plumber, cleared his throat. ‘If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, Miss Alexandra, you have a very nice amontillado sherry that the lady and gentleman might find acceptable.’ David bowed, slipping seamlessly into a new role as butler, but not a very grand one.
‘Have we?’ said Alexandra. ‘Right! I’ll find some glasses.’
‘If you’ll allow me, Miss Alexandra,’ said David, ‘I will do that for you.’
Mr and Mrs Spencer were now seated on the scruffy sofa in front of the popping gas fire looking confused. Lizzie was fighting laughter and a scream of panic; something like a sneeze came out. Meg joined Lizzie’s parents on the sofa. ‘It’s so nice to meet you. Li— Elizabeth always talks so fondly about you.’
‘That’s nice!’ said Lizzie’s mother.
‘So why doesn’t she want to come home after the cooking course is over?’ asked Mr Spencer.
