“Thank you, Mrs. Clark. Please go about your duties. I have detained you long enough.” With that final pronouncement he strode out the door, pleased with his quick thinking though still worried about Ellie.
Would she be able to participate on the morrow?
Chapter Eleven
November 30, 1817
Stir-up Sunday
Ellie couldn’t stopsmiling even as she wiped her brow. “Very well executed, Maggie.”
Maggie immediately stopped stirring in the chunks of apples Mrs. Clark had added to the pot. “Will we be able to taste the apples?”
“Of course. You’ll be able to taste everything we’ve stirred in, from the raisins your father added, to the currants I stirred in, to the orange rinds that Peter will stir. Come on up, Peter.”
Darius helped Peter stand on the chair and pulled the long wooden spoon toward his son. “Mrs. Clark, we are ready for the next ingredient.”
The robust lady stepped up and poured in a small bowl of orange rinds. “There you go, Master Peter. Be sure to stir from east to west now.”
At Peter’s furrowed brow, Darius moved the spoon in the correct direction until his son took over, though he struggled to get the spoon through the thickening mixture.
Ellie kept her eye on the rinds, waiting for it all to slip beneath the surface. Finally, the last bit of orange disappeared. She clapped her hands together. “All done. Wonderful work, Peter.”
The boy brought the spoon back to where he’d started and let go. “Will it taste good? It looks like mud.” He squinched his nose up much like his sister often did.
Ellie laughed, not sure the children would appreciate the flavor after the pudding was cooked then soaked in brandy. She was both surprised and pleased that this would be their first ever Christmas pudding and that she could be a part of it. “I promise it won’t taste like mud. Did you know before we eat it, we set it on fire?”
Peter’s eyes rounded before he looked to his father for confirmation. At Darius’s nod, Peter grinned. “I wish Christmas was tomorrow.”
As Darius helped Peter clamber down from the chair, he explained, “That would be unfortunate, because it takes weeks for the Christmas pudding to be ready.”
Peter frowned at that, not happy at all.
Maggie looked up at Darius. “Father, why did we never stir the pudding before?”
Ellie glanced at him in time to see the concern cross his face before he hid it well. “I did not know if you would enjoy working in the kitchen. Is this something you would like to do again next year?”
Maggie didn’t say anything, but Peter nodded. “Yes! Unless the pudding tastes like mud.”
Darius set his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Then I will ask you again after it’s served.”
“Mrs. Clark?” Ellie motioned the woman over. “Please continue with the ingredients and stirring. We leave the Christmas pudding to your expert ministrations.”
The cook beamed. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Come, children. It’s time for you to return to the nursery. I will visit later, and we will play bilboquet.”
Maggie took her brother’s hand as they all left the kitchen. Anna waited for the children in the entryway and continued upstairs with them.
Darius stopped to watch them go before turning to Ellie. “Would you like to rest now?”
Her nose had stopped running, and after all the rest she had the day before, that was the last activity she was interested in. “No. I’m feeling very much better.”
“Then may I suggest we adjourn to the parlor, where you can tell me who, beside my brother Anthony and his wife, you have invited to descend upon us between St. Nicholas Day and Twelfth Night?”
Not sure if he was pleased or not, she nodded. “Of course.” She strode into the parlor, narrowly missing the doorframe, glad that the vase which used to sit on a table there was high on a shelf in his study. When she reached the fireplace, she turned to face him. “I do hope you don’t mind that I invited your brother. Lissa is one of my dearest friends.”
His right eyebrow rose. “Why would I take issue with my own brother coming?”
