The sun had set, but enough light lingered that their way was clear even before they reached the streets that had gas lamps. Other people were just muffled-up shapes in the dim light, so Allan had little doubt that he and Melody were as anonymous.
It was a ten-minute walk to the cook shop, which was on a narrow lane in a warren of modest homes and small shops. The contrast between the cold air outside and the warmth of the cook shop was remarkable.
“They keep a couple of tables with chairs for those who want to eat here rather than take their meal home,” Melody told him. “Mrs. Pratchett, what is on the menu tonight? I’ve brought my friend Mr. Allan to sample your cooking.”
The proprietress welcomed Melody with enthusiasm, and escorted them both to a table near the fire, chatting all the time. “I’ve a roast of lamb and a pie with steak and kidney, ducky,”said the woman. “Take your coats and scarves off, Mrs. Black, Mr. Allan. You’ll not get the benefit of them when you go outside if you don’t take them off now.”
She indicated a coat rack in a nearby corner, and bustled off to the other room, from which appetizing odors drifted.
“I’ve eaten in taverns and restaurants,” Allan said, “but this is my first time in a cook shop. She doesn’t seem very busy.”
“She will be busier once the factories, offices, and shops close,” Melody explained. “Most people bring containers, put the meal they buy into it, and take it home. And here is our meal.”
The proprietress carried out a tray with two plates and two tankards, and offloaded it on to their table. As promised, each plate contained a portion of roast lamb and a slice of pie bursting with meat and gravy, the crust golden and flaky. The meal also included a mash of root vegetables and a spoonful of mushy peas.”
“I’ve brought you a mug each of my mulled cider, Mrs. Black,” said Mrs. Pratchett. “And I’ll have a nice baked apple and custard for you for after.”
“My treat,” Allan said. “How much, Mrs. Pratchett?”
“Seven pence apiece, Mr. Allan, if you please. Four pence for the main, a penny for the apple and custard and tuppence for the cider.”
Allan handed her a shilling and a six pence piece. “Thank you. It all smells delicious. Please keep the change.”
“Thank you, Mr. Allan.” She gave Melody a light punch on the arm. “You’ve got a right one here, ducky. Handsome, too.”
Someone else entered the shop, and Mrs. Pratchett sailed away to serve this new customer.
“I am a right one, and handsome,” Allan informed Melody.
“Eat your dinner while it is hot,” she told him, but her eyes laughed into his.
The meal was delicious, the company more so, and Melody was obviously a favorite of the proprietress. “Do you come here often?” Allan said, only then realizing it sounded like the villain’s line from one of those comic pieces that theatres put on to entertain early attendees before the main play.
Melody didn’t see anything amiss with it, though, or was polite enough not to react. “My sister and her husband used to have rooms just around the corner. She moved after Mr. White died. It is not a safe street for a widow and a growing girl, and I could not always be there to protect them. While they were here, Harmony only had a fireplace for cooking on, but did wonders with a dutch oven and hot bricks. Still, whenever I had the money, I used to treat her and the children to a meal that Harmony did not have to cook or clean after.”
“Not her husband, though,” Allan noted.
Melody’s lovely mouth twisted in a commentary of its own, but all she said was, “Mr. White was seldom at home.” Her eyes darkened with memory, but the smile she pasted on was deliberately cheerful. “Without his incursions into the housekeeping, we were able to afford a whole floor in a safer area to the west of Mayfair, and a maid-of-all-work to do the heavy lifting.”
“My brother-in-law also lives west of Mayfair. I pay for the house and the food, for he looks after my daughter. I owe him more than I can say.” Phineas and his older brother had been horrified, not just at poor Alberta’s ultimate fate, but her scandalous relationship with her father-in-law.
When Allan had gone to them, seeking a haven for Lydia, it had been Phineas who had given up his life at Oxford as a scholar of Greek to go into hiding with her. The older brother had the earldom of Nottwick to care for, but had secretly kept in touch with both Phineas and Allan over the years.
In fact, if Nottwick was in town, he’d be a good ally in the current campaign. Allan set the thought to one side. “Thanks to Phineas,” he told Melody, “Lydia has been given a loving home, safely away from the marquess. I cannot see her as often as I would wish, but at least she knows me, and she loves her Uncle Phineas.”
“Lydia?” Melody asked. “My daughter’s dearest friend has the same name. They live in the same house, and share lessons, my Harriet, my sister’s son, Benjamin, and Lydia Eastwood.”
“Did you say Eastwood?” Allan said. It was too much of a coincidence, surely. “Does your sister live at 16 Jasmine Close?”
“16A,” said Melody. “How did you know?”
He leaned close to keep his voice from carrying to any of the customers at the counter. “Because my Lydia and her Uncle Phineas live at 16B, downstairs from your family, and Eastwood is the surname they are using.”
Her eyes widened. “Goodness me! Our daughters are best friends!” She laughed, then. “And, if I do not mistake the matter, your brother-in-law is courting my sister. When we win this war, Allan, we shall be seeing more of one another.”
Allan took her hand, which was resting on the table, and lifted it to place a kiss on her palm. “So I hope,” he said.
Melody blushed, looking down at her plate. “I, also.”
