Edna was just closing the door to the oven. “Oh, Mrs. Nye,” she said. “I meant to bring you another pot of tea, but time has quite slipped away from me.”
Mina, glancing around the room, saw the profusion of pots and pans and the way Edna surreptitiously swiped at her beaded forehead with the apron. “I’m not surprised Edna, you could clearly do with more hands in here. What time do you serve your roast mutton?”
Edna, who had visibly bristled, slumped against the table where she had a huge pile of peeled carrots and three large cabbages. “It gets served when it’s done,” she said grimly. “I can’t be held accountable to time, not when I’m on me own.”
“Is Ivy serving at bar?” Mina asked absently as she picked up an apron and started to tie it over her dress.
“Mrs Nye, whatever are you doing? You heard what Master Nye said—”
“That’s just nonsense, Edna,” Mina said briskly. “I can’t be sat daintily in the parlor while you slave away here by yourself.” She reached for a knife and began chopping up the carrots. “Is that water boiling for these?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m sure you have the meat in hand. Allow me to prepare the vegetables.”
Edna hesitated. “I put the meat and potatoes on to roast in the bread oven before church, so they’re almost done.”
“Excellent, then I think you should probably make the batter from the hot fat and the gravy from the juices. Is that not so?”
Edna’s harried expression relaxed a little. “Well, but—if you’re sure?”
“Certainly, I’m sure.” Mina sent her a calm look of assurance and Edna scurried into the scullery to check the oven.
The next two hours flew. She chopped, boiled, simmered, wrestled with the kitchen range and together with Edna plated and bowled up at least thirty roast dinners to be served. Edna ran back and forth from the kitchen while Mina remained where she was intently focused on the task in hand. The kitchen door swung open and closed a few times, but Mina could not have said who came in and out. Edna left her stirring the gravy or carving the joints of roasted meat onto the plates. By the time all the food was served, Mina was piling up the pots and pans and carrying them through to the large sink in the scullery.
Edna returned, looking red-faced and weary. “Those two’s ours,” she said, gesturing to the last two plates of food remaining on the cleared table.
“Shall we eat now or after washing up?” Mina asked, thinking of the overflowing piles of tins and trays.
“Eat now,” Edna said grimly. “I’ll have to go and collect all the emptied plates for washing in a bit.” She moved toward one of the cupboards and drew out a tablecloth. “If you’ll just give me a moment to lay your table, Mrs. Nye—”
“I shall take my dinner at the kitchen table with you, Edna.”
“Mrs. Nye—”
“I do not care to sit alone on a Sunday, Edna,” she said quietly. “I assure you; I will sit in the parlor by myself for the rest of the week.”
That gave Edna pause, and after a moment, she inclined her head and went to fetch them cutlery. “I must admit, after cooking it, I seldom have an appetite,” Edna said as they took their seats.
“Small wonder. You’re probably exhausted,” Mina commented. “I don’t understand how they take their meals here in the taproom. Surely at some point, people would have sat at the tables in the parlor bar?”
Edna nodded. “Before my time, they did. Back in the days of Jacob Nye this place was crawling with folk. Two, three times as many as are here today. There used to be four barmaids and four kitchen maids in those days.”
“Good grief, really? So extensive a staff?”
“Six stable hands too,” Edna said, nodding. “You see, the stagecoaches used to stop here to change their horses here on the way to Exeter.”
Mina paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “I noticed the stables were large,” she admitted. “So, they used to house teams of horses here?”
Edna nodded. “Sometimes as many as twenty-four horses at a time.”
“Why do they not stop here now? The stagecoaches, I mean?”
Edna’s gaze dropped. “Couldn’t say, I’m sure.”
Mina frowned. “The patrons here,” she said hesitantly, remembering the motley assortment gathered there the night she was wed. “Are they village folk?”
Again, Edna looked evasive. “A few maybe,” she said—blandly. “But there’s a tavern set in the heart of the village. The Ship, it’s called. The villagers prefer that one. It’s not so far for them to walk and—er the reputation is more… wholesome.”
“I see,” Mina said thoughtfully. So, The Harlot was frequented by unsavory types. It was no more than she had suspected. “The—er—night I arrived,” she added. “There appeared to be some form of bare-knuckle boxing match taking place in the courtyard.”
Edna pressed her lips together. “Master Nye is a champion from ‘round these parts,” she said with a fleeting look at Mina’s startled face. Edna sighed and shook her head. “He’s fought bouts in Exeter and London too. Prizefighting, they calls it. A nasty, rough business it is and brings a nasty, rough crowd with it.”
Recalling the assortment
