Miss East lifted the lid off one of the big pots to smell the Irish stew. “Delicious,” she said to Cook who was red-faced and perspiring. “It gets better every year.”
“Put on the kettle there like a good woman,” said Cook, “and we’ll have a nice cup of tea before the rush. I deserve a puff of the pipe and a sit down. My legs are killing me. Everything’s ready. What time is it?”
“Just after four. They should all be back shortly. I heard a few a while back but they were the children, most likely.” Miss East poured boiling water into the teapot. “It’s a good sign Charlotte isn’t back yet – she must have lasted the distance. I’ve been thinking of her so much all afternoon you’d think I was riding beside her.”
“You’re such a clucky hen where she’s concerned,” said Cook, sinking into her chair beside the range. “You’d think she was your own.”
It was the Dowager who had started the tradition of serving a hot buffet to the hunters as soon as they returned and before they changed. The hall floor of quarry tiles, so easily cleaned, allowed them to come in, muck and all, without removing their boots. She said she wanted to hear their stories in their immediacy. If the visitors went off to rub down their horses and then change, they inevitably swapped experiences with each other while doing those things, so when they finally came in to eat the vividness of the telling had dissipated somewhat. The hall, with its double curved staircases, gilt-framed portraits, stuffed animal heads and, best of all, two huge fireplaces on either side burning unsplit logs that at times were so noisy they sounded as if they were talking to each other, the lights and warmth, did what they were meant to do – offered a contrast between the cold darkness outside and the welcome inside that was an embrace and a sensory assault. The trestle tables with their linen tablecloths were already covered with freshly baked breads, steamed puddings, mince pies, cheeses and cream, waiting for the carved roasts of beef, turkey, ham, venison and the lamb stew to be added when the crowd arrived.
From the distance, the sound of barking filtered into the kitchen. The clattering of many horses’ hooves on cobblestones had Miss East at the door before she had time to think. She was nearly knocked over by the procession of servers coming to collect the hot part of the supper. Cook jumped up as soon as she heard the noise and, not wishing to miss out on one moment of glory, supervised the removal of the feast.