Chapter VII

VISITORS FOR MARION.

The weather was now getting much warmer, the days were long and sunny, and the evenings light until late; so the girls began to make certain changes in their housekeeping arrangements. To begin with, the choral society which they had been attending on Wednesday evenings all the winter ceased in April, so they had late dinner every evening except Saturday and Sunday. There was some talk of their joining a tennis club; but both Jane and Ada were generally too tired to play after their day’s work, and, as the prudent Marion pointed out, if they joined a club it would mean that they would rush off to play directly they came home for as long as it was light, and get no solid food until past eight o’clock, when it would be too late to see about dinner. Jane thought that this would not matter in the very least, as it would soon be getting too hot for anyone to think of eating; but she was over-ruled by her two elders, who insisted that, as none of them got a solid meal in the middle of the day, it would be a fatal thing if the one big meal were postponed altogether. So she was obliged to give in and be content with what tennis she could get at friends’ houses on Saturday afternoons. This was not very much, and she had a good long walk to get it; but she thought it was better than nothing.

Early in May came a short note from Mrs. Holden to Marion.

“May 6th.

“My dear Marion,—Are you ever at liberty to receive visitors, or are you perpetually busy? Do let me know if I may come over and see you next Saturday afternoon. I want to have a talk with you, and I have to come up to West Hampstead to look over some houses in your neighbourhood. I have written to a house agent for some addresses. Our neighbourhood here is getting so terribly built over, and it is too low down to suit Arthur, who suffers occasionally from bronchitis, so we are thinking of making a move in your direction, as Hampstead stands high. I shall be so glad to be near you, and I hope you will return the compliment.

“Do not think I intend to worry you to go house-hunting with me, for I should not dream of allowing such a thing. Arthur is too busy to come over with me; but my brother Tom is home on leave just now. I forget if you ever saw him—I think he was at school when you used to stay with us. It will do him good to have some sensible domestic occupation such as house-hunting. So I shall come and have a delightful cosy chat with you on Saturday if you will have me, and he shall look over the houses whilst we are discussing the affairs of the State. (By the way, why did some scones I made last week come out of the oven freckled? Don’t forget to tell me.) Whilst we are discussing the affairs of the State, Master Tom can look over the houses and select the most suitable for me to inspect when you are tired of hearing me chatter.

“In haste, “Yours ever, “Madge Holden.”

Marion laughed heartily over this letter, and read it out to the other two.

“What does she mean?” asked Ada in a perplexed tone. “How can the scones be freckled?”

“I have a vague recollection of something of the sort happening to some of mine once,” said Jane; “but I have known so many accidents and failures that I can’t possibly recollect them all. Oh, I know! How stupid of me! Of course, the carbonate of soda and cream of tartar were not properly mixed into the flour, and so wherever there was soda a brown patch was the result, as it always makes things darker when used alone.”

“Bravo, Jennie!” said Marion. “I shall tell Mrs. Holden that you will write yourself and reveal the mystery of the scones. I am sorry you and Ada will not see her and her brother as you are going to the concert.”

“Have you ever seen her brother Tom?” asked Ada.

“No, I don’t remember having done so. But I heard of a schoolboy escapade of his years ago. His mother was entertaining visitors on a dark winter afternoon just at dusk; they had rung for the gas to be lighted, but the servant was a long time in coming. In the meantime they were considerably startled by a light that kept flashing in at the window and then disappearing. When everybody was well startled the cause was discovered. Master Tom and some boon companions were at the schoolroom window above amusing themselves by drawing a dark lantern up and down. Hence the phenomenon.”

“How like a boy!” said Jane sedately.

On Saturday afternoon Mrs. Holden appeared, resplendent in a bonnet made of primroses, and with her a tall, sunburnt young fellow, whom she introduced as her brother, Tom Scott.

“But you must not stay, you know, Tom,” said the lively lady. “You really must go and see about those houses, and we shall only bore you with our domestic talk.”

Mr. Scott smiled languidly. He was ensconced in Jane’s own particular rocking-chair and showed no disposition to move, but looked appreciatively round the sunny little sitting-room and at his bright-eyed little hostess, who sat by the work-table at the window with a bunch of sweet-smelling spring flowers in a vase beside her.

“I find this climate so trying after India,” he remarked.

“Nonsense, Tom! Marion, he is too lazy for anything! How far is it to Thornicroft Gardens?”

Marion said that it was only two streets away.

“We must have tennis,” said Mrs. Holden; “so, if the houses are nice, one of those might do, as I understand the gardens at the back have several courts. I am thankful Tom is an engineer: so if there is anything radically wrong with the house he will detect it, so I have not that responsibility! Now, Tom, do start off; and, if you are good, Marion will give you some tea when you get back! Be quick!”

So off he went, and for the next half-hour Mrs. Holden poured her domestic experiences into the ear of the sympathetic Marion.

“Tell me about calves’ heads,” she began eagerly.

“Whatever do you mean?” cried Marion, laughing. “You are like a child asking for a story. ‘Tell me about fairies.’”

“Well, you know what I mean!” she said impatiently. “I want to know all about them, how much they cost, and if it would be feasible to have one, and if they are nice. But I won’t have one if the cook is likely to make a hash of it!” she said energetically.

“Well, your cook might make a hash, and a very good hash too; but that is no reason why you should not have one. You need only have half a head, which will cost you about 3s. or 3s. 6d. Have it boiled the first day and served with white sauce over and bacon round alternately with slices of tongue, and hashed the second day.”

“But don’t you have to skin it, or do something like that first? I read something about skinning it in my cookery-book, and it puzzled me dreadfully.”

“All that is done at the butcher’s. It is as well to blanch the head by putting it in boiling water, bringing the water to the boil, and throwing it away. Then put it in a pan, with enough water to cover and vegetables to flavour, and cook gently about two and a half hours.”

“That was just what I wanted to know. I understand about skinning the tongue and cutting it in pieces to put round the dish; but what are you to do with the brains?”

“Tie them in muslin and cook them for half an hour separately in water or stock, divide in small pieces and put round the dish. Before you go I will give you a nice recipe for hashing the remains. By the way, was the dinner list of any use?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Here is this week’s then,” said Marion, as she went to her desk and, opening it, gave the list to Mrs. Holden. “You see we have just been having calf’s head ourselves.”

DINNER LIST.

Sunday.

Veal and Ham Pie.

Salad.

Citron Cream.

(Supper.) Anchovy Eggs.

Monday.

Spring Stew.

Gooseberry Fool.

Tuesday.

Lettuce Soup.

Roast Leg of Lamb.

Mint Sauce.

New Potatoes.

Wednesday.

Cold Leg of Lamb.

Salad.

Swiss Roll.

Thursday.

Calf’s Head with White Sauce.

Lemon Jelly.

Friday.

Hashed Calf’s Head.

Cheesecakes.

Saturday.

Cod and Mayonnaise.

Cucumber.

Cold Sponge Cake Pudding.

“You see, we have cold dishes rather often now the weather is getting warmer,” said Marion as Mrs. Holden put down the paper. “Here is the food bill:—”

£s.d.

1 lb. fillet of veal010

Half a ham, 3½ lbs.024

Leg of lamb (Australian)031

Half a calf’s head029

1¼ lb. neck of veal010

Cucumber004

2½ lb. new potatoes005

3 lb. potatoes003

2 lb. cod010

Sponge cakes006

Milk019

Pint of gooseberries003

1-pint packet lemon jelly004

Small bottle olive oil005½

½ lb. tea0010

1½ lb. butter at 1s. 4d020

½ lb. loaf sugar001¼

2 lb. Demerara003½

1 lb. fat, for rendering002

Fourteen eggs010

Four lettuces008

Eight loaves024

£1210¼

“By the way, I have made a discovery. Oh, I know it will be no news to you; but I was proud of it, I assure you! It is, that there are several quite cheap pieces of veal that one can buy—breast of veal, for instance, and neck—for 8d. a pound. I always had looked upon veal as quite dear. But I don’t know how to cook these joints. You can’t make veal cutlet of them, can you?”

“No; they would not do for that. But the ‘Spring Stew’ that you see there is a dish made of neck of veal, new potatoes, spring onions and lettuce.”

“Many thanks. It is of no use trying to get my people to eat cold meat; they simply won’t. Tom is so accustomed to the good cooking of his native servants that he is a dreadful handful. I am so glad you taught me how to make a good curry; that at least is always appreciated.”

“Is he graciously pleased to commend it?” asked Marion, laughing.

“Yes, indeed. He has a most extraordinary opinion of your talents, as he said he did not know such a thing as a good curry was to be had in England. Was that not rude? Now, I will not talk ‘cooking’ any more. Do play me something. I see the piano is invitingly open. It is ever so long since I heard you. Or will it tire you?”

“I am not tired at all,” said Marion, and went to the piano. “What shall it be? Something calm and soothing, I suppose, and not at all suggestive of domestic worries.”

So Marion played a delicious “Lullaby” of Rubinstein’s, and Mrs. Holden lay back in the rocking-chair to listen—a graceful figure in blue.

“Thank you so much!” said a voice behind her as she finished.

Marion started slightly, and looked round to find that Mr. Scott had come back again, and had been let in by Abigail without her noticing the fact.

Mrs. Holden laughed mischievously.

“I have not had such a treat since I went to India,” said her brother. “Pray do not stop. You don’t know how much I enjoy it,” and he sat down prepared to listen to more.

So Marion played on. This time it was the “Spinn lied” from the “Lieder ohne Worte.”

“Tom, you are positively improving,” said his sister critically, as she finished and Abigail came in with the tea-things. “Just before you went away, I remember taking you to a Saturday concert at St. James’s Hall, and you annoyed me by coming out in the middle. Marion’s playing seems to have worked a sort of charm.”

“Oh, nonsense, Madge, you must not give me such a bad character! I am very fond of music really, Miss Thomas,” he said, turning to Marion; “but I always prefer it at home. Somehow, a concert always makes me feel very sleepy towards the end. I don’t know if it is the heat, or what.”

“You ought not to mind the heat, surely,” she suggested, smiling.

He laughed.

“Well, at all events, it is not nearly so enjoyable.”

“Well, what about the house, Tom?” asked his sister, as she drank her tea and ate Marion’s crisp little home-made cakes appreciatively.

“Green Lawn, in the next street but one, has just the number of rooms you want. Everything about it seems all right, and there is an excellent tennis lawn. Could you move by Lady Day?”

“Yes, I must. Did you see no others?”

“What was the good of looking at others until you had signified that this would not do,” he remarked sagely.

“Marion, can you come and look at it with us?”

“Yes, certainly,” and she went to put on her hat.

“You need not stay longer if you want to be off,” said Mrs. Holden to her brother when Marion had left the room. “We shall manage quite well by ourselves. I know men don’t care for fussing about over houses, and you said you wanted to go down to the club.”

He seemed to think the club could wait, for he made no haste to be off; and soon Marion came in again, looking very charming in her pretty hat with pink primulas.

So the three walked through the sunny streets to Green Lawn. It did not take very long to look over the house, and Mrs. Holden was delighted with it, and quite decided to take it if her husband liked it as well as she did.

“So we shall soon be having you for neighbours, and how delightful that will be, my dear! I only hope I shall not worry you by incessantly running in to ask advice. I really must be self-denying, and not run into the Rowans too often. Come and have dinner with me next week and talk it all over. Which day can you come? Come next Thursday if you can. You don’t mind coming so far now the evenings are so light, do you? Tom can see you home.”

Marion protested that she was quite equal to seeing herself home; but Mrs. Holden insisted, and so it was arranged. By this time they had arrived at the station from which Marion’s friends were going back to Camberwell, so they said good-bye.

When she got home, she remembered that Mrs. Holden had not got the recipe that had been promised; so she wrote it out at once and posted it to her lest she should want to use it before they met next Thursday.

Hashed Calf’s Head.—Cut the remains of a cooked calf’s head into neat pieces. Chop a large onion and cook it in three tablespoonfuls of vinegar for ten minutes; add a dessertspoonful of Chutney and two tablespoonfuls of flour mixed with a gill of cold stock. Stir until it boils, stir in a pint of the stock in which the head was cooked; season well and colour with browning. Put in the slices of head, and simmer very gently for half an hour.

(To be continued.)