The Kitchen Front

by Jennifer Ryan

  “Survival is about sticking together,” Audrey said. “I know you think that’s wrong—insane almost—but that’s how I see the world. Together we’re stronger.” She glanced into the scrub beside the outbuildings, pointing at a flowering shrub. “That one, over there. It’s valerian. The root is good for helping you sleep.”

  Zelda watched her for a moment. “You know about plant remedies?”

  “I learned to forage for them when I was young. They’re natural, and they’re free.” She looked around. “Come with me. There are some nettles in the meadow—they’re good for asthma. And I need some meadowsweet for my headache.”

  “If you let me stay, you can teach me everything you know,” Zelda said, walking fast to keep up as Audrey bent down to pluck various plants at the roots, often including them, too. “I can help your business. I can do anything you want.”

  Audrey looked at her, wondering how on earth they were going to survive. They barely had enough money to feed themselves, let alone have enough for the business. It was fine while Zelda was paying rent and contributing to the household bills, but now she wouldn’t be able to, nor would the others. What were they to live on?

  And then there was Zelda herself. Everything she stood for was about how to look after Zelda. Yes, she’d been helpful, and yes, she’d become a kinder individual. But she was still working to her own ends.

  “Let’s go and discuss it with the bees. Why don’t you tell them that you got sacked?” she said, more of a test than a question. Audrey wondered if she would do it, and if she’d have the proper courtesy, the grace.

  Without even a question, Zelda took Audrey’s arm and walked her briskly back to the garden. There, she took a seat beside the beehive. She must have been watching Audrey do it in the past, as she seemed to know what to do.

  “Hello, bees. This is Zelda. You’ve probably seen me around, and I’m sure Audrey’s told you all about me. Audrey’s been incredibly good to me, letting me stay even though I’m society’s idea of a polecat—an unmarried pregnant woman—a shame to myself and my family, if I had one.”

  The bees were buzzing around her, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t anger them. She just existed among them.

  “I’ve lost my job at the factory because they don’t let pregnant women work—especially unmarried ones—and I’m asking Audrey if I can stay another few months, just until the baby is born. I have to confess that I’m nervous about the idea of this baby, which I feel kicking and punching inside me. Soon it will be squeezing its way out of my body, and I’m not looking forward to that part. Being with Audrey calms me.”

  She paused, and Audrey came to stand beside her, watching the bees in the bright morning sunshine.

  “After the baby is born, and it’s given up for adoption, I can return to London, take up my old life, and pay Audrey my lapsed rent. Then life can go back to normal.”

  This last part was said without enthusiasm.

  “So do you think Audrey will let me stay? I’ll help her turn her little pie baking outfit into a proper restaurant-style production line. We’ll make pastry in bulk. We’ll buy from wholesalers. We’ll make use of government subsidies. Once we have a production line, it will be easier to expand.”

  She looked over to the least dilapidated of the outbuildings. “If we get that old building mended and scrubbed, we could turn it into a store or extra kitchen space.”

  The grubby, whitewashed building ran down behind the orchard, and Zelda got up and trailed across for a closer look, followed by Audrey.

  “It used to be a stable of sorts, when the family had a few goats and ponies,” Audrey said. “It needs a good clean, but at least it’s solid and dry.”

  “If we put some of the kitchen equipment in here, it would be easier to move about and bake in the kitchen,” Zelda said. “And we could clear a table space for cleaning and cutting fruit and vegetables.”

  “That would be useful,” Audrey murmured, picturing the long, ramshackle building painted and repaired. “If we built a larger pantry out here, it would certainly make the kitchen more workable.”

  There was a silence as they walked through, looking into each part.

  As they stood inside the largest section, imagining how the space could look, Zelda glanced at Audrey. “Does this mean I can stay?”

  Audrey paused, thinking of her world, grown to encompass her sister and a kitchen maid, and now this beautiful, heavily pregnant restaurant chef. And with sudden determination, she said, “Of course you can stay. I could never have turned you down, you know that.” She took Zelda’s arm and linked it through her own. “I remember when you stood by me at the memorial service and when I couldn’t kill poor Gertrude. You were there when I really needed someone. We’ll live off the land,” she declared. “Until we get some money in, the garden and the wood can provide for us.”

  Zelda squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Audrey, really, thank you.” There was a brief pause while she struggled between speaking and holding her tongue, and finally it just came out. “I’m not used to people doing favors for me.”

  “It’s not just me, Zelda. People everywhere do things for each other every day.” She paused, pulling down a large cobweb. “Just one thing I’d like to know. What would you have done if I’d said no?”

  Zelda gave a quick smile. “I think we both know you couldn’t possibly have done that.”

  And there, inside the outbuilding, the two women began to laugh, and suddenly, the world seemed a brighter, friendlier place.

  Audrey’s Cornish Pasties

  Makes 4 to 6

  For the filling

  1 cup chopped onions or leeks

  1 tablespoon oil or fat

  3 cups chopped mixed vegetables (carrots, potatoes, rutabagas, turnips)

  1 teaspoon chopped mixed herbs (thyme, rosemary, chives, marjoram, and parsley are good)

  Salt and pepper

  2 cups minced or finely chopped cooked meat (beef, lamb, or chicken are good)

  For the short-crust pastry

  3 cups flour

  Pinch of salt

  ⅓ cup butter, margarine, or lard

  Milk or a beaten egg, to glaze

  First prepare the filling. Fry the onions in a little oil or fat and boil the chopped vegetables with the herbs and salt and pepper until tender. Mix the vegetables, onions, and chopped meat together, adding any meat juices or water to nicely moisten.

  Next make the short-crust pastry. Preheat oven to 375°F/190°C. Sieve the flour and salt, then rub in the fat. Bind with a little cold water until the pastry has a firm consistency. Roll it out and cut it into circles, each about 8 inches in diameter. Fill each circle with a few spoonfuls of the filling, then brush the milk or egg glaze around the edge of the circle. Fold it over, then secure by pressing down the open edge, making a tight seal and a nice crimped pattern. Brush with the milk or egg glaze and bake for 30 minutes, or until golden brown.

  Gwendoline

  Life in her old home was nourishing for Gwendoline. Not only was she exploring her newfound talent as a baking business manager and saleswoman, but she was also relishing the company of others after her lonely years in the hall. She and Audrey were becoming inseparable, and she found Nell bustling about the kitchen cheery and fun.

  Zelda, on the other hand, made her uncomfortable. On learning that she had inadvertently foisted their competitor onto Audrey—and that they had now become friends—Gwendoline couldn’t help feeling annoyed with herself. But what really rankled was that Zelda had disappeared with Chef James after the contest. She knew that Chef James’s reluctance to help her out with the stock ingredients during the contest was his way of showing her it would never come to anything. He had manipulated her and, in the end, he hadn’t even been willing to face her. It had hurt. She felt foolish and heartbroken.

 
And Zelda knew it.

  The first few days that she was there, Gwendoline carefully trod around Zelda, but soon she realized that she needed to clear the air, try to make friends.

  Which was why one morning, when Gwendoline found Zelda alone in the kitchen, cheerfully singing as she prepared some pies for the cooking, she put the kettle on.

  “What a busy morning,” she said. “Care to join me for a cup of tea?”

  Zelda glanced at the pies, ready for the oven. “I just need to put these in, then I’ll have one.”

  As she waited for the kettle to boil, Gwendoline mused, “There’s nothing like a cup of tea, is there? It seems to make everything feel better.”

  Zelda popped the pies in and took a seat. “In the Blitz, tea was sometimes the only thing we had, shivering in the underground shelter and worrying what the world would look like when we got out.”

  “I think tea helps because it reminds us of being safe and warm, like the way the taste or smell of a certain food can carry us back to a different place.”

  A wistful smile came over Zelda’s face. “I only have to smell madeleines baking in the oven, and I’m back in the big London mansion where I first worked. They baked them every week, and we got to have one each—although I think the butler got more.”

  “I didn’t know you used to be a kitchen maid.”

  Zelda’s face dropped. Apart from the madeleines, it was evidently not a good time. “I was a scullery maid. It was my first job away from home. I was twelve.”

  “Goodness! That’s barely older than Ben!” Gwendoline imagined Zelda as a girl, scrawny, scared, putting on a brave face. “It must have been dreadful.”

  Without thinking, Zelda gritted her teeth and scowled, an old gesture of defiance. “You get used to it.”

  “Well, you’re certainly not a scullery maid now,” Gwendoline said, trying to lift the mood. “You’re a great chef—you don’t have to fight anymore.”

  Zelda’s jaw loosened, and she let out a short laugh. “I suppose I don’t. Well, only against male chefs and the likes of Sir Strickland.”

  There was a pause, and then Gwendoline asked, “Did you know Chef James, before the contest? I saw you speaking to him.”

  “He’s the father,” she said simply, nodding at her bump. “Not that it’s important. He doesn’t want to see me again now. He said we would be together forever—that we were meant for each other—but then he left me.” She made a little shrug, and Gwendoline suddenly saw how hurt she’d been. “I gather you two, well—”

  Gwendoline grimaced. “What a schemer! But I suppose he gave me a bit of much-needed affection and, without knowing it, helped me realize that my marriage was an utter farce.” She shrugged. “I have to confess that I was a bit put out at you stealing him away after the contest, but it seems that neither of us was destined to get what we wanted.” She gave a small, sad laugh.

  Zelda smoothed a hand over her bump. She wasn’t laughing. “He was a bastard,” she said bluntly. “Dismissing me and the baby—making me feel like an unwanted scrounger.”

  “You’re too good for him, Zelda. We both are.”

  From the hallway came the ominous sound of the postwoman delivering a letter.

  “I’ll fetch Audrey.” Gwendoline went out into the garden to tell her, and before long, letter in hand, Audrey had summoned the four women to the kitchen table for a meeting.

  “I need you all here because of this letter.” Audrey, looking anxious, waved around an official, typed letter.

  Gwendoline instantly recognized the crest: It was from Fenley Hall. “What does Sir Strickland want now?”

  Audrey pursed her lips. “He wants the house.”

  “What?” Gwendoline raged, striding over to take a look, quickly joined by the others. “What a vile, resentful, vindictive—”

  Audrey handed her the letter, and she read it out to the others.

  Dear Mrs. Landon,

  Re: Repossession of Willow Lodge, Fenley

  As a result of your failure to pay the rents and arrears owed to the Fenley Hall estate, we regret that Willow Lodge will be repossessed by the owner in accordance with the contract drawn up at the outset of the loan.

  We hereby give you a period of two weeks’ notice to find alternative arrangements.

  Yours sincerely,

  The Fenley Hall Estate

  “He’s reaping his revenge the only way he knows.” Gwendoline stormed over to the back door, wrenching it open and glaring up the hill to Fenley Hall. “We’ll never get enough money to pay the arrears in time. I can’t get my hands on any of my money or jewelry as he always insisted it was kept in the safe—safe from me, more like it! He won’t let me touch it until the divorce is settled, and even after that, I doubt I’ll ever see it again.”

  “What about your silver wristwatch?” Audrey said. “I know you love that thing, but if we need—”

  Her eyes went to the space on Gwendoline’s wrist.

  “You already sold it?”

  “It was part of my old life—Lady Gwendoline’s life. We needed the money, and a pawnbroker in Middleton was willing to give me some much-needed funds for it.”

  “But not enough.”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  “What about your upper-class friends? Can’t one of them lend us the money?” Audrey suggested.

  Gwendoline huffed. “Do you think any of them will have anything to do with me now that I’m no longer Lady Gwendoline? And I’ll soon be a divorced woman, too, a social pariah.”

  Everyone slouched back into their seats.

  Zelda made a frustrated groan. “What we need is something to pin against him. He’s as crooked as a ferret’s eye. If only I’d had the forethought to pinch some documents from the factory office proving he bypassed safety regulations. Did you know that the women regularly had food poisoning from the meat for the pies?”

  Gwendoline winced. “How dreadful. It doesn’t surprise me, though. I have no idea how we could catch him. He’s meticulous about covering his tracks, obsessed with it. The estate farm is churning out far more food than is being officially recorded. He’s earning thousands funneling it through to the black market.”

  “Can we find a way to prove it?” Audrey said.

  “Barlow’s in it, too,” Gwendoline said. “I’m sure they have a double accounting system—one for the officials, one for them. But heaven only knows where they keep it.”

  Suddenly, Nell sat forward. “I know where it is.”

  The three women stared at her.

  “I do! Paolo, an Italian POW who used to work at the farm under Barlow, he told me about the other account book. We’d gone to the old shooting hut to get ducks for a dinner party, and it was filled with illegally caught fowl. He explained what Barlow was doing with all the extra produce. He said he’d seen the book. Barlow keeps it beneath the floorboards under the desk in the farm office. Apparently, they’re doing big business.”

  Everyone looked from Nell to Gwendoline.

  There was a pause, and then with decisiveness, Gwendoline got to her feet, picked up Audrey’s cloth bag, and headed for the door. “I’ll see if it’s there. If we find it, we can take it up to my Ministry of Food supervisor in London, Mr. Alloway. I bet he would be eager to see something like this.”

  Audrey reached the back door before her. “I’m coming with you. It’ll be easier with the two of us.”

  Together they headed briskly up the hill, and soon they were peering around the edge of the barn into the farmyard. In it were two Italian POWs, but they were walking lazily into one of the stables, and soon the place was deserted.

  Silently counting to three, the two sisters dashed through the yard to the farm office. It only took them a few minutes to move the desk and lift the loose floorboards, hearts racing, ears alert.
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br />   Crouching on the floor together, they pulled out the large, slightly tattered black book.

  “This is it.” Gwendoline paused for a brief moment, feeling the weight of what she had beneath her fingers. This was the hard evidence they needed. A shiver ran down her spine. Was she really prepared to put her soon-to-be ex-husband in prison?

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” she whispered to Audrey, feeling fear well up inside her. “He’s so powerful, Aude. He’ll find a way to get out of it—buy his way out like he always does. Then he’ll come looking for me.”

  Audrey’s eyes, wide with alarm, looked at hers. “Perhaps we should leave it, put the book back, pretend to the others it wasn’t there. Look Gwen, I know that you’re doing this for me. But if he comes after you—”

  Anger welled up in her. “I’m not just doing it for you, Aude. I’m doing it for me. I’m doing it for every time he’s put me down, for every time he’s hit me or treated me like a possession of his that isn’t quite up to scratch.”

  “Shh,” Audrey said with alarm, taking the book and shoving it into the bag. “After what you’ve just said, I’m taking the book whether you like it or not.”

  Gwendoline opened her mouth to protest.

  “Shh,” Audrey ordered again. “We can talk about this later. Put the floorboard back and move the desk into place. We don’t want them finding out it’s gone before we’re safely home.”

  Looking both ways to make sure it was clear, they tore across the yard, around the bottom of the barn, then headed out onto the open path through the meadow.

  Sprinting for all she was worth, Gwendoline tried to keep up with Audrey, who was taller and fitter, and suddenly she was taken back in time to a memory of them as girls, running through the meadow, playing games, Aude looking after her, in charge.

  Now it was both of them helping each other. Together their strengths evened them out.

  Once they were over the crest of the hill, they stopped for breath.