Doubting Abbey

by Tonge, Samantha

  Emo-guy’s brow furrowed. Crap. Of course. I bet Germany didn’t have a monarchy.

  ‘That’s what they call their most talented pop family,’ I said with a smile. ‘Franz, um, Strudel and his wife. They’re a bit like the Osbournes. We were working on a charity project together. He knows my brother.’

  Great recovery! Although it concerned me how lies tripped off my tongue. As a child, Dad warned me that, sooner or later, porkies always tripped people up.

  My demonstration finally over, I chilled as they made their desserts. Not a bad morning, all in all—apart from me nicking my finger on the peeler and taking ages to chop the onion. Top chefs always took their time, I’d explained, warming to my theme— apparently it was a little-known secret that the frantic slicing you saw on TV bruised vegetables and ruined the flavour.

  Inwardly I chuckled, waiting for the onslaught I’d probably get from real-life chefs on Twitter. Yet it would all be good publicity and who could argue with me when these dishes turned out fab? Humming quietly after a quick interview update with Charlie on everyone’s progress, I took my stew out of the oven.

  Except that ‘fab’ wasn’t exactly the word that escaped my lips. Instead I almost mumbled a different F-word. The gravy and meat had totally dried out. All the students’ stews were the same. Urgh! Why had I ordered them not to bother leaving the pots’ lids on? Ah, yes – it was cos know-it-all Miss Diamond disagreed, which made me even more determined to stick to my guns.

  As for the baked apples, I paid the price again for thinking I knew better. The recipe had suggested a moderate heat for twenty minutes. But apples are as hard as tennis balls, aren’t they, so I’d tweaked the recipe, changing the oven temperature to the highest possible. The result? Forget tennis – these were black snooker balls.

  Thank God for the Apple and Blue Cheese salad that at least looked half-decent. We all picked up forks.

  ‘As any good chef knows,’ I said, ‘it’s not presentation but flavour that’s king.’ Perhaps there was a tiny chance that, despite appearances, the menu would taste amaaazin’.

  We all dug into our salads. I coughed. My throat itched. Suddenly, it burst into flames. Miss Diamond gasped and grabbed her glass of water. The two men spluttered.

  Eyes watering, I re-checked the recipe. One tablespoon of dried mustard in the vinaigrette? Even easy-going Reverend White had questioned that. Okay, so I’d upped it from one teaspoon, but I’d never seen mustard power before – it was weaker than the readymade stuff you buy in jars, right? Or, rather, wrong.

  ‘This lesson is a joke, Miss Croxley,’ muttered Miss Diamond. ‘No offence to Lord Croxley, but I’ve paid good money for this and my ten-year-old niece cooks better than this.’

  ‘Perhaps the stew will be better,’ said Reverend White, as tears pricked my eyes. Cautiously, I took a mouthful. It parched the mouth and the apple cubes felt as hard as dice.

  Miss Diamond pulled off her apron. ‘I’m not even going to try that ridiculous-looking dessert. Call yourself a chef?’

  Emo-guy nodded. ‘Sorry, Miss Croxley. You must be having an off day.’

  ‘If you just let me explain,’ I said, willing tears not to fall. ‘It’s these new ovens… Perhaps I should have checked the equipment.’

  Reverend White shook his head and tutted. ‘Honesty is a virtue, young lady, unlike pointing the finger at innocent people – or objects.’

  Miss Diamond tossed off her apron and stalked out. The Reverend followed her lead. At least he folded his and smiled at me before striding past the cameras. Then, without catching my eye, emo-guy skulked out last. I stared at Gaynor, who looked a little bit too pleased. Roxy gave me a sheepish smile. I suppose it at least made good telly – even though I’d let down Lady C, Abbey…everyone.

  Muttering something about a headache, I hurtled out of the room to the front of the house and past the students, who were chatting in the entrance corridor. Ignoring Miss Diamond’s calls for a refund, I rushed past the Earl and Edward, who were just outside the open main doors by the fountain. Lowering my gaze, I speed-walked around to the back of the house, towards the perfect place to hide—the maze.

  Talk about embarrassing. Yet I couldn’t help a small smile as I remembered Miss Diamond’s bulging eyes when she saw the burnt baked apples. I charged into the avenues of bushes. Straggly bits caught my blouse but I carried on, running now, around corners, into dead-ends… Panting, I finally ended up in a circle of the hedge surrounding a rosebush in a big pot. This little area was turfed. It must be the middle.

  I collapsed onto the grass, breathing in woody smells as I bent up my knees and covered my face with my hands. Could it have gone any worse? No. Had I ruined Abbey’s reputation? Yes. Would I be the laughing stock of the nation tomorrow night? No doubt.

  I sniffed loudly. At least I gave it my best shot. And, without that dressing, the salad was probably pretty good. What’s more, I’d enjoyed it, this being the first time I’d ever prepared a three-course meal. But perhaps learning how to cook was more difficult than I’d ever thought.

  Dust flew up towards my face as footsteps stopped right by me. Breathing heavily, someone sat down. My heart sank as I looked up.

  ‘Apologies, Cousin,’ I said. ‘If it’s down to me, there’s no way we’ll win this show.’

  ‘Roxy filled me in.’ His mouth twitched. ‘I know I keep saying that Croxley women are made of strong stuff, but it doesn’t mean they can stomach generous portions of mustard and charcoaled apple.’

  ‘You aren’t…disappointed?’

  His eyes twinkled.

  ‘What did Uncle say?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Edward. ‘He was too busy trying to placate Miss Diamond, who’s threatening to take us to court.’

  ‘How dare she! I mean…’ Cool as a cucumber, remember. ‘Goodness. On what grounds?’

  He grinned.

  ‘Ha, ha. Very funny joke.’ Spurts of warmth tickled the inside of my chest and I grinned back.

  ‘Secretly, I think Father is pleased that the Academy’s first day wasn’t a roaring success. Sometimes he can be a stubborn old fool.’ Edward rubbed the back of his neck. ‘You were nervous. There was little time to prepare. Father and I expected a lot from you. Perhaps… I never thought I’d say this, but we should get in a chef, just for Wednesday. Until you find your feet. They won’t be family, but…’ He shrugged and, even though my head told me to agree with him—aarghh!— unfortunately, I gave a different reply.

  ‘Not on your nelly. Wednesday will be different. My, um, aunt—Lady Constance Woodfold – she believes that, with a courageous spirit and correct frame of mind, a true lady can achieve anything. Today has been a temporary glitch.’

  ‘Really? Well, that’s an admirable attitude.’

  We looked at each other. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it and stood up. At that moment, Kathleen appeared, carrying two glasses of that fancy red drink with cucumber and strawberries in.

  ‘A wee Pimms sorts out any nerves,’ she said.

  I smiled at her, those spurts of warmth in my chest glowing stronger.

  ‘Not for me, Kathleen,’ said Edward. ‘Whilst she’s here, Miss Diamond wants to have a look at the books. You take my drink. I’m sure my cousin could do with the company.’

  ‘Erm… If you’re sure – but His Lordship will be expecting lunch.’

  ‘Leave him to me,’ said Edward and disappeared.

  ‘Yes, do join me, Kathleen,’ I said. ‘Those drinks look gorgeous.’

  She inspected the grass before sitting next to me, then passed me a drink. Just in time, I remembered not to rudely clink glasses.

  Kathleen stared at my fingernails. Crap. Without realizing it, I must have bitten my thumbnail.

  ‘My hands are in a terrible state after that cooking,’ I said, and forced a laugh.

  She sucked in her cheeks, shook her head and then stared me straight in the eyes.

  ‘Miss, can I tell you som
ething?’ she said in a low voice, and leant forward.

  ‘Of course.’ Ooh, interesting… What could this be?

  ‘Your father – the Honourable Richard Croxley… Little Dickie, that’s how he was known at Applebridge Hall. Well, Lucy Dearing worked here before me as cook, and always had a soft spot for him. Lovely lady, she is. It was thanks to her that I got an interview with the Earl’s wife, the Countess. Lucy’s husband regularly travelled to Scotland on business and knew my father well. When Lucy got pregnant, they decided they could afford for her to be a full-time mum. Through her husband, Lucy heard I was looking for a secure position and the canny lass put in a good word for me, down here.’

  I nodded, wondering what she was going to tell me, hoping it was juicy enough to boost ratings. I could slip it into a conversation, next time I had my mic on.

  ‘Well, I met her just before I started. Och, such a kind nature. Just so fond of little Dickie. I don’t think His Lordship knows this, but your Da still sends her a Christmas card every year.’

  Was that it? I gave a quiet sigh. It was hardly like announcing she knew the whereabouts of Lord Lucan.

  ‘On in years now, Lucy is, but we still speak on the phone every Hogmanay. Do you know what she told me this year?’

  Aha! I held my breath.

  ‘Little Dickie always personalized his cards with a word or two about his family. Lucy felt this time he seemed more reflective than in years past. He talked about Applebridge Hall and everything he missed. He even mentioned your visit here, all those years ago.’

  ‘How sweet.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Aye. According to your Da, only last Christmas you reminisced about the oatcakes made in my kitchen – and yet this morning you could have sworn they were fairy cakes.’

  The Pimms almost choked me now.

  ‘Eyes don’t lose specks of colour, lassie,’ she said, ‘and no lady I know ever bites her nails. You can’t cook for toffee and you give that young Nick, who’s on the staff, the glad eye… Nae, something’s not right. The game’s over. Tell me who you are this instant and what you’ve done with the real Abigail Croxley. It’s obvious you’re an imposter!’

  LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY

  Monday 3rd September

  2.30p.m. Ahead of tomorrow night’s show, let me give you an exclusive insight into today’s first cookery lesson. Most appropriately, Abigail chose an apple-themed menu. Perhaps, blog-readers, you’d share with me your favourite dish using that fruit? Mine is good old-fashioned apple crumble served with piping-hot custard.

  I digress—back to this morning… As is often the case at the beginning of any project, not everything went to plan. My mother always said I expected a lot of myself and other people—which today has been proven true. Therefore, I stood back, took stock and realized Father and I had given my cousin little time to prepare. Onwards and upwards. In her view, this is a solitary hiccup that has already been suppressed.

  Forgive me now for talking of money, but I’ve promised to be honest with you… I’ve just finished going through the books with our accountant. Apparently, we can manage financially until the end of the month —no longer. Only yesterday, a good friend, the Duke of Missfield, rang to wish us luck and said he didn’t mind if I shared his story. Last year he and his family moved out of their Tudor mansion as it had fallen into such a state of disrepair. The wiring was dangerous and it suffered from dry rot. Rather than sell off estate valuables, such as ornaments and paintings, to survive, he took a tremendously difficult decision. The estate now belongs to the National Trust. The Duke lives in a two-bedroom flat and sells car insurance.

  A tale which – I hope – dispels some myths about aristocrats. We may live in impressive grounds but, from our point of view, we are mere caretakers. Whilst Applebridge Hall is my home, it really belongs to our ancestors, centuries of visitors and the nation. Baron Marwick might call us snobs but, in all honesty, our needs are simple: preserving jobs; maintaining art; protecting history.

  Right. Enough chat for now. Off to inspect the orchards and reports of crumbling plaster in the Long Gallery.

  Chapter 10

  ‘No! Not the police!’ I shouted, heart thumping, and chased Kathleen through the maze.

  Her Scottish lilt carried over the top of the hedge on my right. ‘If you won’t tell me the truth, lassie, perhaps I’ll fetch Mr Thompson and his gun instead.’

  ‘This is all a terrible mistake,’ I called and turned the corner. Urgh. If only Kathleen had stayed put and given me time to create a cover story. Or, even better—if only I could tell her the truth. Instead, after several probing questions, she’d snorted at my poor answers, huffed and puffed to her feet and disappeared.

  ‘Think of the family name,’ I called. ‘Your accusations will certainly lose us the competition. The, um, only hope we have is to endear ourselves to the nation with our strong family values…’

  I stopped running. What was the point? My secret was out. All decorum lost now, I slumped to the ground. ‘Shit.’

  ‘That unladylike word is further evidence that your blood is no bluer than mine.’ Kathleen had appeared out of nowhere. ‘One last wee chance— who are you? Where is the real Abigail?’

  I scrambled up. ‘Please, Kathleen. Just trust me.’

  ‘Och! Famous last words! You’re talking to the woman who scrutinizes every bill, receipt and bank statement that comes her way with a magnifying glass.’ She sighed. ‘You leave me no choice. No doubt Constable Jenkins can get to the bottom of this.’

  I bit my lip, a small pocket of relief swelling in my chest. While coming clean was a risk, I could at last stop deceiving one person. ‘Okay—but if I tell you the truth… Not a word to anyone else.’

  ‘I can’t promise that. The Croxleys might be in danger.’

  ‘The only thing they’re in danger of is losing the competition. I’m here to help them win all that dosh.’ There was no point in speaking like a lady now. I lowered my voice. ‘Look, let’s go into the kitchen. I’m mega thirsty. I’ll tell you everything over one of your nice cups of tea.’

  Kathleen crossed her arms under her bosom and wiggled side to side for a moment. ‘Okay – but I want honest talking, or else there’ll be trouble.’

  I followed her out of the maze and we hurried into Applebridge Hall.

  ‘There’s your tea,’ she said ten minutes later and sat down opposite me at the kitchen pine table. For once, she hadn’t switched on her Elvis music. ‘Now… Spill.’

  ‘What, the drink?’ I smiled.

  ‘This is nae joke.’

  ‘Agreed. Look, I’ve hated fooling you all but, the thing is… Abbey – my flatmate – asked me to replace her. After I dyed my hair blonde, removed my false eyelashes and let the fake tan wear off, we kind of look alike.’

  Kathleen stirred her strong tea, eyes fixed on my face, and eventually let out a low whistle. ‘But why? I know His Lordship and Abigail’s da have had their differences, but this is about saving the building that has been home to their family for, och, generations. Does that mean nothing to your flatmate? I’ve only met her briefly, all those years ago, but she seemed a generous, kind-hearted sort.’

  ‘She is! But her boyfriend, Zak…’

  ‘Och aye… I should have known a man would be involved.’

  ‘But it’s more than that – they both headed urgently to Rwanda. Newly orphaned children need them there.’

  Her face softened. ‘So, it was you or nothing. Does anyone else know?’

  ‘Only her aunt—Lady Constance Woodfold. She taught me about deportment and manners. Until the last minute, we assumed I’d be running some coffee shop – not a high-falutin’ cookery academy.’

  ‘Lady Woodfold’s reputation precedes her. I’ve heard of her finishing school.’ Kathleen leant back in her chair. ‘Tell me… Do you know anything about food preparation?’

  ‘Um… I make a mean cheese and pickle sandwich.’ Legs apart, I slumped back in my chair. It was a relief, ju
st for a moment, not to have to worry about how modest I looked or whether my voice sounded syrup-smooth. And mega to feel the sense of guilt slipping away as I finally told Kathleen real things about me – Gemma Goodwin.

  ‘Did your mam never teach you the basics?’

  I shrugged. ‘She died when I was little. Dad’s not a bad cook, but I guess he didn’t always have time to play Jamie Oliver.’

  Kathleen’s lined face smoothed out further and she ran a hand through her silver-red curls. ‘What’s your real name?’

  ‘Gemma—Gemma Goodwin.’

  She swilled a mouthful of tea around her mouth and swallowed, before shaking her head.

  ‘I am doing this as a favour,’ I blurted out. ‘I could leave here at any moment, if I wanted.’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘No! I promised Abbey. And…I get it; I understand why winning the show is so important.’

  Kathleen pursed her lips, but her eyes crinkled at the corners and looked warmer than before. She looked at her watch.

  ‘His Lordship will be waiting for his very late lunch,’ she said finally and put down her cup. ‘Will you be eating with him, Miss?’

  I clapped my hands. ‘You mean it? You won’t reveal my true identity? Wow! Thanks, Kathleen! I’ll do my mega best to win that million dollars!’

  ‘To leave now would just bring scandal to the house. Och, but if you jeopardise their chances of happiness in any way…’ She shook a teaspoon at me as if it were a sword.

  ‘I promise to be on my best behaviour!’

  ‘You’ll need my help if Wednesday’s cookery lesson is to go ahead. Today’s was shambolic, but you don’t strike me as the kind of girl to give up at the first sign of trouble.’

  ‘That would be amaaaazin’, Kathleen. We could practice a few dishes tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘All day, more like,’ she said. ‘I saw what you did to those apples.’ Her eyes crinkled again. Then she got up, fetched a loaf from the bread bin and took butter and corned beef out of the fridge.