by Kim M Watt
Collins covered his ears. “No one has confessed. I have heard nothing that makes me need to take action.”
“Me either,” Adams said, with a final look at Alice. “Unfortunately.”
Alice smiled, and said, “You were looking for a reason to arrest me? Again?”
“Of course not you! I just want to know about this mysterious husband!”
“He seemed most unsatisfactory,” Alice said. “More cordial?”
“Which is exactly what you called your mysterious missing husband the first time I met you!”
“I understand there are many unsatisfactory husbands in the world.”
“She’s right,” Miriam said. “That’s why I never bothered.”
DI Adams snorted and gave her arms an exasperated sort of wave, as if to wash her hands of all of them. “Fine. Fine.”
“I’m calling the whole thing a success,” Thompson declared. “No one got eaten, all our tracks are covered, and the farms are saved. Go, us!”
“Indeed,” Alice said. “Go, us!” She raised her glass, and everyone followed suit, even DI Adams.
“Go, us.” They drank, then the DI added, “Can I just point out, though, that it all would have gone a lot easier if everyone had just listened to me?”
“And still she thinks the Toot Hansell Women’s Institute might listen to her,” Thompson said.
“I live in hope.” DI Adams waved a sandwich past Dandy’s nose, and he rolled over, snapping it from her hand.
“So weird,” Collins said. “To me, that sandwich just vanished into thin air.”
“Better than seeing it go down, I would imagine,” Beaufort said.
“And definitely better than seeing him in person. In hulked-out form, or whatever he was.”
Miriam made a face, and picked up a plate of cucumber sandwiches. “DI Adams, are you back to Leeds now?”
Collins burst out laughing, and DI Adams looked as if she wanted to throw something at him. “No,” she said, her voice stiff. “I’m staying.”
“You’re staying?” Miriam squeaked, and Alice smiled.
“Oh, well done, DI Adams. I’m very pleased to hear that.”
“Wonderful,” Beaufort declared. “We shall see more of you!”
DI Adams screwed her face up as if she wasn’t sure that was really a good thing. “It just makes sense. I spend half my time running out here anyway, because you lot can’t keep out of trouble.”
“Here?” Miriam asked, dropping half a cucumber sandwich on her lap, then yelping as Dandy vacuumed it up. Mortimer wondered if it was really any more alarming than seeing those long yellow teeth and hulking, dreadlocked shoulders.
“Not here. God, no. Skipton. I’m not that far gone.”
“I knew she’d come around,” Collins said. “It’s working with me that’s the main draw, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Beaufort said gravely, and DI Adams gaped at him, then laughed and shook her head. Mortimer hadn’t heard her laugh before. It was a warm sound, and it belonged to someone younger than she usually felt, younger than the steel-blue threads of tension that always wound through the canary-yellow scent of her.
“I guess this is the next step in my career, then. The dragon detective and her invisible dog.”
“That sounds most wonderful,” Beaufort said, and DI Adams leaned over to put a hand on his shoulder, her fingers long and strong against the rich gold of his scales. Dandy nudged her arm, jealous, and she leaned back in her chair, lifting her face to the sky, letting one hand rest on the dog’s head.
“It may be tolerable,” she announced, and Mortimer smelt the scent of her changing, less strawberries after a thunderstorm and more the crisp smart scent of shadows in the dawn. He looked at Alice, who smelt of old books and sharply folded thought, and Miriam, who was a wonderfully confused jumble of colour and light, rainbows shattering on heather, and Collins, who was less familiar, but had a definite taste of bad puns and liquorice to him. And he thought about the fact that his kind could still be treading careful old paths, scavenging for wood in the night and bartering worthless treasure with dwarfs when the wood ran out in the winter and they needed coal. Needed coal to stop the eggs dying and old dragons falling into a frozen hibernation from which they would never wake, the caverns cold and still, mausoleums to dragons who crept across the world on fearful feet.
Beaufort put a heavy paw on Mortimer’s shoulder and regarded him with those old gold eyes, and Mortimer thought that the High Lord knew exactly what he was thinking. He started to flush lilac, wanting to explain that he wasn’t congratulating himself or anything, but Beaufort leaned his head close and said, “Magic walks with dragons again, lad.”
Mortimer looked at his paws and found he was entirely his own rich purple-blue, luminous with happiness, and thought that Beaufort was right. Because if friendship between kinds wasn’t magic, he couldn’t imagine what was. He took the scone that Miriam offered him, putting the whole thing in his mouth before the cream could melt and the jam fall off, and amended the thought. Friendship and scones. That was magic.
And it was beautiful.
Recipes
Tea and baked goods feature heavily in the majority of my stories, not just because they’re a way of life for the W.I., but because food can be so much more than fuel. It can be everything from self-care to apology, celebration to commiseration, welcome to farewell. It forms bonds, memories, and shared experiences. It’s a language we all speak, a common ground between everyone. Even dragons.
Besides, cake is life.
So, in the following pages you’ll find a few recipes from the pages of Game of Scones. No blue potato salad, though.
Although if anyone fancies trying one, send me a photo. I would love to see that.
* * *
All recipes are courtesy of Mick Carbert, also known as the SO, who is, as it happens, a most wonderful pastry chef. Although I have (as always) tweaked them, so it’s not his fault if they’re not the classic take. That one’s on me.
* * *
Note: I use UK measurements (metric). I’ve converted them to US, but this is a less than exact science (which sounds better than “I got a bit confused between cups, sticks, and ounces, so just took a stab at one.” Which is more true). You may need to experiment and tweak a little. Good luck!
Elderflower Cordial
I adore elderflower cordial with sparkling water. It’s lightly floral, and as long as you don’t use too much, it’s more fragrant than sickly. And there’s something entirely magical about padding around in the bush collecting flowers from trees, and turning it into something so delightful. Also, the only way it could feel more English is by having it with a side of Victoria sponge.
Tip – do your flower collection well away from roads, and pick them over carefully to get rid of wildlife.
(And no – I don’t know how Gert manages to get hers alcoholic. I suspect there may be some judicious addition of gin in there somewhere …)
* * *
1½/ 1½ quarts water
1 kg / 4½ cups sugar
30 large elderflower heads
4 lemons, zested with potato peeler and cut into slices
50 g / ¼ cup citric acid (optional)
* * *
Heat the sugar and water over a low heat until the sugar’s dissolved, then bring to boil and turn off the heat.
* * *
Give the flowers a little swirl in a bowl of cold water to get rid of any lingering dirt or insects, then add to syrup along with lemon slices, zest, and citric acid (if using).
* * *
Allow to infuse for 24 hours, then sieve the mix through a tea towel to get rid of all the bits. Store in sterilised bottles in the fridge for up to 6 weeks, or freeze to keep for longer (the citric acid with help preserve the cordial – if you don’t use it, just drink a little quicker or freeze a little more!).
* * *
Drink diluted to taste with water or sparkling water, use to flavour sparkling
wine, or drizzle over ice cream or cake. It’s summer in a bottle.
Nankhatai
Just as food brings us together as individuals, so it brings together cultures. My mum adored Chinese food, and cooked it well, so we ate a lot of that when I was growing up. One of my aunts is Fijian-Indian, and her dahl is my absolute definition of comfort food, as full of love as it is of spice. Some of my absolute favourite dishes are from Turkish and Lebanese cuisines, and one of the best things about travelling, for me, is trying new dishes.
But I had not ventured much into the area of different desserts until I realised I needed a Priya-specific biscuit. Some research and a lot of dithering later, I decided on this definitely not entirely authentic version of Nankhatai, a shortbread-like cookie popular in northern India and Pakistan. Some substitution was used, as I wanted to make sure most of us would have the ingredients in stock for it.
I admit I was a little wary about the sheer quantity of cardamom involved, as that stuff is strong (if glorious), so I started with a half batch of cookies.
Shouldn’t have. These are so ridiculously good and more-ish and delightful and (in my humble opinion) way better than regular shortbread. More, please.
* * *
120 g / ¾ cup + 1 Tbsp icing sugar
280 g / 10 oz ghee or salted butter at room temperature
320 g / 2 cups flour
1/8 tsp baking powder
¾ tsp baking soda
100 g / a little under 1/3 cupsemolina
1 tsp cardamom
4 Tbsp ground almonds or pistachios (or a mix)
Pistachios or almonds to decorate
* * *
Line two cookie sheets, and preheat oven to 180°C/350°F.
* * *
Beat icing sugar and butter/ghee until light and fluffy – about 10 minutes or so.
* * *
Combine dry ingredients in a small bowl and peer at the butter mix suspiciously, as it really won’t look much different than at the start.
* * *
Decide it must be 10 minutes, because you forgot to time it.
* * *
Add dry ingredients to butter mix and combine gently. It’ll be quite a stiff dough once it comes together.
* * *
Form into balls of roughly a couple of tablespoons each and press down a little to flatten. You can get a bit decorative on the top if you fancy, or just top with chopped nuts.
* * *
Bake until golden on top and gently browned at the edges, around 12 minutes or so.
* * *
Don’t bother to wait for them to cool. They’re amazing warm, too.
Rhubarb Cake
My nana always had rhubarb in her garden, and preserved in glass jars in her pantry. We mostly ate it with custard, or occasionally as a crumble, but I feel she would have approved of this cake. It makes me think of her, anyway, and that can only be a good thing.
* * *
For the cake:
300 g / 10½ oz rhubarb, roughly chopped
Juice of 1/2 lemon
165 g / 1 cup self-raising flour or plain flour + 1½ tsp baking powder
175 g / 6¼ oz unsalted butter
175 g / ¾ cup sugar
3 large eggs
2 tsp vanilla
* * *
For the topping:
25 g / 1 oz unsalted butter
2 Tbsp self-raising flour
1 Tbsp sugar
2 tsp ground ginger
* * *
Heat oven to 180°C/350°F. Grease and line a 23 cm square baking tin (a brownie tin is about perfect).
* * *
Toss the rhubarb with the lemon juice and set aside.
* * *
Beat all other cake ingredients together, then fold in about half the rhubarb. Chuck it in the tin, then top with remaining rhubarb (so technical! This is so my sort of cake).
* * *
For the topping, rub the butter into the flour, then stir in sugar and ginger. Spread evenly over cake, then bake for about 45 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out with just a few crumbs attached.
* * *
Cool for about 10 minutes before removing from the tin, and serve warm or cold with a dusting of icing sugar and maybe some cream if you’re feeling fancy.
Jam Roly-Poly
English puddings. A little heavy and dense, usually steamed rather than baked, and served warm with lashings of custard or pouring cream. I’ll admit, as a Kiwi they’re not that familiar to me. I grew up on apple crumble and (a lot of) cake, but as odd as a steamed pudding seems to me, there’s something about these traditional puddings that just scream pure comfort.
Although this one is baked, because steaming seems like a lot of faff …
* * *
250 g / 1½ cups self-raising flour, or plain flour + 2½ tsp baking powder
125 g / 4½ oz suet (I use veggie suet)
25 g / 2 Tbsp sugar
20 mL / 1 Tbsp + 1 tsp milk
5 Tbsp (or more) jam of your choice
1 egg, beaten
* * *
Heat oven to 200°C/400°F, and lightly grease a baking tray.
* * *
Mix flour, suet and sugar together with a pinch of salt, the gradually add the milk until you have a nice soft (but not sticky) dough.
* * *
Tip dough out onto a floured surface and roll into a rectangle about 20 x 30 cm, and about 1 cm thick. Spread jam evenly over the top – you could add a few berries if you wanted, as well. Leave a border of about 1 cm at the edges.
* * *
Brush the edges with some spare milk, then roll up from the short side. Transfer to the baking tray with the seam underneath, then brush with beaten egg and sprinkle with some extra sugar.
* * *
Bake for 30–40 minutes until cooked all the way through, and serve warm with custard (obviously).
Jammy Dodgers
In New Zealand, the equivalent of these is really the Shrewsbury biscuit, which are just bought in packets at the store. I’d never seen anyone make one at home, and, to be honest, with a name like Shrewsbury I don’t know why anyone would bother.
Jammy Dodger, though. Now that is a name.
And this is a biscuit worthy of that name.
* * *
For the biscuit:
125 g / ¾ cup flour
100 g / 3½ oz butter, slightly softened
50 g / 1/3 cup icing sugar
Pinch of salt
1 egg yolk
* * *
For the filling:
140 / 5 oz butter
280 g / just under 2 cups icing sugar
¼ tsp vanilla
jam
* * *
To make pastry, pile the flour up on your worksurface and make a well in the middle. Pop the butter, icing sugar and salt into the well, and work them together.
* * *
Once combined (leaving the flour out of it as much as possible), work the egg yolk in as well. Now you can start to bring the flour into the mix. Keep gently working everything together until fully combined.
* * *
Once all ingredients are mixed in, knead the dough a few times only, just until smooth. Roll into a ball, wrap in clingfilm, and chill for about an hour.
* * *
Heat the oven to 170°C/340°F, and line baking sheets.
* * *
Roll the pastry out to about a 2–3 mm thickness, then cut out an even amount of discs using a 4-cm cutter. Or, you know, a glass, if you’re poorly equipped like me. Try not to work the dough too much if you re-roll it, as it’ll start getting tough. You should get around 30 discs altogether.
* * *
Cut a circle out of the middle of half the discs with a small cutter – hearts and stars are also acceptable. As are weird wonky shapes if you’re just chopping them out like me.
* * *
Brush with a little beaten egg and bake for about 7 minutes, or until golden. Allow to cool before f
illing.
* * *
Meanwhile, make the buttercream. Beat the butter until soft, then add half the icing sugar. Beat until smooth, then add remaining icing sugar and vanilla extract, and beat until smooth. You can also add a bit of milk if it’s looking too thick to work with – you want it pipeable, but solid enough that it holds its shape.
* * *
Pipe (you can use a Ziploc bag with the corner cut off if you’re like me, and too disorganised to have ever remembered to buy a piping bag) a ring of icing on your tops (the ones with the hole in the middle). Press them gently onto the bases, enough to spread the icing slightly and to get them to stick together. Then fill the hole left in the middle with a dollop of jam.
* * *