The Heart of love Read online

  She was about to protest at his rudeness, when she remembered that she was supposed to be a man and he was only treating her as he would a fellow crewmember.

  ‘I will have to get used to this,’ she scolded herself. ‘I am no longer Lady Verena Rosslyn, but a common chef, Jean Armand. I must steel myself not to expect the kind of niceties that I have previously enjoyed.’

  The Captain halted and spoke, “This is the galley.”

  Verena looked around her. It was not at all what she had expected. Spotless surfaces gleamed everywhere – she could see that the ship had one of latest fuel-burning stoves.

  It was almost the same size as the one at Rosslyn Hall. Shiny, stainless steel pans were stacked up on shelves and there were several brace of pheasants hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

  In the centre of the galley was a beech-topped table with all manner of knives and implements hanging from it.

  She spied a tower of plates that even from a distance she could see was of fine bone china.

  A pile of tammies sat neatly folded on a shelf next to a stack of bowls that ranged from one the size of a dariole mould to a huge great vessel that would hold nearly a gallon.

  “This is the pantry –”

  The Captain opened the door to a small cupboard, Verena stuck her head in and all manner of exotic smells wafted up and tickled her nostrils – cinnamon, pepper, a sharp tang of vinegar, the rich aromas of olive oil, coffee and yeast.

  There were tins of anchovies, jars of herbes de Provence and a small casket of green olives, marinating in a rich concoction of coriander and lemon peel. She opened a flour bin and sniffed.

  ‘French flour! I would know that smell anywhere.’

  There were packets of buckwheat and rye, jars of honey and bunches of dried lavender, thyme and marjoram.

  “His Lordship is very particular and will only eat French food,” explained the Captain.

  “The last chef we had was so terrible, we had to throw him off at Boulogne. His Lordship would hang me from the mizzen if I hired anyone else as bad.”

  “You will find my cuisine tres bon.”

  Verena could feel her nerves jangling. Not only did the owner want a chef, he wanted the best.

  “Well, young lad, do you think I’m going to just take your word for it?”

  Verena felt light-headed as the Captain considered his next sentence, an unnerving habit, she felt.

  “So you won’t mind, Jean Armand, if I put you to the test before I hire you, will you?”

  Verena shook her head, her stomach in knots and her mind awhirl. She could not think of a single recipe at that moment, her mind was a complete blank.

  What was the Captain going to ask her to do next? He appeared to be ruminating. Verena stood there awkwardly, uncomfortably hot, her cap irritating her scalp.

  Finally, he spoke,

  “Oeufs en cocotte. That will do. I assume you know how to make them?”

  Verena stared at the man, her mind still empty of any inspiration.

  “Well?”

  “Mais, bien sur,” she replied. “This I can do.”

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. You will find new-laid eggs on the side and I’ll get the Steward to bring down some fresh milk for you straight away. The cocottes are on the shelf over there –”

  “Fifteen minutes?” breathed Verena, her heart in her mouth.

  “Fifteen minutes!” confirmed the Captain, shutting the door behind him.

  Standing alone in the kitchen, Verena did not know which way to turn.

  “I cannot fail, I must not!” she cried aloud. “My whole future depends on this dish being just right.”

  And with that, she removed her jacket and cap and took down a bowl from the shelf –

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Verena could see by the clock on the wall that time was ticking away.

  ‘Now, if I can just remember Mademoiselle’s secret ingredient, I can begin.’

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Steward, carrying a large pitcher of milk covered with a cloth.

  “Welcome on board,” he said, “my name is Arthur. I will return later to show you to your cabin, should the Captain deem you worthy of hiring.”

  Verena stared after the man as he left as quickly as he had arrived.

  She opened the pantry door and began to look for what she needed.

  ‘Butter, yes, I will need some or perhaps there is some cream somewhere instead? Ah, yes, here it is.’

  Her eyes then alighted upon a jar of nutmeg, some had been grated, others were intact.

  ‘At last, Mademoiselle’s secret!’ she enthused, picking up the jar. ‘Now, I must find the cocotte dishes.’

  Climbing onto a stool that she found tucked under a counter, she searched the shelves. Eventually, she found a pile of baking tins and there, sitting on top, were four cocottes.

  Carefully greasing two with butter, she placed a dessertspoonful of cream in each one, followed by a pinch of nutmeg and one of salt and pepper.

  ‘That should enliven the dish. Now, where is the cooked ham, I am certain that I saw a leg hanging up somewhere.’

  She located a ham hanging hidden behind a brace of pheasants and carved off small slithers. She then set a pan of water on to boil.

  Verena anxiously glanced up at the clock – only ten more minutes. Thankfully, this dish was one of the quickest ones that a chef could make. However, although it was simple, it required a delicate touch. The version she was making was not strictly classic oeufs en cocotte, but she felt sure that the Captain would appreciate it nevertheless.

  Gently breaking a new-laid egg into each cocotte, she placed them in the pan of boiling water and turned down the heat.

  By now beads of sweat were starting to trickle down her forehead and the bump on her head was stinging.

  She peeped into the saucepan and added a pinch of cayenne to the yolks.

  ‘Almost done.’

  At that moment, she could hear the heavy footsteps of the Captain returning.

  ‘I must stay calm at all costs. I must not fail at this late stage.’

  “Right, young sir. Your time is up.”

  “One moment, s’il vous plait,” replied Verena gruffly.

  She turned off the pan of water, carefully took out the cocottes and gingerly ran a palette knife around the inside of each one.

  The eggs popped out with ease.

  Verena next took down a fine bone china plate and placed the eggs in the centre, before sprinkling the finely carved slithers of ham over the top.

  “Et voila!” she declared with a flourish.

  The Captain stared at the eggs for a short while then took a fork and prodded them. He sniffed them, cut one in half and then in half again.

  ‘Oh, do hurry up!’ fussed Verena to herself. ‘I cannot bear this wait. What is wrong with the man? Why can he not simply cut it and eat it.’

  But the Captain was taking his time. He lifted a morsel to his mouth, allowing the thick, yellow yolk to burst and spill over his bottom lip.

  “Well?”

  He did not reply but cut another piece of egg and conveyed it to his mouth.

  ‘For pity’s sake. This is worse than the wheel coming off the carriage.’ At last, he deigned to speak.

  “Hmm, not bad,” he pronounced curtly. “They’re passable.”

  Passable! Verena wanted to beat him with her fists after the immense effort she had put into the dish. She composed herself, showing not one flicker of emotion on her young face.

  “So, I am ’ired?” she asked.

  The Captain put down his fork and once again wiped his mouth.

  “You’ll do. Now listen carefully to me, it is most important that you understand.”

  Verena nodded.

  “You will be cooking for the Marquis of Hilchester – a most particular gentleman. He expects the highest possible standards when it comes to his food and demands the best. I think you will agree that you have a cha
llenge ahead.

  “Now, I will go and inform him of your appointment. He will be most pleased that we finally have a new chef on board. You will also be cooking for the Steward and myself, so all meals must be for three persons. You will eat with the rest of the crew. There is a cook who will be arriving shortly for this purpose. He is aware that he cannot prepare meals until you have made his Lordship’s. Is that all clear?”

  “Mais, oui, monsieur.”

  “Good. I might add that his Lordship speaks fluent French, so there should be no misunderstandings about his requirements. I would suggest that you plan some menus before we leave and go ashore to buy supplies. You will find some money in that tin by the stove – you will be expected to account for every last penny you spend and any deficit will be taken out of your wages.”

  He walked through the galley door, leaving Verena with the half-eaten plate of eggs.

  ‘At last I am on my way,’ she encouraged herself as she cleared up the dishes and began to stack them in the sink.

  She looked around the galley once more. This would be her home for the next few months. She could hardly contain her excitement.

  Having washed the pan and dishes, she took down the large volume marked ‘Menus’ from the shelf and began to read it.

  ‘Hmm, I can see that his Lordship does indeed have a most fine palate,’ thought Verena, as she perused the bill of preferred fare.

  Quickly she made a list of provisions she would need, but was interrupted when Arthur the Steward returned carrying the crate of mackerel she had seen earlier.

  “You can have these to be going on with and then one of the crew will bring the rest down for you. Now, I shall show you to your cabin.”

  They proceeded along many long corridors until finally they reached a row of slender doors, barely the width of a fully grown adult. He opened a door near the end of the corridor and beckoned to Verena.

  The cabin was very modest – a bunk, a cabinet and a small sink. The rough-looking blanket on the bed was somewhat stained and Verena shuddered at the thought of having to lie there. It was definitely not what she was used to but she would have to endure it.

  “No time to waste,” said Arthur, “leave your things here and you’d best be off to the market before they close. His Lordship likes everything fresh. Now I must leave you. I have to go and find the new cabin boy – he was due here three hours ago and has yet to arrive.”

  Verena glumly dropped her cases onto the bed and found her way slowly back to the galley.

  ‘I will surely get lost in this maze,’ she thought as she found herself in a strange part of the ship.

  Eventually, Verena entered a corridor that seemed familiar and very soon she was back in the galley.

  She took the tin that contained the money for supplies from the shelf and counted out four half-crowns and some coppers. Her list of what she needed lay on the beech-topped cabinet. She scrutinised it once more.

  There was a wicker basket tucked under a counter near the door, so Verena took it and slipped her list inside her jacket pocket.

  As she emerged blinking into the strong sunlight, she inhaled the salty air and felt excited once more.

  She was on her way. Really on her way.

  Verena quickly found the place where the fishing boats were docking and bought a fine pair of lobsters, still blue and squirming.

  In spite of her being dressed as a boy, she was worried that the passing crowds would see through her disguise. But she garnered not one curious look.

  “Ah, peaches. I do not believe it!” she cried in her new voice, as she spied crates of them on the quayside.

  The old man who was unloading them hardly looked at her.

  “Sixpence a pound to you, sonny.”

  Verena looked aghast. So costly. The man caught her look.

  “They’re from Italy and these ’ere are destined for Fortnum and Mason’s. Finest money can buy.”

  She hesitated for a moment and then recalled the Steward’s words – the Marquis liked his produce fresh. Tonight’s pudding was to be one of her father’s favourites – peches a l’Australienne.

  “I will take two pounds, monsieur, but please make sure they are ripe.”

  The old man gathered a quantity of fruit into a small sack and handed it to Verena.

  Handing over one of her half-crowns, she patiently waited whilst he dug into his pockets and brought out a shiny shilling and a sixpence.

  Thrilled at purchasing the peaches, Verena ran hither and thither, ticking off her list.

  ‘Vanilla pods straight from Madagascar, almonds from Spain, powdered carmine and a few strands of saffron –”

  They all tumbled into Verena’s basket.

  ‘Now I just need some more fresh cream and I am almost done.’ As she walked back through the harbour, she spied a butcher’s shop. Inside the window display was a fine crown of lamb.

  ‘Perfect for tomorrow’s dinner,’ she decided.

  *

  The afternoon sun had started to dip down into the sky by the time Verena returned to the Seahorse, tired yet exhilarated.

  It was with a sense of sadness and feeling a little homesick that she mounted the gangway to the ship. She fervently wished that she had a companion to talk to.

  ‘But perhaps I will find one soon enough. This other cook may be a like-minded fellow.’

  Verena’s basket was very heavy and being unfamiliar with the ship, she lost her footing at the top of the gangway. She struggled to keep hold of her basket and promptly dropped it.

  She was aware of a howl of pain as the basket landed squarely on the toes of the distinguished gentleman who was standing on the deck.

  “Oh, pardon, monsieur,” she muttered quickly, gathering up the basket and a few loose peaches that had slipped out of the sack.

  Without waiting or looking to see whom she had injured, Verena ran quickly below.

  Her heart beat wildly. She crouched on the stairway as she heard the Captain rush over to the gentleman on deck.

  “Your Lordship,” he was saying, “are you hurt? Did you see who was responsible for this?”

  Verena heard a deep manly voice replying,

  “It was only a boy, Captain. I did not see his face. The fellow was wise enough to make himself scarce.”

  “It must be the new cabin boy, your Lordship. I will have him soundly thrashed for his carelessness as soon as I find him.”

  ‘Oh no,’ gasped Verena, still hiding on the stair. ‘That must have been the Marquis of Hilchester! I cannot allow the new cabin boy to take the blame for me. I must confess at once.’

  She heard a slight commotion above and then the Marquis’s deep tones moving off down the port side of the ship. Verena waited until she judged he was a sufficient distance away and then she bolted back up the stairs and out onto the deck.

  The Captain was heading for the bridge.

  “Wait, Capitaine, wait.”

  “Ah, Jean, I trust you are settling in?”

  “Yes, Capitaine, but there is something I ’ave to tell you.”

  There was an agonising silence as the taciturn Captain waited for Verena to speak.

  “It was not the cabin boy who ’urt ’is Lordship, it was moi. Please, do not beat the boy, you may punish me instead.”

  Captain MacDonald regarded Verena’s worried face with amusement for some moments and then spoke,

  “Be off with you, my boy. I am not about to tan the hide off the new chef – you might put hot peppers in my dinner tonight. Now mind you keep out of his Lordship’s way in future. He likes his staff to be seen and not heard.”

  He walked off laughing, leaving Verena red-faced with indignation.

  ‘Well. What a rude man! I’ve a good mind to put prunes in his pudding. This Marquis sounds a most unpleasant fellow, I do hope that I have not flown from one awful situation into another.’

  It took her some time to find the galley but when she pushed open the door, she found a short, dark man inside.
He was wearing a white cap and a large, striped pinafore.

  “Ah, you must be the new chef,” he said smiling. “My name is Jack, I’m the cook for all us ’ere serfs!”

  Verena managed to force a smile, the man was so rough and ready – he looked as if he was far too dirty to be in charge of food.

  “I am Jean,” she responded simply.

  “French, eh?” declared the man, squinting hard at her.

  “Oui,”

  “Hmm, so was the last one and a right parcel of trouble he was. You keep out of my way and I’ll keep out yours.”

  His brusque manner quite took her aback. She could see that she was not going to find a confidant in Jack.

  Verena carefully unpacked her goods, making sure that she kept back the bruised peaches to puree. She put the lobsters in a bucket of water and placed the crown of lamb on the lowest shelf in the pantry.

  She looked again at the evening’s menu.

  To start – a potage de legumes, for the main course homard a la Milanaise and for pudding, her special peches a l’Australienne.

  Just then, Arthur arrived carrying a tray of cups and saucers with a fine silver coffee pot.

  “Here, his Lordship has finished with these. He’s expecting his dinner at half past eight sharp. Mind you don’t keep him waiting – he gets very cross when he’s hungry.”

  “Mon Dieu! What kind of man is zis I work for?”

  “A very fine gentleman,” answered Arthur stiffly.

  “I am sorry, I did not mean to be impoli.”

  There was a tense atmosphere for a moment.

  ‘Oh, I have offended the Steward,’ thought Verena, ‘this will not do, I need him as an ally.’ “Please, take this peach, it is, ’ow you say, ’urt?”

  She held out one of the bruised peaches to Arthur, who regarded it closely before taking it.

  “Thank you, young man. Did you say your name was Jean?”

  Verena nodded.

  “Well, you look after me, Jean, and I will keep an eye out for you. That’s the way we do it on board the Seahorse, isn’t that right, Jack?”

  “Ar,” growled the cook, chopping a side of fatty pork into strips.

  “Tell me, do you know where we are going?” asked Verena hopefully.

  Arthur shrugged.