CHAPTER II.
That very afternoon we set to work, moved our belongings into mother’s room, and dragged up the carpet in our own room. Ann washed the boards for us, while we went off to the stores for the stain. We had to wait till the next morning before we could begin our staining, but it did not take us very long to finish. Ann advised us to let her rub it over with boiled oil, and it certainly looked far better afterwards. That good-natured girl spent her afternoon in unpicking our old carpet to find the brightest pieces to turn into mats.
“Don’t you go down on your knees, miss, to dust these boards,” she impressed upon us more than once. “Where I lived last they had a deal of stained floors, and we always put our soft brooms into a bag of linen and dusted them with that.”
The servants worked very hard, as we did also, so that by the time cook was ready for her new place we had “spring-cleaned” the house all through, staining the floors of the three bedrooms we were using, and putting away all superfluous glass and china, as well as some ornaments and nicknacks.
By cook’s advice we decided to arrange the work as nearly as possible as she and Ann had worked. I, who had all my mornings free, was to be the cook, while Cecilly, who had her music lessons to give, called herself “house-parlour-maid.” Of course, we were always ready to help each other in every detail, and I feel sure that servants would find their work much lighter and pleasanter if only they would work together. The variety even would make it pleasanter, at least, so Cecilly and I found.
It was rather an effort to turn out of bed at half-past six the first morning we were alone. I ran down in my dressing-gown and set light to the stove before I took my bath, so that when we were dressed the kettle was boiling, and we could have a cup of tea and some bread and butter before we began our duties. I stayed in the kitchen to prepare breakfast, while Cecilly went into the dining-room to sweep. I heard her making a great deal of noise, and when I was ready to help her, I could not help laughing at her preparations and efforts. She was scarlet and breathless with exertion, as she swept the carpet as if it were never to be swept again. She had moved every piece of furniture from its place that she could move, and would not believe that the heavy pieces were only moved out once a week on “turning out” days.
I took the broom from her and sent her for wood to light the fire, for the mornings were still chilly. Then we found the wood was damp, but we quickly dried it in the oven of the gas stove, and never afterwards did we forget to dry our wood directly we took it in.
We were just ready to ring the breakfast-bell when from upstairs came such a shouting from the boys, mingled with Jack’s voice, angry and stern, that we both ran out to see what was wrong, and to our dismay found water pouring down the staircase into the hall. We at last learnt that Phil and Bob, who had their bath in their bedroom, had, in order to be helpful, tried to carry it to the bath-room to empty, the result being they had overturned it on the landing. They were so sorry, and had been acting from kindness, not mischief, that we stopped Jack’s scoldings, and very soon we had sopped up the worst of the damage. Jack, however, insisted on their getting up as soon as we were down, so they could take their bath in the bath-room before he was ready for his.
Poor Jack! he did so hate our doing the work of the house, but Aunt Jane had taken him in hand and made him reasonable, and it was she who wrote to mother, telling her of our plan, and begging her to consent to our giving it a fair trial.
I cleared away the breakfast, while Cecilly ran up to air the bedrooms and beddings. Then together we washed up, and afterwards made the beds and tidied the bedrooms. Our house is a bright sunny one in West Hampstead, and the kitchen arrangements are all on the same floor as the living-rooms, which saved us many steps. One of Aunt Jane’s orders was, “Always have something hot for the boys’ dinner,” and she gave me a list of dishes I could prepare in the morning, and leave them to “cook for themselves.” The list was as follows.
Stewed Steak.—Put into your stew-pan a piece of dripping, two or three onions cut up, two or three carrots (according to size), lay your steak on the top of these, till all is a nice brown. Take all from the stew-pan and place in a brown jar (previously heated), add a few peppercorns, a pinch of spice, ginger, and three cloves, add sufficient hot water or stock to cover the meat, cover tightly, and leave in a cool oven for two or three hours. Before serving, strain off the gravy, thicken it with flour, heat to boiling in a saucepan. Put steak on dish and pour the gravy over. In preparing this dish our mistakes were—once we allowed it to cook too quickly, so that it was too hard; another time we cooked it too slowly, so that it was not done enough. We learnt that with all stews they must come to nearly boiling point, then put back just far enough to keep them from boiling.
Haricot Mutton.—Cook as above.
Steak Pudding, Steak Pie.—Beef steak answers perfectly for all these.
Canadian Steak Puddings.—Cut up two pounds of steak into a pie-dish; pepper and salt freely. Pour on water just to cover steak. Take two ounces of suet, shred very fine; the crumb of a small loaf rubbed through a sieve. Mix together, moisten with milk, add two eggs well beaten, pour over the steak, and bake for two or three hours. This was a great favourite.
Curries.—Aitch-bone of beef stewed in the same manner as the steak, but not removed from the pan it is first put into. This requires stewing from four to five hours. When possible use weak stock instead of water, as it makes nicer soup for the following day.
But I must go back to our first day’s experience. We had just finished tidying the house when the door bell rang, and when I ran to open the door, there stood dear Aunt Jane with a lovely bunch of flowers “to help poor Jack enjoy his first dinner without a waitress.” She readily accepted my invitation into the kitchen, and it was certainly by her kind advice we were able to manage as well as we have. “Do you work regularly and methodically,” was one of her maxims we endeavoured to follow, which has smoothed our way considerably. We made a plan of the daily work, turning out a room each day. On the first day Cecilly turned out our room while I prepared the dinner. In the afternoon I was due at my old lady’s, to whom I read for two hours, and to amuse her I told her of our plan. I saw she was greatly shocked, and I never was able to convince her we had succeeded satisfactorily. As I was hurrying home I overtook the two boys, one carrying a brown paper parcel, the other what looked like a broom-stick.
They refused to satisfy my curiosity concerning their packages until we reached home and Cecilly had joined us. Then they disclosed to our view a carpet-sweeper, and on our exclaiming our delight and demanding to know how they had managed to get such a treasure, it came out that the dear old things had parted with their most cherished possession, having sold their stamp collection to a schoolfellow.
“Now Cecilly needn’t get so hot, need she?” asked Phil, but, on Cecilly rushing to hug them, they both fled to their own room, refusing to listen to our thanks.
“Mother is right,” I said to Cecilly. “Hard times have their bright sides. We should never have known how sweet the boys really were if there had been no necessity for their sacrifice.”
Our chief saving has been in the preparation of our food and in doing away with the early dinner. Luckily we have both such very good appetites that, eating heartily as we did at breakfast and dinner, there was no need for us to prepare a midday meal. Our luncheon consisted of anything we had to spare from the larder, sometimes of bread and cheese only, although we always indulged in a cup of hot cocoa afterwards. In the days when cook was in charge of the cooking I had to give her a special order for breakfast, either sausages, bacon, or fish. But now that I was cooking we learned (of course from Aunt Jane as well as by experience) to make out of scraps plenty of suitable dishes. We found the following most liked by the boys:—
Breakfast Pies.—Mince through the machine any scraps the larder affords (ham, cold bacon, cold steak, pieces left in meat-pies—in fact, anything that is quite sweet and wholesome). Boil a cupful of Quaker Oats. Mix all together, add flavouring of Tarragon vinegar, pepper, and salt. Line patty-pans with pastry, fill with mixture, cover with pastry.
Beef Brawn.—Mince any pieces of cold meat, season well with pepper and salt. Boil some weak stock, with an onion, one or two cloves, and spice if liked. While boiling pour over gelatine (previously soaked). Mix all together and pour into a mould. To be eaten cold. Half an ounce of gelatine to a pint of water. Sufficient minced meat to nearly fill a pint measure.
Mulligatawny Pâté.—Mince or cut any pieces of cold meat very fine. Add equal quantity of boiled rice (boiled in stock when possible), add a teaspoonful of curry-powder. Line pie-dish with pastry. Put in mixture, cover with boiled rice, and bake.
Macaroni and Tomatoes.—Boil macaroni in stock, add any scraps of meat, two or three tomatoes cut in slices. Can be eaten hot, baked in pie-dish, or poured into a mould to be eaten cold. All these dishes can be prepared the day before, and only require heating up in the oven.
We always had stock by us, boiling down at once any bones that were in the house, and keeping all liquor that meat had been boiled in. Not being fat eaters we melted down for dripping all we did not consume, and I have often cut off the fat from a joint before cooking it to use as suet for puddings. If we had to buy suet, we bought Hugon’s; it is cheaper and saves much labour in chopping than ordinary suet. But my advice to every housekeeper is, never throw away any fat, for every piece can be utilised.
Unfortunately none of us are fond of what the boys call “pap” puddings, and we had some difficulty in getting rid of our stale bread till Aunt Jane advised us to dip the pieces into milk and crisp them in the oven for the cheese course. The ones that were not eaten at dinner we broke up, ground through the coffee mill, and kept in a tin for when we were cooking fish, rissole, or anything that requires breadcrumbs or raspings. We also used our stale bread in fruit puddings. Fill a pudding-basin, previously well greased, with pieces of bread. Boil any fruit, such as currants, blackberries, etc., and while hot pour over the bread till the basin is quite full. Place a saucer or small plate on the top, stand a heavy weight on it, and leave till the following day. To be turned out and eaten cold.
Half-pay Pudding.—¼ lb. suet, ¼ lb. currants, ¼ lb. raisins, ¼ lb. flour, ¼ lb. breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoonfuls dark treacle, ½ pint milk. Boil for three or four hours. The longer this pudding boils the better it is. Apple charlotte, rhubarb charlotte, and Manchester pudding also used up our stale bread. It had always been a difficulty when cook was with us to choose a pudding the boys would not call “pappy;” and now that every egg represented a penny to us the difficulty was greater, till it occurred to Cecilly that we might substitute cakes for ordinary puddings, and the result was most satisfactory. We could use dripping, of course; and after a friend told us of “Paisley Flour,” there seemed no end to a variety of nice and inexpensive sorts.
The boys delighted in Ginger-bread.—1½ lb. flour, 6 oz. dripping, 1 teaspoonful carbonate of soda, 2 tablespoonfuls “Paisley Flour,” ½ lb. dark treacle (or more), ¼ lb. dark sugar, 2 teaspoonfuls ginger and ground spice, 2 tablespoonfuls vinegar, ½ pint milk. Dissolve the soda in a little milk, mix dry ingredients together, add treacle slightly warmed. Then pour in the soda, add the vinegar to the rest of the milk, stir all thoroughly, and bake immediately.
Vinegar Cake.—6 oz. dripping, ½ lb. currants or sultanas, ½ lb. moist sugar, 1 teaspoonful carbonate of soda dissolved in milk, 1¼ lb. flour, 2 tablespoonfuls “Paisley Flour,” 2 tablespoonfuls vinegar to about ½ pint milk. To be mixed in the same way as the ginger-bread.
Scones with raisins, plain scones, cheese biscuits, were all favourites; but as these recipes can all be made from the recipe for scones given with each packet of “Paisley Flour,” I need not write them. In one of the books that had so annoyed poor Cecilly in her search for advice how to manage without servants the lady had found her greatest difficulty in the door-answering; but that, I can assure you, never troubled us. Our friends came as often to see us as when Ann, in her flying white streamers, answered their knocking—in fact, they came more frequently, for it was no unusual occurrence for us to have three or four willing helpers in the morning to assist us through our work, Cynthia Marriott being our most regular assistant. Never was there a merrier, more laughing set of servants than we were, nor were there more elaborately decorated pies and tarts ever made than those made for Jack’s dinner by the fairest hands in the kingdom. Sometimes I think we might have bored the boys by our domestic interests, had it not been for Aunt Jane impressing on us constantly the importance of making their home-life a social one. It was often a trouble to leave the kitchen just before serving up the dinner to change into an evening blouse; but we always did so for fear the boys would grow careless in their dress, and constantly our helpers in the morning would run in after dinner to help make the evenings as merry as when we had servants to answer the door. But the work was work, although we could play over it at times. There were many backaches and weary feet, many hot, depressing days when even the gas stove suffocated us with the heat as we stirred a saucepan or opened the oven door; but we bore it all bravely, as who would not, when she felt she was, at least, trying to give back health to a father, and such a father as ours?
(To be concluded.)