Domesticity: Easily Taught, Less Easily Learned
Sybil hadn't done much entertaining that was not a large party or female or both. Usually, both. Nor had she ever taken it upon herself to cook unsupervised, before, though it seemed silly to think she wouldn't be able to. She was quite good at a lot of things, really, though she did not advertise the fact. If cooking was anything like math or art, she figured she'd be rather successful, in the end.
She had used a large, thick book, The Joye of Cooking, and made three courses before discovering that despite what the introduction said, cooking was in no way like math or art. It was like math with artistic license taken to it, just enough so that you thought everything should add up to a lovely picture, only it didn't because the rules were all off.
And she had flower and some spots of grease on the front of her skirt. The dress was ivory, lilac and blue, and not by any means new, but certainly the first time she'd worn it. Her hair was haphazardly up because S.W. the 1st had singed the elaborate lace tie that had been holding it- and a good four inches of hair along with it- and she'd had to make do with a wooden skewer, twisting her curls high up on her head and lancing them through with it. She was about to address the problematic issue of what one did when the seared-rare duck breast was actually a bit blackened and has suspiciously little crunchy bits floating around the bottom of the pan in its own juices, when Willikins, who was really a lovely lad and belonged in the kitchen much more than Sybil did, came in.
"Your Ladyship," he said, "I do hate to disrupt your final preparations, but I've just let the young constable in." Sybil gasped, yanking off the oversized oven mitts and pulling at the apron she had on.
"Oh, sod," she gasped, and Willikins didn't so much as raise an eyebrow.
"I- could you seat him? Or- No! I should! I- oh dear. Please bring in the first course after we've sat and- Oh, goodness-"
"I shall arrange it, lady. Please," Willikins said, and held the door open for her and gesture her out to meet Sam where he waited in the foyer. She smiled at him, then headed quickly for the front door.
She had used a large, thick book, The Joye of Cooking, and made three courses before discovering that despite what the introduction said, cooking was in no way like math or art. It was like math with artistic license taken to it, just enough so that you thought everything should add up to a lovely picture, only it didn't because the rules were all off.
And she had flower and some spots of grease on the front of her skirt. The dress was ivory, lilac and blue, and not by any means new, but certainly the first time she'd worn it. Her hair was haphazardly up because S.W. the 1st had singed the elaborate lace tie that had been holding it- and a good four inches of hair along with it- and she'd had to make do with a wooden skewer, twisting her curls high up on her head and lancing them through with it. She was about to address the problematic issue of what one did when the seared-rare duck breast was actually a bit blackened and has suspiciously little crunchy bits floating around the bottom of the pan in its own juices, when Willikins, who was really a lovely lad and belonged in the kitchen much more than Sybil did, came in.
"Your Ladyship," he said, "I do hate to disrupt your final preparations, but I've just let the young constable in." Sybil gasped, yanking off the oversized oven mitts and pulling at the apron she had on.
"Oh, sod," she gasped, and Willikins didn't so much as raise an eyebrow.
"I- could you seat him? Or- No! I should! I- oh dear. Please bring in the first course after we've sat and- Oh, goodness-"
"I shall arrange it, lady. Please," Willikins said, and held the door open for her and gesture her out to meet Sam where he waited in the foyer. She smiled at him, then headed quickly for the front door.