Lime Street Blues Read Free Page B

of the little woolly lambs she’d seen frolicking over the fields. What was she supposed to do with it? Should it go in the oven covered with greaseproof paper? If so, for how long? Did it have to be cut into bits and stewed – or was that steak, the cheap sort? Maybe it had to be boiled?
    She made the morning tea and took Mrs Corbett’s up first, then returned for the Misses Clayburns’. They were both sitting up in the double bed when she went into their room.
    ‘We heard the rattle of dishes and were expecting you,’ said one. ‘Oh, this is nice, isn’t it, Dolly? Just listen to that rain! Could we have marmalade with our bread and butter, dear?’
    Rose raced downstairs for the marmalade. She was hurrying down a second time, the marmalade delivered, when Mrs Corbett called.
    ‘Was that Luke with the lamb I heard earlier?’ she asked. When Rose confirmed that was the case, she said, ‘I’d like it roasted for lunch, the potatoes too, served with cauliflower and peas. And don’t forget the gravy. For afters, we’ll have suet pudding and custard. Andkindly stop running everywhere, Rose. There’s no need for it. It sounded as if a cart horse was galloping up and down the stairs.’
    There was a tight, panicky feeling in her chest as Rose ran through the rain to the coalhouse with the scuttles, filled them, and brought them back one at a time. She was already way behind this morning. The fires had refused to light, the strong wind had whistled down the chimneys and blown the paper out before the flames had caught. She’d had to reset them twice. She wound the clocks, cut the rind off the bacon, and prayed she wouldn’t break the yolks when she fried the eggs, something Mrs Corbett found extremely irritating. Then she remembered she’d used the last of the bread to take upstairs, there was none left for toast and the baker hadn’t yet arrived with a fresh supply – even Mrs Corbett accepted she couldn’t expect her to make home-baked bread.
    Her hands were shaking when she set the dining room table. It was quarter to nine, almost time for breakfast. The food had to be served on covered platters on a side table so people could help themselves. She returned to the kitchen and put the strips of bacon in a frying pan on the simmering plate of the Aga, then fried the eggs on the hot plate. All the time, the leg of lamb stared at her balefully from the draining board.
    At nine o’clock promptly, Mrs Corbett and her friends came down for breakfast. The bell rang almost immediately, as Rose knew it would. The yolks had broken on five of the six eggs and she was in for a scolding.
    ‘You seem to have forgotten something, Rose,’ Mrs Corbett said cuttingly when she went in. ‘Although you have provided us with butter, jam and marmalade,there’s no toast to put it on. And why is your hair all wet, girl? You look very untidy.’
    ‘It must’ve got wet when I fetched the coal, madam.’
    ‘Did you not think to wear a scarf ? You’re obviously having trouble waking up this morning.’
    ‘I’m afraid the bread still hasn’t been delivered.’ It wasn’t her fault, but she felt as if it was and the panicky feeling spread to her entire body. Her legs were threatening to give way.
    Mrs Corbett rolled her eyes. ‘Please hurry. We’ll just have to do without toast, though it isn’t very satisfactory. My previous cook wasn’t exactly cordon bleu,’ she remarked as Rose went out the door, ‘but she was vastly superior to this one.’
    Rose didn’t have time to eat. She hastily cleaned the drawing room, while waiting for the bell to ring when the eggs with the broken yolks were discovered and she’d be subjected to another dressing down. But Mrs Corbett must have decided she’d had enough that morning and the bell didn’t ring again.
    She was in the laundry, stirring the washing with the dolly, when the bread arrived, delivered by the baker himself in his van. ‘Won’t be doing this much longer,’ he