From the Charred Remains (26 page)

“Open it!” commanded Will.

Lucy untied the strings on the cloth bag. Inside, she found the softest bit of leather, folded carefully. “Take it to the cordwainer,” her brother said, smiling. “He will make you some fine new shoes. All those hours walking, ’tis a wonder your shoes have not become more riddled with holes!”

That was not her only gift. To her surprise, when she descended to the shop, Master Aubrey handed her a pot of ink and a newly sharpened quill. “For all your ramblings,” he said, gruffly. “Maybe the next one will be worth printing.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, admiring the quill. “I hope so.” For a moment she was quite overcome by the gift. She hadn’t expected Master Aubrey to know it was her birthday, much less give her a gift. She had indeed been fortunate in her employer.

From his place by the woodcut cabinet, Lach snorted. “I hope you didn’t think I got you something. I barely make two bits together.”

Master Aubrey swatted his apprentice with a rolled-up piece of paper, blowing back his red hair. “Never you mind this scamp,” he said. “He’s made it so you can have the morning off, didn’t you, lad?” He pushed into him again.

Lach frowned. “Yeah. I guess I can do your work
and
my own,” he said reluctantly to Lucy.

“Truly? Oh thank you, Lach!” She then proceeded to startle them greatly, by embracing first Master Aubrey and then Lach, kissing them both on the cheek. “The morning off! That’s wonderful.”

Seeing Lach’s face turn the shade of a sheared sheep, incongruous with his red hair, she giggled.

Master Aubrey patted her arm. “Mind you’re back for supper.”

*   *   *

Without much care in the world, she popped off to see Annie and found her readying for market. Within a few minutes they had found their way to Covent Garden. As they walked about, Lucy picked out a bit of cod, and Annie a bit of tongue for the evening’s meal. As Lucy expertly inspected each bit of produce, Annie sighed. “I wish you could go to market with me every day. Cook scolds me so! ‘Why can’t you bargain like Lucy used to?’ she always says. She misses you! I do too.”

Lucy looked into Annie’s basket. “You’ve certainly learned to find nice trimmings though,” she teased. She pulled out two purple ribbons from the top. “Are these for
another
dress?”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to put together a hope chest, can you?” Annie asked plaintively, like a kitten seeking milk.

“No, certainly not.” Lucy paused, a bit uncomfortable now with conversations related to dowries and the like. “Do you have someone in mind?” she asked with a touch of trepidation.

“No, no,” Annie murmured, a bit too quickly for Lucy’s taste. They stopped to select some cheese from a funny little cheese-seller, who with his yellowish face and bright red apron looked remarkably like the red and yellow Leicestershire cheese on his cart. “Sid’s still been working for the magistrate,” Annie commented, sniffing a piece of the chard.

“Indeed?” Lucy’s heart sank a bit though, for she found Sid’s name came up quite frequently in Annie’s conversations these days.

“Yes. He’s not been thieving anymore. At least, none I can see.”

“I should think not,” Lucy said. “The magistrate would not take kindly to a thief in his household.” She’d reminded Annie of this before, but it bore repeating. She sought to change the subject. “How is the magistrate faring?” Lucy asked. “I worry he is working too hard at the assize sessions. We should think of some way to ease his burden.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Annie said, sounding a bit awed by the prospect. “He’s a kind master to be sure, but I’m not like you, Lucy. I cannot talk to him as you do. He’s so fond of you.”

Lucy smiled at her young friend. “I’m sure he’s quite fond of you too, Annie. We are his family. That’s why we must help him. But how to do that?” A moment later, she clapped her hands. “Perhaps you could pick something out for the magistrate’s supper tonight. Cook could make a tasty dessert.” She mused for a moment. “Would he like a cheese tart? No, that’s not fine enough.”

“I’ve been wanting to try my hand at an apple pie,” Annie ventured, licking her lips. She pointed to a nearby fruit merchant’s stand. “Let’s try there.”

Lucy was about to say apple pie was not what she had in mind for the magistrate either, but she could see Annie had her heart set on developing her cooking skills. As Annie picked through the apples, Lucy poked around, peering into the merchant’s row of covered straw baskets. They each had a picture of the fruit or vegetable inside—rutabagas, carrots, some roots and herbs. One Lucy didn’t recognize. Lifting the lid, she saw what looked like some dried brownish-yellowish chunks. She sniffed. The aroma was delicate and sweet but she could not place the scent.

“What’s this?” she asked the seller, when he was done placing cabbage in a young woman’s basket.

“Dried pineapple,” he said, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. “All the way from the New World, these are.” Seeing that no one was at his cart, he seemed more than happy to tell the pineapple’s trip to London. “I’m the only one who sold them, even before the Fire. I always have the best fruits.” He waved his hand expansively around Covent Garden. “Those markets aren’t even around anymore. Everyone’s coming here. But no one but me can afford these finer bits.”

Annie came over to pay for her apples. When she sniffed the pineapple appreciatively, as Lucy had done a few minutes before, the man seemed pleased. “Want to try a tiny bit?” he asked. “Just a taste, mind you,” he added hastily.

“Oh yes!” Lucy and Annie exclaimed in unison.

The seller winked. “Thought you might. Just so long that you don’t tell anyone I’m letting the customers sample my wares for free.”

“We won’t tell anyone!” Lucy said. Annie echoed her words, hopping up and down in excitement.

The fruit-seller handed them each a small chip of the pineapple. Annie ate hers straightaway. “Oooh,” she sighed in satisfaction. “That was delicious.”

Closing her eyes, Lucy put hers on the tip of her tongue, experiencing a great rush of sweetness. Rather than chewing, she sort of rolled the pineapple about in her mouth, savoring the taste, thinking about the odd bit of fruit. She could almost feel how the warm breezes from the New World had touched it, could feel the weight of its four-month journey, as it traveled in crates across the Atlantic. Her thoughts drifted to the magistrate’s daughter, wondering how Sarah had fared crossing the ocean to the New World. Where was she living now? What was she doing? She knew that Sarah, traveling to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, was unlikely to have been anywhere near the origins of this pineapple, but she felt a momentary closeness to her far-traveling friend.

Then, something Annie said snapped her back to her present surroundings. “What did you say?”

“I just said,” Annie repeated, “that ever since we read that poem from the Fire, I’ve been wanting to try a pineapple. And the other thing too, but I can never remember that one.”

“Pomegranates,” Lucy said distantly, her mind suddenly racing. “The poem mentioned pomegranates.”

The fruit-seller shook his head. “No pomegranates here.”

“Pineapples too!” Annie insisted. “I remember it distinctly.”

“No, no. That is so!” Lucy said, realizing Annie was right. She turned back to the fruit-seller. “When do pineapples bloom, do you know?” she asked, following a different thought.

The man frowned, as he took some coins from a woman buying some herbs. “I don’t know exactly, but I think I have something here—” He began to rummage through a much-worn leather bag hanging at the side of his cart. “Hold on a moment, I can tell you exactly.” He pulled out a stack of folded papers, which Lucy immediately recognized. All pamphlets and broadsides. It was like looking in the jumble in her own pack.

“Are you a bookseller too then?” she asked with a smile, watching him thumb through the flimsy pieces.

He grunted. “Wouldn’t touch such a livelihood. Prefer my honest fruits and vegetables to the nonsense and frippery they push. Don’t need no stories of horned women or monstrous births. Just pick these up from time to time. Useful stuff about herbs and plants. Oh, here it is!” He pulled out a small pamphlet with pictures of plants and vegetables.

Lucy read the title out loud. “
The Garden of Eden, or, An accurate description of all flowers and fruits now growing in England.
”

The fruit-seller glanced at the book. “This fellow Hugh Plat says pineapples must be planted in August. They bloom in spring and summer. These here they dried and packed in sugar. Otherwise, they wouldn’t make the long trip.”

“So they don’t bloom in ‘the first freezes of autumn.’” Lucy thought about the poem again. “Are many pineapples grown in England?”

“As far as I know, only in one hothouse, outside Cambridge.” Seeing Lucy’s puzzled face, the fruit-seller explained, “Hothouses are special places where they can grow plants not natural to England. They grow things from the New World and the Indies. I got a mate there who sold me a fresh one a few months back. I was quite famous for a while. Someone even wrote a ballad about me.” He chuckled at the memory. His chest pressed out slightly. “Everyone knew me, Elias Greenleaf. The seller of pineapples.” He gestured to his stall. “Greenleaf, green leaves, you get it?”

He moved over toward a woman holding out a coin and some apples. “You can look at the penny piece,” he said to Lucy over his shoulder. “Just leave it here when you’re done.”

Lucy read through Plat’s description of pineapples. He seemed to be quite a knowledgeable gentleman. Other than learning more about the pineapple’s size and appearance, though, she discovered nothing more than what the fruit-seller had already told her.

Annie tugged at her sleeve. “Lucy, aren’t you due back to Master Aubrey’s?”

Thoughtfully, Lucy laid the tract under a basket of rosemary so that it would not blow away in the gentle autumn breeze. On a whim, she pulled out her treasured half crown. “How much pineapple can I get for this?” She glanced at Annie. “Perhaps Master Hargrave would like to try it.”

Master Greenleaf grinned. “For such appreciative young ladies, I’ll give you the lot. Perfect for a fruit cake. I’d say a treat made for a king, but King Charles himself has not yet had this delicacy!”

Pushing their way past all the people milling about, Lucy finally found a bit of grass under a spreading oak tree whose leaves had not yet fallen. “Let’s rest here for a bit.”

Annie immediately began to gnaw on a bit of bread, following the servant’s common habit of eating whenever there was a break in duties. She seemed put out about something, but Lucy wanted to focus on what was puzzling her. Pulling out the poem, which she always kept in her hidden pocket, she read the last part aloud. “
My rose will bloom, among the hearty pineapples, even in the first freeze of autumn. Rose, my love—Even kings can wrong a fey duet.
”

Annie scratched her head. “Still fiddle-faddle,” she said, impatiently. “I need to get home. Shall I bring Cook the pineapple?”

“No, let’s keep it a surprise for the family. I do not want to burden Cook. How about I make the fruitcake and bring it over myself, after supper? I’ll see if Will can bring me. I don’t think Master Aubrey will mind, so long as I get his supper ready.” Finally she took in Annie’s hangdog expression. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“I wanted to make the magistrate a special apple pie. Your fruitcake will be better than mine.”

Lucy groaned at her own blindness. Of course Annie wanted to make something special for the magistrate. “I won’t make the fruitcake then. I’m just bringing the pineapple.” Seeing Annie still looking down, she added, “It’s just an excuse, Annie. I just need to speak to the magistrate.”

“Master Adam won’t be there, you know,” Annie said bluntly.

Lucy flushed. “I know that.” She had a moment’s misgiving, then shook herself. “I truly want to speak to the magistrate.” She said again firmly, giving Annie’s shoulders a little hug. “You’ll make a wonderful pie, I know it.”

Annie shrugged, unconvinced. “Whatever you say.” Yet she looked a little more pleased, and Lucy hoped their conversation would soon be forgotten.

*   *   *

A few hours later, Lucy arrived at the magistrate’s kitchen door, carrying the basket of pineapple. Not Will but a fairly grumpy Lach had accompanied her for the long walk after supper. Will had gone off to see one of his ladyloves, a habit Lucy hoped he would tire of soon. Only the promise of a bit of Annie’s apple pie had convinced the redheaded apprentice to trot along beside her, and he had grumbled nearly every step of the way. He held his tongue only when they arrived at the relative grandeur of the magistrate’s household.

As always, Cook and John were glad to see her, although neither showed it directly. Thankfully, the magistrate had no visitors that evening, and he had taken his supper in his little study. With great pride, Annie showed Lucy her apple pie, which she had yet to slice.

“It’s beautiful,” Lucy breathed, admiring the plump slices as they fell onto the plates.

“I thought for sure I’d forgotten an ingredient, but for the life of me I could not think of what,” Annie chattered happily under the admiration of the other servants. She held up
A True Gentlewoman’s Delight,
a pamphlet of recipes that the late Mistress Hargrave had long ago purchased at the market. “See, I followed it exactly. Take apples and pare them. Chop them very small. To the rosewater, I beat in the cinnamon, a little ginger and some sugar, uh oh!” She looked up in despair. “I think I forgot the sugar!”

“No, dear, you didn’t,” Cook said reassuringly, standing behind Annie. Catching Lucy’s eye, she pantomimed how she had added the sugar when Annie wasn’t looking.

Lucy stifled a giggle. Thank goodness Cook had realized the missing ingredient in time. She was grateful, too, that Cook had spared the sugar, as it’s cost from the grocer was dear. But the master, they’d discovered, had a sweet tooth, and they all liked to please him.

“Shall I take the pie to the master?” Annie asked, picking up the small silver tray.

“May I come with you?” Lucy asked, carefully filling a goblet of Master Hargrave’s Rhenish wine. On a second plate, she placed a few pieces of the pineapple.