You can read the story so far from the beginning here
The kitchen was in chaos. Hilary sat at one end of the huge kitchen table, keeping her head down as she worked her way through her lists, ignoring the heated discussions.
“That is not a recipe recognised as brandy butter,” Bracken insisted.
“I have been cooking since before your mother was born,” Auntie Ivy snapped.
“I is cooking better,” Bracken replied. “I cook meals.”
“Don’t you talk back to me!” Auntie Ivy waved a finger at Bracken. “You add that nutmeg into that mix.”
“I is using orange as the recipe requires,” Bracken yelled.
Hilary sighed, not for the first time that afternoon. “Do both,” she called across the table. The two brownies turned and glared at her. “Split the butter and brandy mixture into two and flavour one with orange and one with nutmeg.” Hilary made a note on a separate piece of paper. “Nobody’s going to taste either, though. I saw how much brandy was added, and people will be too drunk to notice.”
There was a pause. Auntie Ivy was the first to break it. “I shall find a bowl for my share of the butter and brandy mixture,” she announced.
“I shall bring nutmeg and orange to the table,” Bracken added.
Hilary sighed, then looked up as the kitchen door opened. Paul strode in carrying a large box. “What’s that?”
“Jed heard about what happened,” Paul said. “He says that he can feel the difference in his shop. He said that Marlene insisted.”
“Jed always uses Marlene as an excuse,” Hilary said. “What’s in the box?”
Paul dropped the box at the end of the table. “He said that he’d drop the rest off later. But at least I remembered to pick up the pickled beetroot, like you asked.” He held up a small bag that clanked as it swung, the jars jostling inside.
Hilary pushed herself to her feet. “I can’t believe that the Village Stores ran out of pickled beetroot,” she said, opening the cardboard box. “Oh!”
Bracken and Auntie Ivy peered over Hilary’s shoulder. “We will have meat for a week!” Bracken said.
“Of course, if we’re careful, we could stretch it,” Auntie Ivy said. “That large ham could be part of a hash, or in a crumble with a nice sauce.”
“Of course I is respecting Mistress Hilary’s wishes,” Bracken said. “But I would propose that the fine ham is eaten just by itself, in a sandwich or on a plate with fried potatoes, as it looks so good.”
“But the trimmings could be used to add depth to a beef casserole, or perhaps in a pasta dish.” Auntie Ivy had only recently been introduced to pasta, but she had thoroughly embraced it. “Pasta sauces seem to be able to take anything.”
“I think strongly that the beef should be roasted,” Bracken said, pointing to the huge slab of tenderloin. “Remnants could be minced with ham trimmings and served in a nice sauce, like the books.”
Hilary sighed again. “There isn’t a scrap of room in the fridge,” she said. “There have been gifts coming all morning.”
“I’ll take it down to the fridges at the Village Stores,” Paul said. “There’s plenty of room there.”
“And the food should be shared between everyone,” Hilary said. “I mean, all of Lord Peregrine’s court and Alison, because everyone helped out.” Her shoulders slumped as she went back to her chair. “Which means that we may as well have the Twelve Days of Christmas here.”
“That’s a stretch,” Paul said.
“Look in the fridge, when you have a moment,” Hilary said. “It’s chock full. I’d already stocked up for the Solstice feast and the farms have been sending all sorts. The pantry is full, and I’ve been using the old laundry room as a cold store for the nets of cabbages and sacks of potatoes. There is enough here to celebrate properly for weeks.”
“I’ll have a quick look through the fridge,” Paul said. “And I’ll move what I can down to the stores. There’s a box of bacon and sausages still in the car, and I think that they should be up here.”
Hilary looked up as Lord Peregrine slid into the chair next to her. His arm was still bandaged and his face was bruised, but the mischief in his eyes showed that he was on the way to recovery. “You heard that?”
“Are you sure that you will not resent it?” Lord Peregrine asked.
Hilary thought for a moment. “I could, of course,” she said. “But I choose not to.” She gently turned over his free hand and looked at the burn marks zigzagging across his palm and up under his sleeve. “We all worked against it, and the men who turned over the stones got hurt. Magnus is still limping and Tom has gone to Alison’s house to let his ribs heal. You got banged up as well, and I’m not sure what happened to Cabus, but I know that he suffered.” She smoothed her hand slowly over Lord Peregrine’s sleeve. “If everyone was hurt in one way or another, everyone should share the rewards. And there’s so much food being delivered that this household will never eat it all.” She laughed. “And if we celebrate here, my house is going to be cleaned within an inch of its life.”
Lord Peregrine looked over at Bracken and Auntie Ivy who had decided that they would settle on orange, quickly beaten in, before turning out every room that they could find. “Indeed. And decorated. Auntie Olive had been instructing Alison and Tom where to put the boughs of holly and fir around the house. I hope that you didn’t hope for a modern look.”
Hilary shook her head. “Let them enjoy themselves now that everything is safe.” She paused and looked at Lord Peregrine suspiciously. “Everything is safe, isn’t it?”
Lord Peregrine carefully avoided her eyes. “Two magical explosions in a relatively short span of time could well shake something loose,” he said. “But I have no information.” He patted Hilary’s hand. “And I’ll bring out the great marquee and pitch it in the field at the back of the Village Stores. On Twelfth Night, we’ll invite all of the village and feast, the last feast of the year.” He smiled happily. “Everyone will work together and you won’t have to clean up afterwards.”
Hilary turned as Paul called her over. “Can you check something for me,” he asked.
Hilary followed him along the hall, past the library that had been cleaned within an inch of its life and into the sewing room. “This is beautiful!” she said, taking in all of the greenery hung around the room.
“It’s a sort of test room,” Paul said. “If you like this, then we’ll do the rest of the house like it.”
“How could I not like it?” Hilary said, turning around. Thick boughs of fir and holly hung over the mantelpiece and windows, and trails of glistening ivy wound over the picture rail.
“Auntie Olive did something with Epsom salts,” Paul said. “And there’s bound to be more crafted stuff added.”
“It’s perfect,” Hilary said, moving into the centre of the room.
“Look up,” Paul said, stepping close.
Hilary looked up and laughed as she saw the mistletoe. “Are we having mistletoe in every room?” she asked. “There’ll be kissing everywhere.”
“I hope so,” Paul said, and he leant in and kissed Hilary thoroughly on the mouth. “We won’t get a lick of peace over the holidays, but after that, I’m looking forward to enjoying the calm. I think we’ve earned a quiet few months.”
Hilary leaned against him and sighed. “We’ve earned the quiet, but whether we’ll get it is another matter,” she said.
“We’ll make time,” Paul said. “After the final feast of the year.”
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