The girl looked unsure. Her teeth appeared, pressing into her lower lip. Anne refused to be swayed. Just the mention of going to the kitchen had started her thinking. Yes, she was done being idle. She could not be Mary, didn’t know how to act as her half-sister. It was much better to be herself. At least that way, she would not be stumbling over mistakes every other hour of the day.
“What is your name?”
“Ginny, Mistress. I greeted ye this morning.”
“I recall your face now. Do be kind and show me the way to the kitchen. It is time for work now that all of these wedding traditions have been seen to.”
Ginny beamed at her, clearly approving of her work ethic. “We didn’t know exactly what ye might be expecting.”
The maid hesitated, her mouth closing as she stopped mid-thought.
“Because I’m English, you mean.” It was a fact. The coming secession would change hundreds of years of battling between the two countries. Some questioned Elizabeth Tudor’s decision not to marry, but Anne saw the benefit of it. Was not peace worth one woman remaining unwed? She had been one of the best monarchs in history, cultivating a richer economy. Who was to say Elizabeth hadn’t decided long ago that remaining a spinster was a path to a better future for her people? The queen had often said she was married to her subjects. Anne could see the wisdom in it.
Anne followed Ginny. They walked through the circular eating hall she’d supped in last night. The tables were empty now, the floor swept clean. The scent of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen. In back of the tower was a building with a slopped roof. Five huge fireplaces were built along the outer wall. There were also ovens between them, iron doors covering them. Long tables ran the length of the building, thick, wooden tables that bore the marks of use. One end was dusted with flour. Two women worked large lumps of dough there, their chemises rolled up past their elbows. They looked up, watching her enter, but never stopped kneading. But their motions slowed down.
“This is Bythe. She’s the head cook.”
The woman was formidable. Age didn’t mark her face but confidence did. Bythe nodded respectfully. A strip of linen was wound around her head. Only a tiny hint of her dark hair peeked out at the edges. Her forehead was shinny with perspiration. The end of her nose was slightly red from leaning into the fire pits. Her forearms were bare too. A large apron was pinned to the wool of her bodice as well as being tied around her waist. She wore a strip of tartan over one shoulder that draped down her back. In fact all the women did. The plaid was the same weave of colors the men wore in their kilts.
“Welcome, mistress.”
Bythe was clearly uncertain as to what to do with her. Anne offered her a calm smile before looking at the table closest to her. Fresh fish lay on it, their scales still shiny with water. The lenten season had begun and good Christians dined on fish. Two large bowls stood ready for cleaning, a large knife lying nearby. Several smaller bowls were neatly set out awaiting the fish, holding spices of salt, rosemary, pepper and even nutmeg.
“I see you are very confident in your position, Bythe.”
The cook’s expression flickered with a hint of relaxation. Anne unbuttoned one sleeve at her wrist, folding the fabric back along her forearm.
“Yet there is always work for another set of hands in any kitchen.”
The rest of the work slowed to nearly a standstill. Anne reached for the knife, hefting it in a firm hand. She grasped a slippery fish with the other, not a hint of hesitation in her. With a few skilled slices, she cleaned it, removed the bones carefully, inspecting the skeleton to make sure she had them all. She felt the weight of every set of eyes on her. But that was something she could thank Philipa for teaching her.
How to keep her back straight under pressure. She would not falter.
She finished the fish without looking away from her task even once. Laying the meat on a clean tray between cleaning bowls and the ones holding the spices, she reached for another fish.
“I see yer mother taught ye yer way around the kitchen, Mistress.” Bythe took up another long knife. With a quick slice, another fish was well on its way to being ready for cooking. “Since I heard ye were at yer English court for some years, I’m pleasantly surprised to see ye so practiced.”
Anne laid another fish on the tray. She didn’t want to outright lie by claiming that she’d worked in the kitchens at court. Yet she had to find some answer.
“I was sent to the kitchens at Warwickshire when I turned eleven.” That much was true.
Bythe nodded. “My mother worked her entire life at this table. I turned pastry on it when I still needed a stool to see over the top.”