Author's notes: this is a homage fic for Miranda hart's TV character Miranda. I thought it would fit well to fit Chummy as well.
Just what are Skiffle carrots?
She had one simple task!
Just!
ONE!
Simple!
Task!
Her friends tease her relentlessly. Chummy, they all said, remember the last time you tried to cream eggs? And the trio who are dressed in their uniforms breaks into fits and giggles over that attempt. She stood towering over them, hoping it was enough to intimate them into submission, but she couldn't help but burst into fits of giggles.
"It was Oeufs Elisabeth they didn't turn out half bad."
"Chummy." They chime in unison.
She was excitable and her nervousness showed a great deal.
"Now! Out! Go! Don't you have mothers to attend?" Her voice rose after each word punctuating her nervousness.
"Relax Chummy, you have Mrs. Beeton's books, pick one, and stay with it."
"Just avoid eggs or toast or salmon or water."
Trixie quips and that set all of them off in another fit of laughter.
"I can make toast." She laughs to the point where she's red in the face.
"Come on, now, go!" she ushers them out of the kitchen.
After they left she composes herself. With a deep breathe in she slowly lets it out and counts to ten. As she is a creature of habit she absent mindedly holds her crucifix gives it a kiss and a prayer. Lord knows she'll need it today.
She sets her watch, within three hours he'll be here. One thing she could rely on with Peter was his punctuality. But today, maybe perhaps he could be late? She could hope on hope.
"So, Isabella, what do you have in store for us today?"
How bloody hard could it be?
She tried to skiffle carrots – julienning left her with three cut fingers, and a burnt thumb. Not going well at all, she sighs. But time ticks away, she had less than two hours left and nothing to show for it. She chucks the charred bits into the bin.
Poaching eggs not terribly difficult, she's seen Mrs. B cook it a few times – well timing was everything. Perhaps this was a simple dish to prepare. But what goes with poached eggs?
Fish! And she sets to it. Finding there was a note on the bass in the door hand written by Fred with his name on it. Mental note, buy him some fancy whiskey, all will be forgiven. This was after all for a man she would soon marry, and they're only a few weeks from that. She had to show him she's a competent wife.
Soon as she had the fish out of its paper, and prepared according to the simple instructions. So far, this was the easiest task at hand.
Things were progressing. Not only did the fish resemble something that was in the image minus the chard edges, the eggs were also done and now she had the cream sauce reducing in the double boiler. She hopes it would be suffice. Not that he would care, he's told her a million times he loves her for herself not for her cooking or her desires to be a good wife…but for her own person.
This would not do!
She glances at her watch time ticks closer. And she sets off to head upstairs to change. Nearly there! She wore the beautiful sea green silk dress she designed herself for that meeting, which she never wore since then.
Then a noise was heard. It couldn't be. No, she's forgotten the cream sauce. She reaches the kitchen through the back stairs only to pause; the kitchen was covered in hot sculled milk. It smattered the stove, and walls. She sits at the table, her eyes watering from the sight. She couldn't believe she's ruined something so freaking easy.
"FUCK!"
Not often did she swear. But this drew the line. He had rung the bell, and she stood up from the table defeated and drained from crying. She almost wished he'd not show up, but she makes her way to the door and opens it.
He held pink carnations and steps inside. He looks at her with concern and a frown. He took a sniff and notices the smell of sculled milk but refrains from commenting on it.
"Camilla?"
"Peter. Sorry, I wanted to cook and…"
He took her hand and held it for a second.
"I don't –"not what he wanted to say so he tries again, "I do care that you want to do this, but this isn't why I am here."
She leads him inside. "Just the cream sauce it blew up and all over the kitchen."
"Come here." He pulls her into a hug and breathing her in. She's so intoxicating, that scent it really drives him wild. In her ear he whispers "Let me take a look, it can't be that bad."
He enters the kitchen, it was exactly how she described it, and the sauce had exploded all over the stove and back wall. He sighs, it wasn't bad, just won't be easy to clean.
"Let's not worry about any of this, let's clean it up and then I will take you out for dinner."
So, they set to cleaning the kitchen up.