Of Secrets and Sweets
Summary: There were plenty of things that Cora St. Clair was denied, but plenty of things that she managed to get her hands on anyway.
A/N: This is another installment featuring Calico, an OC from Something Worth Winning. Set several years before the events of SWW, it provides a brief glimpse of Cal's life some time before she becomes a newsie and provides a few clues as to where she picked up some of her particular mannerisms.
Written for Ariel_of_Narnia with appreciation for her enthusiasm and unflagging good humor when it comes to this sprawling little universe of mine - hope you enjoy this, Ariel. :)
"The hand pies are still hot, Miss Cora. I wouldn't advise - "
Cora St. Clair yelped, immediately sticking her thumb into her mouth as she tried to suck away the burning sensation.
" - trying to filch one if I was you," came the belated admonishment of Mr. Mesch, the household cook. He raised an eyebrow at Cora, who pointedly returned the look, unperturbed at having been caught.
"It would be nice if you'd listened to me every once in a while, young Miss," Mesh sighed, turning back to the cutting board where he was slicing cucumbers. "I only have your best interests at heart."
Cora made a noncommittal sound, popping her thumb out of her mouth and casting another glance at the pastry that she'd hastily dropped. Mesch's pies were uniformly delicious, and rows of them sat cooling on the counter, each one a perfectly golden half-moon shape, beautifully edged with a scalloped twist and speckled with a sprinkling of coarse sugar…all except for the one that she'd failed to pilfer, of course: it lay where it had fallen, its decorative trim broken into flaky pieces amidst a scattering of now-displaced sugar crystals.
"You might as well eat that one," Mesch remarked, not unkindly. "I won't be able to serve it with the edges damaged like that."
Cora hid a smug smile as she scooped the pie into the folds of her apron, carrying it over to the kitchen's breakfast nook so that she could let it finish cooling before she devoured it. The little alcove where she and her mother usually ate their meals was unoccupied, so she settled herself on top of her stool to watch the cook as he continued working.
"Don't you have your lessons to get to, Miss Cora?" Mesch asked as he swept the sliced cucumbers off of the cutting board and into a bowl. "It's nearly half past ten, and Master Hartley will be returning from his morning excursion."
"He's meeting Norrington in the solarium today." Cora nibbled the edge of her hand pie. "They're going to be learning about astronomy. Norrington said that he'll even let Hartley look through the telescope tonight if the conditions are good."
She thought that she'd delivered the words with believable neutrality, but Mesch must have caught something in her voice, for his expression softened, and he gave off wiping down the cutting board for a moment.
"A pity," he murmured, almost to himself. "A girl with your potential ought to be formally educated."
Cora shrugged, biting off a corner of her half-moon.
Lack of an invitation hadn't stopped her, and Mesch knew that full well.
She'd discovered Hartley's lessons with his tutor quite by accident one day when she'd been poking around in the library in a fit of boredom, fascinated by the collection of tomes and the interesting knick knacks that sat on the bookshelves. There were no stories for children to be found, but she'd discovered that the atlases and encyclopedias were fascinating in their own way, and her mother had taught her to read sufficiently for her to get the gist of the text, even if there were words that she'd had to skip over or suss out by their context.
A particularly fascinating volume on ornithology had caught her attention, and she'd become so engrossed in perusing its pages that she hadn't heard the sound of approaching footsteps until it was too late to escape. Knowing that she had no business being in the library and unsure of who might be drawing near, she'd hidden herself behind the only cover available: a large ornamental screen that sat in the corner of the room. It was there, completely concealed, that she'd watched the young master of the house enter the room with his tutor, a balding man with round-rimmed spectacles and a large satchel slung over his shoulder.
Cora had heard about Norrington before, mostly from Hartley during their occasional play times, where in between drawing dominoes or taking turns at tiddlywinks the latter would let slip some offhand comment about an assignment that he'd been given at his lessons or would mention an interesting fact that he'd picked up from his tutor earlier that week. Cora hadn't hidden her initial curiosity to know more about these lessons, and Hartley, good natured but naive, had responded by offering to include her, declaring that he would speak with Norrington about it the very next day. It would be very great fun, he opined, to have company for the exciting bits like classifying rocks and minerals and studying the caterpillar life cycle, and far less boring during spelling drills and memorizing the times tables.
Cora had quickly backpedaled, feigning indifference for learning as a routine and ignoring the regret that had accompanied the lie. Hartley, of course, didn't understand that when you were ostensibly nothing more than the daughter of the household laundress, you couldn't just march into the private tutoring lessons meant for the young master of the house as though you were owed an equal place at the table. Her mother had conditioned her to not expect that kind of privilege, for there were certain insurmountable barriers that could not be crossed, despite the common ground that she and Hartley shared.
All of it had only made partial sense to Cora, but she'd acquiesced to her mother's orders not to insert herself into the young master's daily activities, even when he'd offered to include her. She might play with him outdoors or in the parlor when he was not at his lessons (and no guests were in the house), but otherwise she was to leave him be, and above all to never presume to share in any of the niceties that his situation and station afforded.
These restrictions, confounding though they were, had proven easy enough to follow, and outwardly Cora had been a model of obedient compliance.
Inwardly, however, her approach had been much more shrewd - occasionally as it pertained to socializing with Hartley, but more often in reference to helping herself to certain small privileges or possessions. She didn't see the point in denying herself when it was (relatively) hurting no one for her to partake, and there was more than enough to go around in a household as affluent as the St. Clairs'. There was no reason why she shouldn't take what was within reach, so long as she didn't get caught doing so, and if she was clever and quick enough to procure some treasure or trinket from an owner who was too careless to guard it closely, by forfeit she ought to have what she'd won.
As such, she had become adept at acquiring small tokens of the wealth that she was constantly surrounded by but never allowed, bits and baubles that caught her eye as the master and mistress' many well-off visitors passed through the doors of the household on a regular basis. Among her favorite acquisitions were a gold-nibbed fountain pen, which had fallen from a gentleman's pocket during a game of croquet, a lady's finely-embroidered handkerchief that had been abandoned at the dinner table, and a tiny toy soldier that a visiting child had left forgotten and unwanted when his host had presented him with a brand new kaleidoscope.
Cora had hidden these items away in a small discarded tea tin that she'd found and cleaned up. She kept the cache squirreled away in the little space at the back of the laundry room that she shared with her mother, careful to change the tin's hiding spot any time someone inadvertently got too close to discovering it. Every now and then when she was alone, she'd take her treasures out to look at them, examining every small and nearly-unnoticeable detail, curious about the people whose possessions she'd pilfered and why they'd chosen to be so careless with the things that had once meant something to them. The fact that no one seemed to notice their disappearance only made her less concerned about taking them, and as time wore on and wealthy visitors continued to come and go, unaware of her sharp-eyed observation of their baffling indifference to their own belongings, she'd slowly but steadily added to her growing collection.
It had been easy enough to procure possessions left basically unattended by their owners, but eventually, Cora had become a bit bolder, stealing in earnest - though mostly for the thrill of it.
Occasionally, her pilfering had taken a more practical turn, and she'd stolen pairs of socks from satchels and mittens from handbags and victuals from the picnic baskets of the mistress, who was fond of decadent fare and habitually threw lavish parties for herself and her friends. Cora had always made sure to leave no trace of her plundering and to not take too much (for she was astute enough to realize that, should she be discovered, retribution would affect more parties than just herself), but inwardly she'd taken a satisfaction at having come out ahead, even if the mistress herself wouldn't notice the few missing items.
A second-hand education had ended up being just another one of Cora's covert acquisitions. Her accidental discovery that she could observe Hartley's lessons entirely unseen had led to an almost-daily practice of eavesdropping behind the ornamental screen, and as the weeks had gone by, she'd quietly absorbed anything and everything that Norrington had imparted to his often less-than-attentive pupil.
She'd scribbled down unfamiliar words on scraps of paper so that she could later look them up in the large dictionary and memorize their meaning, and thereafter had tried to apply them to her everyday discourse - at least, in her head. She knew that she had to be careful with her newfound knowledge, for the daughters of household laundresses weren't supposed to speak like well-bred ladies, but secretly, she'd enjoyed slowly amassing a larger and more sophisticated vocabulary, some canny part of her convinced that this aptitude would prove useful in the future.
In addition to these new words, she'd made it a point to catalog away any bits of knowledge that could be gleaned from her eavesdropping. Norrington was a learned man (a professor at a local university, in fact) who tutored Hartley as a favor to the master of the house, for they had been schoolmates years ago and were still rather good friends. His lessons were well-researched and his asides fascinating, and though Hartley was not particularly inclined to attend to the man's lectures, Cora had listened with rapt fascination from her hiding place.
This might have gone on indefinitely if Mesch had not discovered her.
Cora had been three weeks into her covert routine and had grown a bit careless (sure that at this point if no one had discovered her, no one would), and the cook, plodding into the library with a tray of toast and preserved fruits for Hartley's mid-morning snack, had noticed her foot poking out from behind the screen where she had sequestered herself.
Hearing the burly man's gentle voice addressing her from the other side of the partition had not been entirely surprising to Cora, for she'd learned from experience that little escaped Mesch. She'd been caught several times trying to steal pastries that he'd prepared, even when she'd thought that she'd been sufficiently stealthy, and while he'd never berated her for it, he'd also made it clear that he knew everything that went on in his kitchen, and that if she was hungry again, he'd prefer that she simply tell him so rather than try to steal food from under his nose.
Eavesdropping on the young master's tutoring lesson was a far greater offense than trying to snag a shortcake or strudel, however, and Cora had fully expected a reprimand if not a more severe consequence (perhaps involving her mother, or (even worse) the master of the house).
To her surprise, after she had acknowledged her presence, Mesch had only paused for a moment, and then had gravely asked how long she'd been hiding there, and - even more gravely - if she was hungry. Cora had found herself answering the latter question in the affirmative - she had sufficient food to eat in general, but rarely felt full - and then there had been the sound of shuffling and the clink of dishes, and a few moments later, a dish with a slice of toast topped with plum preserves had been slid underneath the partition.
It wasn't an endorsement of her antics, but it wasn't a reprimand, either, and Cora had chewed thoughtfully on her toast as she'd listened to the sound of Mesch's footsteps fading away. When she'd brought the dish up to the kitchen after eavesdropping on the morning's tutoring session, Mesch had said nothing, only nodding to her in acknowledgement before he'd returned to the chicken that he'd been dressing for dinner.
Two years later, the cook had maintained his silence, and Cora had yet to be caught by another soul.
"The filling in the pies is good, Mesch," she said aloud, finishing up the last bite and licking her fingers clean of the last bits of sugar. "The tartness goes well with the candied nuts in the crust."
"I'm glad you liked this batch," the cook replied. "I made some adjustments to my usual recipe."
Before he could say anything more, the sound of someone stamping their feet on the doormat at the back door of the kitchen was heard, and soon after that, Lee the under gardener appeared, smelling of sweat and of freshly cut grass.
"Ay, Gil!" he called out cheerfully, his loud voice reverberating throughout the room. "You baking pies again, ah? Faye told me you ordered fifteen pounds of Pippins from the market!"
Mesch nodded. "The mistress is hosting a picnic lunch this afternoon at the Ramble, and she ordered hand pies and cucumber sandwiches along with the usual roast beef and butter cress. I've got a lemon cream cake and some chicken croquettes packed up, too."
"The master, he loves a good chicken croquette," Lee nodded, eyeing the rows of pies greedily as he drew near.
Mesch must have caught the look, for he silently slid a small plate of pastries across the counter.
"Here are a few from the first batch where the edges burnt a little."
"Always so kind, so generous," Lee's whole body bobbed in thanks as he apprehended the plate, immediately gobbling up a hand pie as he slid into a chair. Catching sight of Cora perched on her stool nearby, he grinned like a Cheshire cat.
"Miss Cora, you want some?" he offered around a mouthful of crumbs. "Growing girl like you needs to eat, ah?"
"Mesch already gave me one," she answered. But she got up from her stool and took another hand pie from the plate that Lee held out.
"It would be more accurate to say that you attempted to steal one," Mesch corrected mildly from his place at the counter. "If you'd just asked me, I would have offered you one from the plate that Lee has there."
Cora made a sound of acknowledgement. Mesch customarily saved any less-than-perfect sweets for his fellow servants, and he was right - she could have simply asked him for one of the discards - but trying to pilfer a pastry destined for the picnic baskets of the swells who ate the finest, most flavorful fare as casually as they blinked and breathed had been too enticing of a challenge to pass up.
"Ah, Gil, this has to be your best batch yet!" Lee exclaimed appreciatively. "You try a different spice this time? A little more cinnamon?"
"A three to one ratio of cinnamon to nutmeg, and a squeeze of lemon for brightness," Mesch replied, preening a little. "Only a subtle change, but it turned out well. There are ground candied pecans in the crust, too, in addition to the ones sprinkled on top."
"Tastes just like Autumn," Lee declared, smacking his lips as he handily finished up his second (or maybe third) pie. Brushing the crumbs from his mouth, he sighed, patting his belly in contentment. Two pastries remained on the plate, and he gave them a longing look before rallying to push them back across the counter towards Mesch.
"Save one for Winnie and one for yourself, ah?"
"Two for Winnie, then," Mesch replied, covering the plate with a napkin.
"Gil, Gil, my friend! Back in my country, we have a saying: 'The cook must eat, lest the rest of the house go hungry!'"
"How do you think I knew that my recipe adjustments turned out well?" Mesch asked, smiling. "I have plenty to eat, Lee. Winnie could use the nourishment more."
"You're right," Lee agreed. "Two for Winnie, then." He turned to give Cora a wink. "You leave those two pies for your mother, ah? She works hard and deserves a treat."
Rising from the chair where he'd been sitting, he ambled over to the breakfast nook, digging into his pocket. "Speaking of treats, I think I might have something here for my young pickpocket in training, if I can remember where I put it…"
Cora eagerly watched as the under gardener made a show of examining first one overall pocket, then another, before theatrically revealing what he had brought her.
It was a little pencil case made of wood with a sliding lid and a beautiful spray of chrysanthemums painted on it. There was even a pair of tiny pencils inside, perfectly sharpened.
"Thank you, Lee!" Cora exclaimed.
The under gardener winked at her in return. "I did promise you a reward for practicing your new skills."
She took the gift from his outstretched hand, then eagerly set it on the table, impatient to examine her prize more closely. Lee had caught her stealing a calling card case from a visiting guest's satchel several weeks ago, and had since then offered to teach her a few tricks to help her hone her skills. They'd only had a few lessons so far, but she'd diligently applied herself to the techniques that the under gardener had passed on, and Lee had been pleased with her progress.
"Just remember, it's only a game," Mesch interjected, sounding a little weary as he took a loaf of bread from the bread box. "There's no good reason to be pickpocketing in earnest."
"Oh, sure, not when you're housed and fed," Lee agreed, pouring himself a cup of water from the jug that sat on the counter. "But say the mistress decides to sack us all some day, eh? We're gonna be scrambling to make ends meet. Some of us might have to fend for ourselves and survive by our wits until we can find ourselves another situation. Miss Cora has a keen eye, and she's quick with her hands, too. Knowing how to relieve some rich folk of their excessive baubles could be what keeps her off of the streets."
"There are more constructive ways to apply those skills that you mentioned," Mesch replied.
"But not ways that'll keep her belly full in a pinch if the worst happens," came Lee's quick rebuttal. "I'm just looking out for her, Gil. You know the rumors that have been going around lately - "
"And they're only rumors," Mesch cut in, giving his colleague a look that pleaded for silence. "There's no reason to live in fear over something that may never come to pass."
"There's a saying for that, too, my friend: 'The man who lives like tomorrow will never come is the one who gets hit the hardest when it does."
Cora watched the two servants debate as she idly toyed with her pencil case. She'd learned that it was often advantageous to look disinterested and to silently observe rather than to interject in adult conversations, because the less people thought you were listening, the more they would divulge.
Lee, in particular, had a habit of running his mouth, his naturally gregarious personality inclining him to take an interest in the gossip that regularly circulated amongst the servants of the St. Clair household. He was a foreigner, just like Cora's mother, and in the evenings, the two of them would sometimes reminisce in hushed voices about their homeland in their native tongue, their words flitting like shadows across the wall. Occasionally, they'd lapse into English, and Cora, lying quietly on her bed, had caught strains of their conversation as she'd listened, silent and still.
"You ought to tell her someday, Winnie."
"I think she already knows. Laurence wanted her to have his surname, and it's not difficult to figure things out from there."
"But that's the trouble. If she'd taken your name instead, it could have all been swept under the rug. No point in ruffling Mistress Jamesina's feathers, ah?"
"It's too late to change that now."
Lee had replied in his native tongue, no doubt quoting one of the aphorisms that he was fond of repeating, and when they'd said goodnight and had extinguished the fire soon after - Lee departing for the servants' quarters and Winnie coming over to join her daughter on the small mattress that they shared at the back of the laundry room - Cora had pretended to be asleep…
But the words that she'd overheard had lodged in her mind, and as the weeks and months went on, she'd slowly pieced together a clearer picture from the little dabs and dashes of conversation that had surfaced as she'd listened to the servants talking.
It seemed that all of them knew the secret that Lee had been referring to. But none of them would speak of it in her hearing. And her mother, for whatever reason, hadn't seen fit to tell her, at least not in full.
"I have to get back to the sandwiches," Mesch's voice broke into Cora's musing. "They won't set properly if I have to rush them." He examined the loaf of bread with a practiced eye, then began to slice it. "Besides, isn't it hedge trimming day? I thought I overheard the mistress saying something about the topiaries at the Palmer estate and wanting the front lawn here to have a similar look."
"Oi, Gil, you spoilsport!" Lee accused. "Bringing the shrubs into it just because your old friend Lee was about to win the argument!"
"Avoiding a distasteful task won't make it go away," Mesh replied. "And you weren't about to win the argument. You know how I feel about you teaching Miss Cora to pickpocket and brawl like a ragamuffin."
"The art of self defense is nothing like brawling," Lee sniffed. "I've told Miss Cora many times that what I teach is only to protect herself. You wouldn't want her to get attacked on the streets, would you?"
"Of course not," Mesch answered, "but she's not on the streets. And she's not likely to be as long as things remain in equilibrium, which is why - " and here he gave Lee a rather stern look - "we'd do well to avoid passing on any rumors that have no foundation and to focus on ensuring that the master and mistress are pleased, instead. That's the best way of making certain that Miss Cora - and all of us - have a stable future under this roof."
His tone of voice would clearly brook no opposition, and Lee must have sensed it, for he said in a much more agreeable tone, "Well, we'll each look out for our little magpie the way we know how, eh? One thing we agree on is that we want her safe, so you make sure she's got a nice nest to come home to, and let me teach her how to find food in a pinch and fend off the hawks. Soon she'll be old enough to take care of herself and won't need the guidance of old men like us."
The suggestion seemed to pacify but not convince Mesch, who continued slicing his loaf of bread without voicing a reply.
Lee was unruffled, however.
"Ah, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed, his tone brightening. "Faye wanted me to thank you for the preserves, Gil. She's been eating them every morning on her toast. Says they're even better than the ones she buys at Brantley's."
"I'll save another jar for her the next time I make a batch," Mesch promised, his disquietude melting away almost instantly at the well-timed compliment to his cooking.
"You should just strike out on your own," Lee suggested. "Open your own bakery, ah? Bake whatever you want without anyone telling you 'no' or handing you another order of cucumber sandwiches and chicken croquettes. Maybe a nice little shop downtown - " he framed an imaginary door sign with his hands - "'Gilbert G.A. Mesch, Purveyor of Fine Pastries and Preserves'!"
"Folks won't bother coming in to sample the fare when the name's already such a mouthful." Mesch joked.
Lee waved his hand dismissively. "You call it what you want. As long as you make tasty food, people are gonna be lining up around the block, guaranteed."
"Perhaps one day."
"We have a saying for that too, Friend Gil: 'Say 'tomorrow' too many times, and you'll run out of tomorrows to put off, eventually.'"
"You made that one up, didn't you?"
Lee shrugged. "There's truth in it."
Mesch made a noncommittal sound. "Right now I have picnic preparations to attend to. And you have the hedges to trim."
"Into ponies and cherubs, just like the Palmer estate," Lee mourned. "Never mind the fact that this old man knows nothing about topiaries." He drained the rest of his cup of water, then set it in the sink.
"I'm sure you'll come up with something," Mesch consoled him. "You've always managed."
"The fear of being tossed to the curb does that to you," Lee shrugged. "I've got a wife and a daughter to feed." Casting one last longing look at the pastries on the counter, he began to head towards the door.
"Hey, Miss Cora, you stay out of trouble, all right?" he called over his shoulder. "And help out around here as much as you can."
"Goodbye, Lee," she answered. "I will."
The door shut behind the under gardener, and she got to her feet, stowing the pencil case safely away in her apron pocket.
"Where are you going?" Mesch asked as she passed by him.
"To the solarium," Cora replied. "I was thinking that the lounge seat in the corner might be a good enough hiding spot for me to still observe the lesson after all."
Remembering Lee's words, she stopped, then asked, "Would you like me to take the tray up for Hartley? I can set it out before they get there and still have time to hide."
Mesch looked surprised, but he nodded. "If that wouldn't be an inconvenience to you, I'd be obliged. I've got my hands full with these sandwiches."
Cora backtracked to where the already-prepared tray sat on the counter, then carefully took it in her hands and started for the exit that would lead to the south side of the house where the solarium was located.
"Just be careful not to get caught, Miss Cora," she heard Mesch's voice behind her. "I know that Master Hartley wouldn't mind you being there, but the decision to include you is not up to him."
Cora normally wouldn't have answered - she knew all of that full well, knew that her friendship with Hartley was tenuous due to circumstances beyond her control - but something in Mesch's tone gave her pause, and when she turned around for a second time, she saw that the cook was regarding with a grave look on his face.
"An education is a precious thing," he added quietly. "If something ever happens, knowing how to read and write and how to communicate skillfully will open doors that might otherwise remain closed to you. Guard your opportunity to learn, Miss Cora. It's worth more than you know."
"I'm always careful, Mesch," she replied.
The cook nodded, turning back to his sandwiches, and Cora continued on her way.
As she passed by the back door, however, her eye fell upon the row of picnic baskets already half-filled with Mesch's carefully-prepared delicacies, and she found herself slowing to a stop.
Glancing around to make sure that no one was looking, she set down Hartley's tray, then opened the lid of the nearest basket, peering inside and deftly fishing out a chicken croquette.
The tasty morsel was gone in two bites, and Cora was on her way after making sure that she'd left no crumbs or trace of tampering behind. She didn't want her handiwork to be attributed to Mesch's carelessness, after all…
But as long as she covered her tracks, at the end of the day one less chicken croquette wouldn't hurt anyone.
A/N: Thanks for giving this a read! I know that we're veering pretty far away from canon material at this point, but I appreciate you being willing to come along for a glimpse of Calico's backstory. If you have any remarks/theories/questions, I'd love to hear them - your reviews are greatly appreciated! :)