CHAPTER 110, MRS PATMORE
The RMS Olympic draws closer to New York
Meanwhile, in the Abbey kitchen ...
The new girls annoyed Mrs Patmore. Winnie was eager but dull; Gert was clever but petrified. What was worse, they had joined forces and lodged a complaint against her to Mrs Hughes. Mrs Hughes delivered their message as delicately as she could, but Mrs Patmore took offense. "How am I to make kitchen-maids of those ninnies if I'm to treat them like china dolls?"
"Girls today won't suffer a sharp tongue, Beryl. They're not like Daisy when she was a girl."
"Daisy understood that my corrections were for her improvement!"
"Daisy was fond of you; she tolerated more than she should've."
Daisy had not been a girl for some time and had a new career selling that blasted rhubarb jam of hers. Mrs Patmore blamed Thomas. He was the one who suggested the addition of a recipe to the jar's label: Daisy's Roasted Leg of Lamb with Easy Rhubarb Glaze. One small advertisement in the Yorkshire paper quoting Ivor Novello (It's the only roast I'd have on my Easter table!), and Daisy's life, as well as Mrs Patmore's, were upended.
Winnie called from the hob, "Mrs Patmore, the broth isn't right."
Mrs Patmore followed Mrs Hughes' advice and took a breath before speaking. "Skim the foam, Winnie. The same as yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Go on. Now! Skim!" She shook her head and returned to the workbench.
As she weighed ingredients for a Victoria sponge, Mrs Patmore considered the possibility that Daisy's was not the only absence she felt from the kitchen. She recalled the night when she unwittingly planted a notion in Thomas' head that kept him underfoot until the day he left for New York. Thomas and Bates had stopped by the kitchen that night before heading to their new cottage.
"Any titbit tonight to put me further in your debt, Mrs Patmore?" asked Bates in that agreeable way of his.
Mrs Patmore pointed to a tin on her workbench. "Will the children see their share, Mr Bates?"
"You let them lick the bowl, Mrs Patmore. Isn't that their share?"
Mrs Patmore laughed amiably until she noticed Thomas' fidgeting. "Is there something you need, Mr Barrow?"
"Do you have a moment, Mrs Patmore?"
"My day's work is done, thank heaven. Is it urgent?"
"Not urgent, but important, I'd say."
"Go on then."
"Mrs Patmore, I'm sorry to inform you ... Mrs Patmore, I must tell you that I've been stealing food from the kitchen."
"Oh ... that."
Thomas stared. "You know?"
"I caught you the day you came to work here, but when I informed Mr Carson ..."
"Mr Carson knows?"
"He was your superior. Your fate was in his hands, not mine."
Thomas sank against the wall.
"You were such a spindly thing when you arrived. A half-starved puppy. Mr Carson thought you may have been ashamed to ask for extra helpings at the table and told me not to notice when you helped yourself in the kitchen."
Bates moved closer to his brother. "Did you hear that? Most would have sacked you on the spot."
"Yes, most would've," agreed Thomas, weakly.
"Is that it then?" asked Mrs Patmore a bit too abruptly, hoping to end the interview.
Thomas lifted his head. "No, Mrs Patmore."
"Mr Barrow, I'd like to be in bed before the sun rises." Mrs Patmore watched as Thomas glanced at Bates, who nodded his encouragement.
"Mrs Patmore, I'm not a spindly thing now, but I still do it. I mean ... I still take food. Mostly every day."
"I know."
"But ..."
"Don't you think I know what goes on in my own kitchen?"
"Yes, but ..."
"You were useful to me. If you took twice from a dish, I knew it was good. If you didn't, I dropped it from the menu."
"You're having me on."
"I'm in no mood for joking, Mr Barrow. I'm in the mood for a good night's sleep." Mrs Patmore remembered feeling a pang of sympathy for Thomas whose face had turned a ghostly white.
Thomas stood erect. "I'm done taking what isn't mine, Mrs Patmore," he vowed.
"Are you?"
"Do you doubt me?"
"A habit's a hard thing to break."
"He's confessed," interrupted Bates. "Now that he has no fear of being found out, he'll be able to stop."
"Time will tell." Mrs Patmore stood and removed her apron. "I'm all in."
Thomas stood before the exit. "You don't believe I'll be able to stop. Why?" he asked quietly.
Mrs Patmore remembered how humbled Thomas seemed at that moment, how sincere his question. "Mr Barrow, can you cook?"
Thomas shrugged. "Not very well. I can fix a few things, eggy bread and such, but I don't have a knack for it."
"So you depend on others to do for you."
"Yes."
"And you don't like that."
Thomas looked to Bates and back to Mrs Patmore. "No."
"There's your answer."
"I don't ..."
"Learn to cook, Mr Barrow!"
"But I'm a ..." Thomas fell silent and seemed absorbed by something beyond the kitchen walls.
Bates broke the silence. "I don't believe Mr Barrow's duties leave him time to burn down a kitchen, Mrs Patmore. Besides, who would teach him? You're not suggesting that you ..."
"Hardly! Anna showed me a list of courses from that correspondence school of hers. They teach more than sewing, Mr Bates. They teach cooking too."
Bates laughed. "Cooking by correspondence? That's daft."
Mrs Patmore had meant it only as a jest and laughed too. "Can you imagine sending bangers and mash through the post?"
Thomas ignored their laughter. "I'll do it!" he declared. "I'll write the school tonight."
Mrs Patmore chuckled at the memory as she creamed butter with a wooden spoon, a task for which she insisted the electric mixer did not have sufficient power. Stirring flour and pounded sugar into the butter, she recalled Thomas' disappointment when he received his first envelope. He ran into the kitchen and slapped it on the desk. Mrs Patmore read the name printed on the outside. "Women's Institute for Domestic Arts and Sciences, Scranton, Pa. What's Pa?"
"Pennsylvania."
"Oh. Is this your first lesson?"
"Yes. The first course is on cereals and breads."
"You have to begin somewhere, Mr Barrow."
"I know, but look at this reading," complained Thomas. "I don't even cook for the first examination."
"No? What then?"
"I have to answer questions on all these topics. Listen. The Problem of Food, Selection of Food, Food Substances, Food Value, Digestion and Absorption of Food, Preparation of Food, Methods of Cooking, Heat for Cooking."
"You'll be able to talk a good game even if you can't cook," quipped Mrs Patmore. She should have known better. Thomas glared at her with that odd pout of his, snatched the papers and stomped off. But before the week was out, he had read every word and completed the first examination.
Mrs Patmore set down the mixing bowl. "Gert, did you whisk the egg yolks?"
"You never asked, Mrs Patmore," replied Gert in that timid squeak of hers.
Mrs Patmore sighed. Daisy would have known what was needed without being told. "I'm asking now, Gert, or should I post an invitation?"
"Yes, Mrs Patmore. I mean, no Mrs Patmore."
Gert delivered the whisked eggs in due course, and Mrs Patmore mixed them into the bowl. As she beat the batter furiously, she pictured Thomas standing over the remnants of his first cooking assignment: pork chops, mashed potatoes, creamed peas, cabbage salad, and orange fluff.
Thomas was beside himself. "It's from last night. I was so careful, Mrs Patmore! I followed the recipes exactly, but nothing is as it should be. The pork is tough, the potatoes are lumpy, the peas are hard, and this orange stuff ... it's horrid. Please help me, Mrs Patmore. Just this once."
"Just this once?" Mrs Patmore doubted that. "You'll have to buy new ingredients."
"Certainly."
"What the devil is that orange stuff?"
"Orange fluff. A kind of pudding, I think."
"Why the deuce would the school give you so many recipes on your first try?"
"To teach us that we don't cook in the order of service. We have to figure the timing of each step."
"True enough."
Thomas returned to the kitchen that afternoon with a box of fresh groceries, and Mrs Patmore kept her promise. With her guidance, Thomas was able to produce a satisfying meal, even to the orange fluff.
Mrs Patmore was shocked to see that a man so graceful on the dance floor could be such a bungler in the kitchen. Thomas rarely produced an edible dish on the first try. He gave up cooking at the cottage in favour of the Abbey kitchen, often arriving before the scullery-maid. He cooked every minute he could squeeze from his schedule and wheedled every bit of advice he could coax from Mrs Patmore and Daisy. Mrs Patmore could count on him having a culinary crisis whenever she and Daisy were in the throes of an elaborate dinner. She routinely ejected Thomas bodily from the kitchen, much to Daisy's amusement.
Mrs Patmore expected Thomas to abandon his gastronomic adventure within a few weeks. Instead, he stumbled his way through each instruction paper, repeating and repeating until he conquered the requisite techniques. After months of turning Mrs Patmore's kitchen upside down, he announced that he had completed the course. As proof of his hard-earned competence, he insisted on cooking lunch for the staff, including Mrs Patmore and Daisy. When the staff gathered on the designated day, they found menu cards at their places.
Luncheon
Servants' Hall
Monday, June 15, 1928
Macaroni With Cheese and Tomatoes
Baking-Powder Biscuits
Daisy's Yorkshire Rhubarb Jam
Watercress-and-Celery Salad
Popovers Filled With Apple Sauce
Tea
A complimentary jar of Daisy's Yorkshire Rhubarb Jam will accompany each plate.
Baxter picked up her plate. "So this is a popover."
"An American Yorkshire pudding," suggested Mrs Hughes, "don't you think?"
Mrs Patmore was prepared to be stern in her assessment, but the macaroni and cheese was creamy, the biscuits tender, the salad attractive, and the popovers tall. Thomas had prepared each dish without assistance, and Mrs Patmore was proud as Punch in spite of the meal's simplicity. Nonetheless, she chose to keep her congratulations to herself. She did not want to contribute to the size of Thomas' head.
Mrs Patmore hoped that Thomas' culinary ambitions had been satisfied, but no. He continued to the next course that focused on dairy, eggs, and vegetables. Mrs Patmore resigned herself to her fate and wondered how many attempts it would take Thomas to master a soufflé.
Relief came unexpectedly in the form of Carson. Mrs Patmore knew that he had not been enjoying the idleness of forced retirement. Mrs Hughes had confided in her that her husband's study of wine was becoming less of a hobby and more of a flaw in his character and a threat to their marriage. His excesses were worsening both his temper and his palsy. One night, Mrs Hughes casually mentioned to Carson the success Thomas was having with his lessons. When he expressed interest, she pounced on the opportunity.
"I suggested that cooking would make an excellent hobby for an epicure such as himself," reported Mrs Hughes. "Then I suggested that Thomas has little time to spare and could use a partner. A sort of correspondence school chum."
"And?"
"He's agreed to approach Thomas."
"Thomas owes him a good turn," noted Mrs Patmore as she considered how such a partnership might affect her.
"I didn't fool him, Beryl. He said that I deserved better in a husband."
"He's right!"
"I don't know what I deserve. I only know that I want back the husband he was."
"I know, Elsie. That's what I meant."
"He's as fond of good food as he is of good wine. Perhaps ..."
"... one can replace the other? I want to help, but my kitchen's jammed full with Thomas as it is."
Mrs Hughes smiled. "Banish him. He can cook at our cottage. Charlie can do the shopping and get things ready, and Thomas can join him when he's able. That'll keep Charlie out of mischief."
"And when they curdle the cream and burn the butter?"
"If they need help, they can make an appointment to hear your advice. Assist them at your convenience, Beryl, not theirs."
With a bit of Mrs Patmore's pointed persuasion, Thomas accepted Carson's proposal. Mrs Patmore spelled out the rules, and the two men obeyed ... for the most part. It was a rare day when Mrs Patmore did not receive a note requesting a consultation. Once, when Thomas and Carson dared to appear in her kitchen unannounced with what they claimed was a cheese soufflé, she forcibly expelled them with a rolling pin. Daisy watched open-mouthed. Mrs Patmore tapped Daisy's chin. "Close the door. You're letting in the flies."
Mrs Patmore set the mixing bowl on the workbench. "The batter's ready, Gert. Prepare the tin, the one we use for Yorkshire puddings."
Gert pointed tentatively to the buttered tin sitting at the other end of the workbench.
Mrs Patmore eyed the tin and then the girl. Perhaps she could make something of this mouse after all. "Don't just stand there, girl, hold it while I pour." Gert slid the filled pan into the oven and waited anxiously for the results. Mrs Patmore could picture Thomas and Carson waiting by the oven with the same anxiety. It was that day she set aside to rectify their soufflés. Before they left the kitchen that night for their respective beds, the two men could manage all sorts of billowy presentations described in their lessons, not only cheese, but bean, corn, spinach, and pea. "Americans," snorted Mrs Patmore. "They'll make a soufflé from whatever the cat drags in."
Their confidence boosted, Thomas and Carson soon graduated to the third course: soup, meat, poultry, and fish. Thomas confessed to Mrs Patmore that he was glad to share the added expense with Carson. The pair took many more months to complete the final two courses that tackled everything from baking cakes to bottling their own catsup. Thomas posted his final examination more than two years from when he posted the first.
A few weeks later, Mrs Hughes invited Mrs Patmore to dinner on a night when the Crawley's would be attending Sunday dinner with friends in Ripon. "Nothing special. Charlie thought it might be a nice change for you. Bring Mr Mason."
Mrs Patmore looked forward to a meal prepared by someone else's hands. She and her husband of two years had little time to socialise.
Mrs Patmore remembered her surprise when Carson answered the door and took their coats. "Shouldn't you be in the kitchen, Charlie?"
"I've been ousted."
"Charlie Carson, you're not letting Elsie cook after everything I've taken the trouble to teach you!"
"Certainly not. You can peek in the kitchen if you care to risk it, but the cook has a poor temper."
Before Mrs Patmore could reply, there was a knock at the door, and she realised that she and her husband were not the only guests. Carson opened the door first to Bates and Anna and then to Daisy and Andy.
Thomas appeared from the kitchen in shirtsleeves and apron. His face was flushed, and a lock of hair had fallen forward, giving him a boyish appearance. "Dinner is served," he announced abruptly and returned to the kitchen.
The group found their places and read the menu cards prepared in Thomas' careful handwriting.
The Home of Mr and Mrs Charles Carson
Sunday, 12 January 1930
in Honour of Beryl Patmore
Vol-au-vents Filled with Lobster Ragout
Broiled Mushrooms
Piccalilli
Roast Pork and Crackling
Sage and Onion Stuffing
Baked Apples
Roast Potatoes
Pease Pudding
Parkin with Custard Sauce
Carson, who was sitting next to Mrs Patmore, leaned close and whispered, "Thomas wanted to thank you with a proper English roast dinner. He's practiced every dish 'til he can fix it with his eyes shut. I wanted to help, but he said he had a debt to pay you and had to do it himself."
"He has to do it himself so he can be the centre of attention," Mrs Patmore whispered back, "so we can fill his head with compliments."
"Not this time, Beryl. He didn't worry if this would impress you. He worried if this would make you happy. I tell you, I've never seen Thomas Barrow flustered, but he's flustered now."
At that moment, Thomas came to the table empty-handed. "I don't have to tell you that I've served thousands of meals. For the first time, I'm afraid of dropping the tray."
"I'll do it," volunteered Mrs Hughes. "I'm the hostess, aren't I?"
It was a boisterous evening of good friends, mouth-watering food, and merry conversation. Mrs Patmore never enjoyed herself more. She slipped into the kitchen between the roast course and the parkin. "Mr Barrow, the only compliment you'll get from me is my empty plate."
Thomas looked at the cleaned plate and smiled for the first time that night. "That says it all, doesn't it?"
"It's ready, Mrs Patmore," called Gert. With no prompting, she had pulled the sponge from the oven and tested its doneness.
"Don't bother me, girl. You know how to finish a Victoria sandwich." Mrs Patmore smiled to herself as Gert set the sponge on a rack to cool. Winnie was straining the broth she had made, and it was perfectly clear. Perhaps these girls aren't ninnies after all. Mrs Patmore thought of the two dreadful girls who preceded Winnie and Gert. They were sisters, Enid and Audrey, who deemed themselves too advanced to receive instruction from the likes of Mrs Patmore. They were hired when Daisy was forced by her improved circumstances to resign her position. A mere two weeks later, they walked off the job on the worst possible day. Lady Edith was visiting with not only her husband but her mother-in-law, the formidable Mrs Pelham.
Daisy would have been happy to help in an emergency but was in York on business. Mrs Patmore had no choice but to deliver the bad news to Thomas. As she tried to form the words in her head, Thomas appeared in the kitchen.
"Mrs Hughes told me," he explained as he removed his coat and donned his apron. "You tell me what to do, and I'll do it."
"You!"
"Why not me? You liked my dinner well enough."
"For one thing, you're the butler."
"Miss Baxter's gone to the school to inform Mr Molesley. She'll tell him to come as soon as school is dismissed. Minnie will have his old livery ready."
"How do you know he'll come?"
"You know very well he'll do whatever Miss Baxter asks. Any other objections?"
"You'll do exactly as I say?"
"You haven't lead me astray so far."
Thomas kept his promise. He was slower than Mrs Patmore, but his work was skilled.
Minnie reported that Mr Molesley managed service without a hitch.
"He's more confident now that he's married," remarked Thomas.
"So it's true!" Lord Grantham exclaimed as he came into the kitchen to find Thomas in his apron. "Mosely said you were cooking, and I didn't believe him."
"Yes, My Lord. The new kitchen-maids left without a word."
"It seems you did very well, Barrow."
"I learned from the best, My Lord."
Mrs Patmore frowned at the memory. From the moment Thomas Barrow first arrived at the Abbey, he had been a thorn in her side. Her days were so filled with work that she barely noticed the shift in their relationship, but shifted it had. She recalled his final day in Downton.
The household had gathered in spirited anticipation of Mr Novello's play that night in Sheffield and the farewell party he was throwing afterward. As the others clambered aboard the hired bus and argued over seats, Mrs Patmore pulled Thomas aside. "I have something for you, Mr Barrow." Without ceremony, she shoved a binder into his hands and pointed to its label.
Mrs Patmore's Favourite Recipes
Mrs Patmore watched with satisfaction as Thomas' eyes widened. He opened the volume and carefully turned the handwritten pages.
"You did this for me? It must have taken you hours and hours."
"It's not only the recipes, mind you. I wrote down all the mistakes you'll make and how to avoid them. I can't have you telling people I taught you to cook and then serving them something dreadful, can I?"
Thomas grinned. "I can't fail with this by my side."
"That remains to be seen. There's an inscription inside the front cover."
Thomas turned to the inscription.
For Thomas, who taught me to make American pumpkin pie ~ your friend, Beryl Patmore
Thomas clasped the binder to his chest. "You went to a great deal of trouble for me."
"I did it for those two little Bates babies. I expect you to cook them proper English meals."
"I promise. I don't know what to say, Mrs Patmore. This is a fine gift."
"It isn't so much."
"But I haven't anything for you. How shall I reciprocate?"
"Nonsense. You helped me when those girls bolted."
"A kiss, I think."
"What foolishness."
"May I?"
"Go on then."
Mrs Patmore touched her cheek at the spot where Thomas delivered his thank you. She could no longer deny it. She missed Thomas Barrow. She even missed the bedlam that followed him.
