In and Out the Houses by Elizabeth Taylor. Part 3.
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A few days later, Kitty called on Mrs Prout.
Mrs Prout’s cottage was one of Kitty’s favourite visits. Many years ago, before she was married, Mrs Prout had been a school-teacher, and she enjoyed using her old skills to deal with Kitty. Keeping her patience pliant, she taught her visitor new card games (and they were all educational), and got her on to collecting and pressing wild-flowers. She would give her pastry-trimmings to cut into shapes, and showed her how to pop corn and make fudge. She was extremely kind, though firm, and Kitty respected the rules – about taking off her Wellingtons and washing her hands and never calling on Mondays or Thursdays, because these were turning-out days when Mrs Prout was far too busy to have company.
They were very serious together. Mrs Prout enjoyed being authoritative to a child again, and Kitty had a sense of orderliness which obliged her to comply.
‘They sent this from the Vicarage, she said, coming into the kitchen with a small pot of marmalade.
‘How jolly nice!’ Mrs Prout said. She took the marmalade, and tilted it slightly, and it moved. Rather sloppy. But she thought no worse of the Vicar’s wife for that. ‘That’s really jolly nice of them, she said, going into the larder. ‘And they shall have some of my apple jelly, in fair return. Quid pro quo, eh? And one good turn deserves another’
She came out of the larder with a different little pot and held it to the light; but
the clear and golden content did not move when she tipped it sideways.
‘What’s the news?’ she asked.
‘Mrs Saddler still lingers on, Kitty said. She had called at the almshouse to en-quire, but the district nurse had told her to run off and mind her own business. ‘I looked in at the Wilsons’ on my way here. Mrs Wilson was making a cheese and onion pie. Of course, they’re vegetarians; but I have known him to sneak a little chicken into his mouth. I was helping to hand round at the De Vries’s cocktail-party, and he put out his hand towards a patty. “It’s chicken,” I said to him in a low voice. “Nary a word,” he said, and he winked at me and ate it.?’
‘And now you have said a word, Mrs Prout said briskly.
‘Why, so I have, Kitty agreed, looking astonished.
Mrs Prout cleared the kitchen table in the same brisk way, and said, ‘If you like, now, I’ll show you how to make ravioli. We shall have it for our television supper’
‘Make ravioli, cried Kitty. ‘You can’t make ravioli. Mrs Glazier buys it in a tin.’
‘So Mrs Glazier may. But I find time to make my own.’
‘I shall be fascinated, Kitty said, taking off her coat.
“Then wash your hands, and don’t forget to dry them properly. Isn’t it about time you cut your nails?’ Mrs Prout asked, in her school-mistressy voice, and Kitty, who would take anything from her, agreed. (‘We all know Mrs Prout is God, her mother sometimes said resentfully.)
‘Roll up those sleeves, now. And we’ll go through your tables while we work’ Mrs Prout set out the flour bin and a dredger and a pastry-cutter and the mincer. Going back and forth to the cupboard, she thought how petty she was to be pleased at knowing that by this time tomorrow, most of the village would be aware that she made her own ravioli. But perhaps it was only human, she decided.
‘Now this is what chefs call the mise en place, she explained to Kitty, when she had finished arranging the table. ‘Can you remember that? Mise en place’
‘Mise en place, Kitty repeated obediently.
***
‘Shall I help you prepare the mise en place?’ Kitty enquired of Mrs Glazier.
‘Mr Glazier wouldn’t touch it. I’ve told you he will only eat English food!’
‘But you have ravioli. That’s Italian.’
‘I just keep it as a stand-by, Mrs Glazier said scornfully. She was very huffy and put out these days, especially with Mrs De Vries next door and her getting the better of her every time. Annette de Vries was French, and didn’t they all know it. Mrs Glazier, as a result, had become violently insular.
‘I can make ravioli, Kitty said, letting the mise en place go, for she was not absolutely certain about it. ‘Mrs Prout has just been teaching me. She and Mr Prout have television trays by the fire, and then they sit and crack walnuts and play cards, and then they have hot milk and whisky and go to bed. I think it is very nice and cosy, don’t you?’
‘Mr Glazier likes a proper sit-down meal when he gets back. Did you happen to see Tiger anywhere down the lane?’
‘No, but I expect he’s next door. I told you their bitch is on heat. You ought to shut him up’
‘It’s their affair to shut theirs up!’
‘Well, I’m just calling there, so I’ll shoo him off!
She had decided to cut short this visit. Mrs Glazier was so bad-tempered these days, and hardly put herself out at all to give a welcome, and every interesting thing Kitty told her served merely to annoy.
‘And I must get on with my jugged hare, Mrs Glazier said, making no attempt to delay the departure. ‘It should be marinating in the port wine by now, she added grandly. ‘And I must make the soup and the croutons.’
‘Well, then, I’ll be going, Kitty said, edging towards the door.
‘And apricot mousse,’ Mrs Glazier called out after her, as if she were in a frenzy.