Read Online Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt - Free Book Online

loved their young lord. “Aye, John,” they called. Two or three cheered.
    “Where is Choirmaster?” John Temsland asked. “Summon him. The king loves music—we will give him music. It will be godly music, and perhaps God will help us.
    This time more in the crowd cheered. Already servants were running down the hill to the village to get Choirmaster.
    Lord Temsland was afraid of no one, but he revered two offices, that of the king and that of the churchman. The manor was bigger than the parish church, but over the years Lord Temsland had lavished his church with a stained-glass window, a bell that rang for Sabbath and for weddings and funerals, and—glory of glories—an organ.
    For three years it sat in the church, a symbol of civilization in Tide-by-Rood, polished to a shine, stately and ... silent. No one knew how to play it. And then Choirmaster came to our town—a strange thing, for no one came to our town—and brought the organ to life.
    Now Lady Temsland, always calm and unruffled, had a slight blush upon her cheek, and said, “Son, we must find some new and wonderful dishes to delight the palate of the king when he comes.”
    “Send for Cook!” John cried.
    Cook came quickly, as if she had been awaiting his summons.
    “Here I am, m’ lord,” she said.
    “Undoubtedly you have heard,” John said respectfully, for he loved the old woman. When he was an infant, she had nursed him. After he was weaned, she took a place as pie mistress of the kitchen and often made him cinnamon sticks from leftover crust. “The king is coming to our fair,” said John. “Be prepared to serve all of your best meats and breads and pies. Perhaps you might also concoct a new dish, Cook, something the king has never had before.”
    Cook rubbed her soft whiskers. “And what would that be, Johnny?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. You are the cook.”
    “Don’t forget, young sire, we’re just a poor village in the farthest corner of Angleland. Do you think I have anything here to interest a king?”
    “You will try, Cook,” John commanded, though he was unused to asserting his authority.
    “Can’t do it,” she said bluntly.
    I saw Beatrice gasp and Gretta’s eyes open wide.
    John reddened. Everyone in the room looked from him to Cook and back again. Cook stood her ground.
    “You will do as I say,” John said firmly.
    “Can’t, Johnny,” she said.
    He sputtered, “Cook, you mustn’t call me...”
    “I changed your nappies, sire,” she said.
    “By the...!”
    Lady Temsland leaned over and laid a soft hand on her son’s. “Perhaps, Cook, you will call him Johnny only when he comes to the kitchen to steal cookies,” she said with a small smile. “Dear Cook, I am sure you can come up with something wonderful.”
    “I am old, lady,” Cook said, more humbly.
    “Your sons, though?”
    “They have learned to cook by rote, lady. Not one has the gift. They are all three hopeless knaves, taking after their father, who thankfully died years ago.”
    Lady Temsland nodded understandingly, though she could not entirely quit the smile from her face. “Well then, we shall have to depend upon God for help.”
    I spoke up. “If I may, lady.”
    Even Lady Temsland, who was always composed, seemed surprised that I would speak up again. Beatrice blushed for shame in my behalf.
    “This Keturah Reeve,” Cook said, her whiskers bristling, “she cannot cook.”
    “Padmoh will help—she won Best Cook. And I can help. We can all help.”
    Every eye was upon me, but it was John Temsland’s eyes that I felt. “And what can you do?” he asked me.
    “I can do tricky things with eggs and herbs and cheeses.”
    “Peasant food,” he said, sighing.
    “But delicious,” I said.
    Everyone was shocked that I had contradicted the young lord. My boldness came, perhaps, from remembering that one whom even the young lord must obey wanted to marry me.
    “Sir, it is said the queen has a lemon drink every year at Christmas,” I