Chapter 60 – From Another POV
Miss Fairborne overheard her housemaid chirping excitedly downstairs about a new discovery on the street.
This was part of a task assigned by the middle-aged housekeeper: the young maid was to go out after luncheon, observe the streets, and gather news so the household would not fall behind on local trends and rumours. Newspapers often reported matters too distant to concern the women of the townhouse; word of mouth, on the other hand, was far more relevant.
Thus, after luncheon and the day’s cleaning, the girl would make her rounds – checking the grocers, noting any changes, and reporting her findings back to the housekeeper.
Today’s report concerned a new stall.
“They’re selling penny skewers!” Kathy said, gesturing animatedly. “It’s some kind of food somewhere between a meatball and a dumpling. One penny for a skewer, and there are five balls on it! And if you pay another halfpenny, they’ll fry it in tallow – the clear kind they use for the Mellian fries!”
“A penny… for meat?” Mrs. Howard, the housekeeper, quickly calculated in her head and frowned. “That seems unlikely. They would have to charge at least two pennies to make a profit. Otherwise, they would be selling at a loss. Unless they are using inferior cuts, but even then…” She paused, then shook her head slightly. “I do not suppose the well-known Miss Jade would choose to serve poor-quality meat; that would taint her reputation and she aims to feed her students with the income.”
“I asked the newsboys there,” Kathy added eagerly. “They said the meat was donated by the butchers, and it’s too much for the students to eat or distribute before it spoiled. So the kitchen decided to process it and sell it quickly. The recipe was adapted from Miss Jade’s suggestion.”
Mrs. Howard nodded. “Ah, that explains it. A sensible way to make use of surplus.”
“They also said the money will go toward buying blankets next,” Kathy continued. “Last time, it was spent on dictionaries and food. And the pies they’re selling are the same ones they eat at school.”
“The offal pies?” Mrs. Howard raised a brow. “A modest but commendable improvement. I must say, I am impressed by how Miss Jade prepares offal. It is not unpleasant at all. Did you notice anything else?”
Kathy thought for a moment. “Oh! They’ve hung up a slate in front of the new stall, listing the butchers who made the donations.”
“Do you recall any names?” Mrs. Howard asked.
“I remember one, Mr. Stonewell, the one we usually visit.” Kathy hesitated, then shook her head. “I could not read the rest. There were too many people crowding the stall, all trying to buy the skewers.”
“It is reassuring to know our butcher manages his stock responsibly,” Mrs. Howard said with a nod. “Sending surplus where it may be put to good use. We shall purchase some beef tomorrow, and some lard as well. Did you not try a skewer yourself?”
Kathy patted her belly. “I’m full. Maybe next time.”
“Perhaps there will be no next time,” Mrs. Howard said lightly.
Kathy’s eyes widened.
“As you said, the penny skewers exist only because of the surplus. If that supply ends–”
“Then there won’t be any more penny skewers!” Kathy cried. “Mrs. Howard, may I take a short break? I’ll be very fast, please, I just want to try one!”
Mrs. Howard frowned. “Kathy, there are rules in this household, and you are well aware of them.”
Kathy whined, but her sorrow was interrupted by a calm voice from nearby. “It is quite all right. Let her go.”
Both the housekeeper and the maid looked up to find their young mistress standing by the staircase, watching them. They quickly bowed in acknowledgement.
Miss Fairborne paused for a moment. “In fact, I shall go with Kathy.”
Mrs. Howard’s brows drew together slightly. “Miss Lydia, the streets are slippery, and the crowd would be most unsuitable for a lady to stand among.”
“Kathy will queue,” Miss Fairborne replied calmly. “I shall wait at a distance, in a tea room.”
After a brief pause, Mrs. Howard gave a small, approving nod.
Miss Fairborne turned and made her way upstairs. “Kathy, come and assist me with my dress.”
“Yes, Miss Lydia!” Kathy straightened at once and hurried up the staircase, careful to keep her steps quiet.
Before long, they were out on the bustling street.
Miss Fairborne entered a tea room diagonally across from the grocer’s where the stall had been set up. It was modest but respectable, with a few small tables. The establishment served cakes, simple pastries, and milk bread, along with a variety of teas – its customers were mostly working-class women seeking a touch of refinement in their daily routines.
She chose a seat near the front, where she could observe the street through the porch, while Kathy – after ensuring her mistress had ordered tea and cake – hurried off to join the long queue for the penny skewers.
Among the crowd, the young maid – who usually seemed short in their own neighbourhood – appeared perfectly ordinary. Most of the people gathered around the chips and skewer stall were of similar standing, but unlike the maid in her provided uniform, they were poorly dressed, some ragged, and speaking in slang that more genteel society would consider uncouth.
And yet, amid the thin, dusty, and rough-looking crowd, a few stood out.
The teenage boys running the stall.
The newsboys and newsgirls weaving through the crowd, baskets of pies in their arms and bags of newspapers slung over their shoulders.
They were different.
At first, Miss Fairborne could not place why. But soon, she understood.
They were cared for.
Their posture, their expression, the effort they made to keep themselves clean even in such circumstances. It set them apart from the usual street urchins she had glimpsed in passing.
Steam rose from the pot of boiling water, softening the sharpness of the winter air. Compared to their greasy sister stall selling fried chips, the scene felt almost… gentle. Warm, even.
It was a kind of liveliness Miss Fairborne rarely noticed – or rather, had rarely paid attention to, until recently, when she heard the name: Miss Jade Lysmere.
She came across it through Mr. Trent, Lord Ashborne’s secretary.
A few days earlier, when Mr. Trent presented her with the proposal for a charity bazaar at the Silver Acorn, he had mentioned – almost in passing – that parts of it had been suggested by this Miss Jade Lysmere. In particular, the measures concerning fire hazards and the distribution of map pamphlets to arriving guests.
A young lady’s name… paired with fire safety. What an unusual combination.
Naturally, she had inquired further, and Mr. Trent briefly elaborated. According to him, this young teacher had practically transformed a ragged school – introducing methods that did not rely solely on charitable donations, but instead sustained the institution through modest, profitable ventures.
And, by all accounts, she had succeeded.
Even the recently popular parlour game, The Quinark’s Journey, was said to be connected to her.
Grandmama had yet to decide whether to host the bazaar at the Silver Acorn. But the young lady who assisted the Dowager Countess had already taken a mental note of this unusual teacher.
“Hello, good miss, can I have a short interview with you?” A newsboy’s voice broke into her thoughts.
He had stepped up to the edge of the porch, standing on tiptoe without touching the railing to address her. When their eyes met, he flashed a bright, unabashed grin.
The accent, the phrasing– Miss Fairborne let out a soft chuckle and inclined her head. “Why, yes. What would you like to ask?”
“What kind of trinket would you be looking to buy if there were a bazaar?” The boy asked eagerly.
Miss Fairborne blinked, paused, and asked, “And why do you ask so?”
A newsboy… inquiring about a lady’s preference in trinkets?
How curious.
“Because our teacher would like to know…” The boy frowned, then hesitated. “Wait here, good miss, I’ll go call someone who knows better.”
Before Miss Fairborne could respond, he had already trotted off.
Kathy returned not long after – the queue had moved far more quickly than Miss Fairborne had expected.
“Oh, they’ve parboiled the skewers at their domus,” Kathy explained, presenting a bowl filled with thickened soup and five meatballs. “For another penny, they give a bowl of soup as well – but you have to leave a five-penny deposit so you don’t run off with the bowl and spoon.”
This portion was meant for Miss Fairborne. The young lady had been quite curious about Miss Lysmere’s goods and had initially wished to try the well-known two-penny sweet biscuits. Unfortunately, they were not sold in the cold season, and the fried chips were rather too… unsuitable for her station.
The penny skewer, however, sat in a more ambiguous space. Not improper to taste – but certainly not something to speak of openly.
Kathy, meanwhile, had taken a skewer without soup. She bit into it, and her eyes lit up at once.
Miss Fairborne gave Kathy a quick glance before turning her attention back to the bowl.
The soup was plain in appearance. She lifted a spoonful to her lips – peppery, lightly vinegared, with a gentle savoury note beneath. Too simple for her usual tastes. Yet, as she glanced toward the crowded street, she noticed something: many watched the boiling pot with interest, but only a few had held bowls in their hands.
Even a penny’s worth of warm soup was a small luxury.
She took a bite of the meatball. The flavour was uncomplicated, the texture smooth, but the balance was agreeable, pairing well with the sharp warmth of the broth.
Miss Fairborne allowed herself a moment of imagination, giving it her best effort.
A draughty home. An empty pantry. The quiet, persistent worry of how to manage the next meal… In such a life, this modest bowl – costing only two pennies – might well be a source of comfort in the cold.
“Oh, certainly, Miss Lydia,” Kathy said, nodded eagerly. “Back when I lived with Mama and Papa, I’d have bought this every day. We might have had vinegar, but never pepper. We could water down the soup, keep it simmering with embers, and drink it whenever we felt cold… You see, Miss, we have to be careful with coal. Usually, we only light it at night to keep warm. We don’t heat anything during the day if we can help it.”
As she spoke, a group of men approached the stall, each carrying their own bowls. The boys at the stall filled with soup from a separate pot.
“Why are there two pots?” Miss Fairborne asked. Her knowledge of such matters was limited.
Kathy leaned forward, studying the setup, then her face lit with understanding. “The larger pot is for reheating the skewers. But the water reduces and thickens, so they pour that into the smaller pot to make soup, then add fresh water to the big pot to keep boiling. Oh, they’re clever in making use of everything. Even the leftover water tastes good!”
Miss Fairborne gave a soft hum in response. She finished the soup and skewer quietly. Not remarkable, but entirely acceptable, even to her palate.
Kathy poured her a cup of tea before returning the empty bowl back to the stall. Miss Fairborne had barely lifted the cup when the newsboy returned. This time, he was accompanied by a teenage boy carrying a notebook.
“Good day, Miss. My apologies if our lad had disturbed you earlier.” The teenage boy bowed slightly and lifted his cap. “Would you mind lending us a few minutes for a small product interview? I am conducting market research to determine what sort of goods we should prepare for a charity bazaar.”
“Market research?” Miss Fairborne glanced at the newsboy, then back at the teenage boy, who wore a polite smile.
Another student of Miss Lysmere’s. Another unfamiliar term… How intriguing. After a brief pause, she inclined her head. “Very well. You may proceed.”