[piosenniel]

Buttercup and Ruby

‘Hop to! Well, now who died and made her the big frog in the pond?’

Ruby pushed the wisps of hair from her forehead now damp with sweat. As she scooped up spoonfuls of vegetables to accompany the slices of venison on the plates that Buttercup passed her, she noted her friend’s cheeks had gone a dangerous shade of crimson . . . and she was muttering as she attacked the haunches of meat with a large carving knife.

‘I think we should speak to Miz Aman about her “new hire”,’ whispered Ruby, leaning in close to Buttercup. She could hear the litany of muttered imprecations as the other woman took each slice with the knife:

‘Skills! . . . and who does she think she’s talking to . . . still need to learn! Cook taught me all I need to know . . . she’s the one what needs to learn, if there’s any learning to be done . . . and look at her sitting there like some high and mighty little missy . . . who in blo . . .’

‘Buttercup! Hush! She’ll hear you. We’ll talk to Miz Aman – see if she can sort this out.’ If we ever get time, that is, she added to herself, with all this “hopping” we’re going to be doing.

Buttercup turned for a moment and stared at Hawthorne. She was sitting with her feet propped on the rung of another chair, a cool glass of milk in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on her little journal as her pen scrabbled over the pages. Buttercup glared at the woman and shook the knife at her, then turned back to her friend.

‘You may talk to Miz Aman all you want, Ruby Brown. I’m writing to Miz Bunce!’

And with that she skewered another small roast from the pan and brought it to the cutting board, slicing it in sure swift strokes with a skillful and deadly precision . .