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‘Down here, dear!’ came Cook’s voice. Ginger could hear some tune being hummed in a slightly off-key manner as she walked to the head of the cellar steps and peered down into the gloom. Soon the cobwebbed curls of Vinca Bunce showed at the bottom landing, the face beneath them beaming. In one hand she held a tattered notebook, waving it triumphantly as she began to climb the steps.
Ginger had never seen Miz Bunce in quite so jolly a mood, except perhaps at the turning of the year party, when she’d tipped a few too many cups of wine punch and had several slices of Gammer Lilac’s brandied cake. But today she seemed quite steady on her feet as she advanced up the stairs.
‘I’ve found a veritable treasure, Ginger Gamwich . . . no mistaking it.’ She laid the dusty leather-bound book on the table and wiped the covers carefully with a dish towel. ‘Look here, girl,’ she said, motioning for Ginger to step nearer. ‘See here,’ she said, pointing to a faint name, neatly printed at the top of the front page. ‘Laura Grubb, it says. She’s the one that started it.’ Cook nodded her head thoughtfully. ‘Quite a good cook in her day, I heard tell from my gammer.’ Her finger moved down the long list of recipes written under Laura Grubb’s name. ‘Passed the book on to her daughter in law, Belladonna Took. She was the one married to that Bungo Baggins fellow.’
‘But there’s no name after hers and no recipes,’ remarked Ginger, who had crowded close to squint at the faded writing.
‘Sad, isn’t it,’ sighed Cook. ‘She had no daughters to pass it on to, and her son, Bilbo, never got married. I’d heard that one of the former cooks here at the Inn had gotten it as a mathom one birthday. And it’s taken me this long – but now I’ve found it!’
Cook turned the pages until she found what she was looking for. ‘Laura was well known for her tiered spice cake with sea-foam frosting . . . and all appointed with sugared violets.’ A gleam had come into Cook’s eye. No one had made such a cake since Belladonna had done so for Otho and Lobelia’s handfasting. Hers would be the first of the Fourth Age! She put the book carefully away in her locked cupboard and motioned for Ginger to follow after her.
‘First thing we’ll do,’ said Cook, striding toward the shaded flower beds, is pick a couple of bunches of violets – both, now, you hear. The lavender color and the yellow. Make sure they’re pretty, and fresh. No wilted looking ones.’ She showed Ginger where the flowers were and left her with a small basket and some snips.’
‘I’ll just start the sugar water to coat them with while you’re gathering. Bring them in once you’re done and we’ll get them set. I’ve saved a place in the cooler to store them until we place them on the cake.’
‘We?’ said Ginger, kneeling down by the little clumps of violets.
‘I hear from your mother you’ve a light hand with the batter.’ Cook nodded her head once at the lass before turning back to the kitchen. ‘You’re going to help me with the cake . . .’
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