The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 21
The Mystery Of Macgregor's Cove by June Davies
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- 21. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 21
- 22. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 22
- 23. The Mystery of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 23
- 24. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 24
“Mrs Macgregor and little Betsy called and left this for you,” Penelope announced with a smile, carrying a stone flagon into her father’s room. “It comes with the Macgregor family’s glad tidings for the season.”
Elias Whitlock’s gaunt face lit up. Every year he looked forward to the Macgregors’ gift of mead.
“There’s a fair few local folk use our honey for mead-making, but there’s none makes better than Ethel Macgregor. And her special recipe Christmas mead is best of all.
“Put it there on the tall boy where I can see it,” he went on. “At least I’ll be able to look at it – even if that quack Baldwin won’t let me drink it.”
“Doctor Baldwin’s a fine physician,” Penelope chided, doing as she was bidden. “His orders are for your own good.”
“Pah! He fusses.” Elias paused. “Penny, this’ll be the first time in forty years your mother and I won’t be at the pottery giving out Goode’s Day buns and boxes to our folk on Christmas Eve.”
“I know, Father.” The sadness in his eyes caught at Penelope’s heart. She understood how very much this tradition meant to her parents – and to all the workers at Whitlock’s Pottery, too.
“It’s Nora’s day out, so Mother and I are baking the buns today,” she said cheerfully, stooping to kiss his pale forehead before quitting the room. “I’ll remind Adam about the boxes; everything will be ready for Christmas Eve.”
* * * *
“I’ll leave the pair of you to it,” Haddonsell’s cook remarked, clamping on her hat as she bustled into the Grange’s kitchen. “Can I do anything before I go?”
“No, thanks, Nora.” Dorothy Whitlock smiled, already measuring out flour for the first batch of buns. “Are you going into town?”
Nora shook her head.
“I’m going over to Akenside to see my niece.”
Penelope glanced up from chipping corners from the sugar loaf. She remembered Joan Mumford well.
“Please give Joan my regards, Nora. We were all sorry when she left the pottery.”
“No more than I was!” Nora retorted. “I rue the day Joanie left Whitlock’s, Miss Penny, and the day she wed that man of hers. He’s a bad lot.”
“If Joan ever wants to come back to the pottery,” Penelope ventured, “we’ll be very glad to have her.”
“I’ll tell her, but . . .” Nora shrugged in resignation, picking up her bag and making for the door.
After she’d gone, Dorothy began chopping the butter while Penelope set to mixing vine fruits, grated citrus peel, spices and sugar for the buns.
Speaking of Joan Mumford had brought thoughts of the pottery to Penelope’s mind, and as she worked, memories flooded back.
From childhood, she’d looked forward to accompanying her father to the pottery once or twice every week, learning how the goods were made, getting to know the folk who made them and understanding how he managed the works.
When Elias fell ill, it had meant the world to Penelope that he’d entrusted Whitlock’s to her – until Adam was able to return from India.
Since then, she hadn’t stepped within the pottery’s gates. It wasn’t her place to interfere, she knew that.
But despite Penelope’s knowledge and experience, Adam had never sought her opinion or advice.
“I miss the pottery,” she declared unexpectedly, looking up from grating peel and meeting Dorothy’s eyes. “It was worthwhile work, Mother. And I was good at it.
“As a matter of fact,” Penelope reflected, “I was very good at running Whitlock’s.”
