Aunt Brook's Recipe.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIII, Issue 28, 2 February 1907, Page 10

Aunt Brook's Recipe.

» I. She 'was the most distinguished person in our village. Others far richer, fancy?ng themselves of loftier social position, might put on more airs ; but nono possessed secret are of poor Aunt Brook. None may ever again hope to enjoy a fame so extensive, .uut, after all, this is just as well. No living being in these flightier days could sustain with such dignity, and at tho same time with such complacent humility, so vast a reputation. Every year, for a week before and after Easter, Aunt Brook's little shop at the corner was a sight to behold. The neighbours on both sides all up the village street wore for over pdpping down to their garden gates to peep and admire. It was not tho shop itself whkh attracted 6uuh industrious attention. Familiar enough, that needs but brief description here. A low, thatched cottage, with a half-thatch door — during business ' hours ojien at the top — a tittle window with r&any panes of glass, so ancient that it cast a green unwholesome hue upon the bottles of candy and peppermint bull's-3yes, all of Aunt Brook's manufacture, that s'ood in even rows on a starch-liox tastily concealed by a mountain of oranges ami nuts — that ■was all the passing strangi.r found -to look at. ' But it was the activity that was so extraordinary. Tho commerce was so extensive. Carriages with pairs of horses, such as prance jn the toreground of an almanac-engraving to indicate tho class of customer which supports somo huge emporium in the town, would have been no fiction in a drawing i of Aunt Brook's establishment. Say of an April morning when the bunches of jonquils in tho garden were yellow as gold and lilac • was breaking into flower in the sunny showerj., certain as" tho light, no eye on earth could have watched so little as a quarter of an hour without seeing draw up before ' Aunt Brook's door a dogctii't — or even two. For Aunt Brook supplied the trad a as well as' the gentry. And the village children . too, when they came monoy in hand. And tilis was all tho result of that wonderful recipe. It fell to Aunt Brook as the reward of [ virtue. Sho did not weary of telling how that camo to pass. She would lean upon the half-hatch in the slack season of a summer -evening, and tell the story again and again,— until the false front under hor cap would got awry with excitement^—for Aunt Brook was well on in years at tho time of her greatest popularity, and wore a beautiful set of false tooth as well that looked almost too perfect in comparison with her wrinkles. The returns from the recipe fully justified both these expenditures. "Yes. Now all of you young maidens boar in mind. I had the recipe a-gied to me for nothing in tho world but because I was so clean. There, I always was most wonderful clean. I must ha' been born clean, I really and truly do believe. For when I were but a little bit of a maid, if I had but so much as a smut 'pon the arm o1o 1 me, or 'pon my little naked shoulder, as we did go in those days, I never could rest till my mother did come wit he corner of a handkerchief, jus' damp wi' her tongue, to clean it off like. Always so spick an' span as a primrose. La ! The many that did want me to be sure. An' though I did walk out wi' more 'an one, and moro 'an two, I never didn't let my head run 'pon tho men-folk. I wouldn' never let 'em tumble me, an' I wouldn' never lean my arms "pon a grpke. Bles3 you, all o' cc ! Why, I could a-marricd times. But I used to como down hero, to this very shop, to help tho old lady who did reside here and carried on the business when I were up a young woman. And I'll toll cc true, though I were so young, I were artful, and I had my oyo 'pon the shop and the recipe. An' I thought if I took t'other I should never get they. So I ' stayed on here an' worked my very best. Till como one Candlemas, just at dark, and the old lady frail and Easter near, she beckosed me into tho little inner room and shut tho door. And she made me lay my hand 'pon tho open Bible, 'tis Gospel true, and a tallow candle, ten to the pound, and a little brass tray and snulfcrs standing close ' beside on the small oaken table and nothing else, and declared most wonderful and solemn like, that I wouldn' never toll in hor life nor' set up in trade against her, and then she put into i my hand the recipe, a-wroto down, tho only one in tho whole world, in a blue endilope that I could show you now — and will » Then she would disappear for a moment from the doorway; and presently return, holding up to tho wondering gaze of the maidens and womanhood of Moripuddle — ' as a priest might hold up a relic — a. longfaded enovelope. "There! And the old lady put it in my very own hand. And sho 6aid, 'Patricia Brook — Patricia, my good maid, I do give you that receipt because you be so dean. You be neat in your person and clean in your face and hands, and none otherwise could make in good hopes to sell.' And that's how I stepped into the fortune o' the celebrated Easter cake, that all the gentry will have, and some do think nothing o twenty mile to send for." , Then Aunt Brook would put tho envelone away again in that secret hidingplace, which no living soul, could ever suspect. "But hi!" Aunt Brook would argue, "It isn't all in the recipe, but something in the hand. Why, if four-and-twenty <? you a-etanding round to-night could read every word o the writing and then go home and moke, could I take one cake apiece and send out in the same two dozen? Oh, no! Thet^d be 6omo so hard as tiles and some so short you couldn't really lift 'em to your lips between finger and thumb. And then tho. baking, too, must be just to a touch like, just to a nicety. There must be a thought o' moisture and yet most be dry. For all the world lifco the high-road thero m spring after a day's sun upon two days' rain afore the dust-con blow. And then the engurcn, too. Now, that's all in tho 'hand. How cottld I look a customer in tho face -if I did sift the sugar like ashes, ■all in heaps? But if j^ou do take a cake o' mine it do tempt the eye like. For the sugar do lie so even as hoar-frost on a meadow. Though Ido oay it myself, it do. It really «io." It did. Neither customer nor trade competitor had ever questioned the excellence of Aunt Brooks' art. She. brought just so much temperament to the execution of that unrivalled composition, of which she alone held the copyright, that every cake was in perfect taste. Sweet, yet with no suspicion of mawkish sentiinentoliby, its currants -were sprinkled with judgment after clear perception that profuse ornamentation is out of place upon a serions occasion. Aunt, Brook's paster calve was a poem. Under mastication it melted like a dream-. But no confestionery, however spiritual, can confor immortality. Many years before her decease, tho cad truth was recognised in the village thai poor Aunt Brook must dio. She had no kin. Her auntship was but a courtesy title, freely bestowed upon the respectability of elderly epinstechood. Nobody alive could claim by blood to hold a post-obit on tho great receipt. A pastrycook in the market town had been known to offer Aunt Brook a sum — the amount had not been ascertained — a largo sum down at once, with it percentago during life, for the immediate goodwill of her wonderful Easter cake. He I^a4. raised, before h{r ..e^ea.^vjjjiopa.of a. 0

magnificent development of the trade ■»^L der his • management. He pointed out what could be done. He spoke of the celebrated biscuit made in Bath.- But the artist soul of poor Aunt Brook refused offers of gold ag grmlv as it had refused matrimony. "What ?" she asked.' "Be 1 to stand arms crossed an' watch another make my very own cake?" She hated that confectioner for the very munificence of his bribe. When he called again, although it was to order, sho set Jinny Bragg to stand in t.he shop and "enter down how many in the book" whilst sho ran out into tho garden and "croupied down to hide" between the Hack currant bushes and the winter rank of brittle kidney-bean sticking. Thus poor Aunt Brook in her simplicity betrayed a fear in the presence of temptation such as qjir first parents only experienced after a consciousneos of guilt. Tho real considerations which weighed with Aunt Brook were the respect of the surrounding gentry based upon the unvarying quality of her wares (which one year after another did really come so true to one another as marrowfat peas in & pod) and luo kindly attentions of the neighbours. It did her heart good to see the carriages drive up; or, better still, for the*! young ladies to come tripping in from the ; Hall, and talk— "Yes, tslk, poor. Aunt Brook wwdd explain, "so pleasant an' 60 smiling as roses on the house-front— that is if roses could smile — an' then after all carry a-wsy their cakes in pepem bags so simple as you or me." X was deeply gratifying to reflect that Jane Bragg — that is, Jinny's mother and wife of Jfohn, the sexton — had never" failed for ton years, whenever that household killed a pig, to send in as a present, say, half a pound of black pudding, an irresistible bat malignant delicacy in which poor Aunt Brook revelled, although it invariably made her m. Aunt Brook really loved such little attentions. And yet, between the spasms subsequent to this one, thexo would sometimes intervene a moment of clear insight/ when she divined a motive underneath this respectful offering.. "All! Jinny Bragg would never have th© hand," eighed sue to herself, with a solemn shako of the head. Every girl in Marlpuddle, each after her own peculiar way, set herself to woo Aunt Brook. There was spirited competition to mind the shop whenever the old lady might chance to walk down-street ; butif she went into tho town — a mysterious event which the public could not anticipate — envy wont rampant on tho outer side of tho hatch. t Such expeditions, undertaken to 'prq'vide the ingredients, one at a time from different places) created quite a stir in Marl- j puddle. It was believed that, by keeping an oyo opon and putting this and that together, something or other might somo fino day be "wormed out." But nothing became known. Even the belief that the subtle flavour — so universally admired in Aunt Brook's cake — had its origin in "sherry-wine" was shaken when the old lady, pouring from tho very bottle which had given foundation to the rumour, explained that she was always obliged to keep a little something in the house to correct the richness of Mary Bragg's black pudding. Thus the village might have learned that no knowledgo in this world is absolute. The composition of tho wonderful Easter-oake could no more be guessed at than the creation of suns and worlds, for which tho recipe lies hidden, God only knows where, in the great blue envelope. A secret so elusive, so strictly exclusive, could only arouse a deeper wondor and a -more eager hope. So in addition to a high percentage upon large returns the" recipe continued to bestow upon Aunt Brook a sort of unearned increment. It was hei? constant boast that for tho last ton years she had never put' hand to clip the little box-hedgo hi' thef. garden or so much as cracked pod to shell pno singlopea. Then ono fine day there came a surprise for Marlpuddle. It was freely whispered that Aunt Brook had verily and truly taken on Jinny Bragg. To be suro, Aunt Brook said nothing. In response to direct enquiry she did but gaze with the impenetrable silence of tho sphinx. And Jinny had a talent for romance. So the terms tho village never quite knew. But Jinny popped in and out like a young rabbit in Bummer all day long. This was what really happened. It was noon on the day before Candlemas of a year when Easter fell in March, and poor Aunt Brook felt weary under tho burden of business cares. She was resting with her hands upon the counter when Jinny ran into the shop. "A pound o' best an' a pound o' blue," said Jinny. "There do 'cc jus* cut it off an' weigh for yourself, for I do really feel I don'c know how," panted poor Aunt Brook. Then Jinny up and spoke. "Lai Aunt Brook, you really do want rbg'lar help. Why idden thero any mortal soul you could trust, , like? Whatever could folk do if anything should happen, as happon some day or another it surely mus'." Aunt Brook looked at Jinny. She was a great strapping maid, with big eyes, a colour fresh as morning, and hair — well, not carroty. Jinny went mad as a wild-cat if anybody called it that. Tho old-world pnraso of Marlpuddle described it well. Jinny had "a head like a houso a-nre." And her broad face was honest ; or, rather, of a very transparent dishonesty even moro commondablo. "Jinny," said Aunt Brook, with emotion not altogether unpleasurablo. "I shall go on till I do drop. I do know" I shall. And, Jinny 1" Aunt Brook leaned over the counter and lowered her voice almost to a whisper, "Though I've got none belonging to me near enough to put on black, I shall be missed. So sure as Easter do come round an' cakes be' wanted, but no Aunt Brook — I shall bo missed." "But, la. Sure you'll learn somebody. Why, you'd better to tako somebody on to show by degrees." "Bat where is she, Jinny?" "Why, I'd come myself," cried thes girl, putting on a flippant manner to cover the audacity of the suggestion. Aunt Brook looked grave. ' "Jinny 1" she began with judicial firmness, "you bo clean ■" Jinny beamed. Even without excitement her checks glistened with that peculiar sheen which results from extravagance in yellow soap. "Well ! And so I be," sho admitted. <f An,' Jinny! You be willing — .—". — " "I bont afraid o' work. That nobody can't say." "But, Jinny. If I was to tako you on, do you know .how ifc would beP Sorao fino spring morning, wi' all tho boughs in leaf, an' tho birds in voice, an' a smart young chap a-galltvanrting down tho street. An' then — fly away Jinny. Fly away herofrom to the church." Aunt Brook threw xip heT aims to indicato tho unpremeditated rapidity of Jinny's flight. For the moment it appeared that a suspected constitutional inaptitude for cotibacy would juin Jinny's chances. However, it was arranged that, without establishing any claims upon the Tecipo, the maids might come in daily at five shillings a week to make herself! g-eneriUly useful and mind tho shop. ! H. Months and oven years oped by, but Jinny stood tho test, and every day proved more and moro satisfactory. Sho was ''willing" and "a ah] you could jspesvk tot" and' "wonderful quick to

and "one you did not have to keep on teffing twice." All these virtues Aunt Brook" clearly recognised' and was free to admit. To be sure one summer day Jinny did 'walk out "wi a. sojur." But Aunt Brook was far too high-minded to take notice I of that. In the days when she was so much sought after Aunt Brook had done the same thing herself , though not for j long. And as the hero quickly returned to his regiment, considering tho great talk of war there was in the papers, Aunt Brook prudently Temained silent and hoped for the best. Yet in her cottage parlour alone of an evening a dart of restless discontent would come creeping into the old lady s mind. Sho had taught Jinny everything — everything, that is, excepting tho ono tiling of importance. The sugar-sifting, the Tolling-out to a perfectly discriminated thinness, the cutting with the mid-dler-sized saucepan-lid, the baking, and all the intricate workmanship that goes to the creation of an irreproachable Easter-cake, Jinny knew. Only the recipe was witbltfld. To bo byre, like mankind upon this planet, Jinny was not permitted to ap- ' pear upoa the scene until infinite mixing had thrown everything into inextricable confusion. Tho ingredients of the mass, as she found it, were beyond identification. Tho sources from which Aunt Brook so secretly obtained her materials remained 60/ far outside tho Teach of observation and enquiry ash the origin of matter. Bat that ono mystery disclosed, there could be no more to learn. Jinny would be as competent a maker as Aunt Brook herself. This reflection constantly gave Aunt Brook pain. For/ many years she hfid lived alone, and the only deep interest that life afforded was the celebrated cake. It had provided company and gossip. It had enabled her to enjoy a self-respect often denied to unchosen spinsterhood. But now, with old age creeping upon her, she felt a y-earning for more than she possessed. She began to see the futility of her boast that when she was gone sho would be missed. With Jinny holding tho recipe, why should anybody bestow another thought upon the memory of poor Aunt Brook? It would be Jane Bragg's cake then. Only for a week at most would heT name be remembered, and in six months not a soul would stop to read the text upon Patricia Brook's headstone. This secret misgiving qrexr and grew. She sat nuTsing it hour after hour over her winter fire; for of late her blood began to run cold, and there was no need to go out into the draughty shop sinoa Jinny was no clever. She began to grow querulous with the maid, and to find fault without^ reason. Tho neighbours would loiter in the shop. She overheard their talk and laughter, but they did little more than pop their heads around tlie parlour door to enquire how Aunt Brook did. Now and again the young ladies from the Hall looked in to see her. Thinking to oheer her up, they would congratulate the old soul upon the talent and utility of Jinny, who was even able to make tho celebrated Easter-cakes "under your direction, ktiss Brook." The old lady suffered tho misery of the successful artist who outlives popularity. Set aside, she saw smother clunking into her place. Suddenly a change came over the good folk at Marlpuddle. John Bragg, the sexton, a kindly, sympathetic man, who took an especially friendly interest in very elderly people, or any who fell sick, made the TemaTk one morninr; ia the churchyard, whilst rolling back the Eod to dig a grave, that j in his belief, though he might be wrong, poor Aunt Brook was fast "breaking up." Whispered jound tlys village with much shaking of wise heads, this mere opinion quickly hardened into definite prediction. It was told that tho sexton had it from Jinny -that poor Aunt Brook, suffering from an internal incurable complaint, could not bo long foT this world. This rumour restored Aunt Brook at once in the public esteem. Tho neighbours now came frequently, and many of them stayed for a long time. The complaint, if, indeed, there wore not more than onej proved most obscure, and embraced in varying measure all the symptoms of all the ailments preceding all the celebrated cures in all the weekly papers. Every day some kindly soul just looked in to cheer 1 - poor Aunt Brook with tho account of some hitherto unheard-of remedy, and the portrait of a poor sufferer restored, after years of misery and but one bottle, to health and personal attractiveness. Poor Aunt Brook tried every one. Some she sipped from tho botiles of commiserating friendship, and others she wrote for through the post. She swallowed the wholo lot ; yet, after all, like tho poor woman of the Scriptures, found herself "nothing bettered, but rather the worse." Such ineffectual use of physic could lead only to ono conclusion. It was understood in Marlpuddle that Jinny's mother had said that old John tho sexton should say, what he had said all along, that though he might bo wrong, he was open to Det any man a guinea that the mischief would be found to be in poor Aunt Brook's "insides." Nobody accepted the wager. It was per^ ceived that unless they should "open" Aunt Brook, a thing not to bo relied upon, there was no probability of ever ascertaining the fact. Under these circumstances Aunt Brook called in the local practitioner. He was a jolly old fox-hunter, and ho camo one morning in a pink coat on his way to tho meet. His skill was so great that it was a common saying in Mark Euddle that the man whom Dr. Endery could not cure must be very near death. He _was tall and stout, redfaced and merry. "■ He seemed to fill tho little parlour with his presence. "I can't think what can be the matter wi' me," quavered Aunt Brook. "Anno Domini, my dear Miss Brook, Nothing in tho world but Anno Domini." "Not a very, common complaint, I should say!" she queried, trembling at the name. "More common than you suppose my good soul. It is what I am beginning to suffer frdm myself. And many another also who doesn't care to be told of it." "Then what bo I to do?" "Do? As little as you can. Put on another log and sit thoro by tho fire. Stay indoors of a wet day or when the wind is cold. Take a drop now and then to keep your heart warm. I'll send you a little something myself, and I'll look in again the next time I come by." So Aunt Brook took comfort. But this happened less than a week after Christmas, and all tho days were cold. And that year orders for the celebrated Eastor-cako came pouring in early and lalo. There seemed to ho no end to them. And all tho ingredients as yet to bo got ! , Aunt Brook pondered and lingered, and put the matter off again and again. Jinny would have to go on all tho errands, and so tho great recipe might as well be given at once. Yet, to bo sure, sooner or later the secret must come out. Even if Jinny woro not officially told, somo day the hiding-place must do ransacked, and the bluo envelope must fall into other hands. It gave poor Aunt Brook a sold shiver to think of it. v For days she remained in indecision, and it worried her to know that Easter was coming, and sho had no time to lose. One evening sho sat up later than usual with an extra log on the fire, and looked down upon tho glowing embers and thought. Sho was restless, and troubled with a itrangs- feeling that.

something was going to happen. She « had never felt so solitary. Yet it was not really late, and now and again she could hear a voice or a passing step upon the village street* She wished that Jinny by some chance would come m. The candle Stood there on the paken table by the side of the snuffers and little brass tray. The Bible lay close at hand upon the shelf. She took it down and laid it open before her. She would swear Jinny upon it, and give her the repipe; just as it had been given to her. If Jinny would only come. But likely enough somebody in the street would run for her. She crept upstairs and down again, bringing tne blue envelope in her hand. She opened it and sat down by the fire and read. The recipe was signed in the name of a maker earlier than the donor to herself — a name long ago forgotten, of one whom the village ,has scarcely heard. For the Easter-oake had been called Miss Brook's cake 'for fifty years, and very often Aunt Brook's during the last five-and-twenty. And now it would go to another. Why, it might be Jinny Bragg's Easter-cake next year, or anybody else's who could get hold of the recipe. With a sudden impulse she cast the paper into the fire. ' It curled and writhed. Then burst into flame upon all four edges, and in a second was gone. j The old woman laughed. "Ha ! Let em see now how they do get on when their Aunt Brook is gone, then." Then she became grave. "There, 'tis nothing — nothing at all," she consoled herself, "for I've a-carried it in mind these years. I could write it out again, if need be, every word — every blessed word. But I won't— not a letter of it. Let 'em sigh for poor Aunt Brook 'when she's out o' reach. An' I'll send Jinny round, every day for a week, to every shop at every town hereabout, to buy this to one and that to another, an' half o' the things for other uses. Then she can never worm it out. Ha ! ha ! She'll think unlikely things can have no oth.er purpose. I'll make her promise on tho Book. I'll have her round now hereright, an' make the most o' tho things that be foolishness. Who's that out in street ? I'll just ask 'em to run in an' tell Jinny as they do pass by. Who is -that, I wonder " She got up, and having opened the inner door of the shop, leaned on the hatch and called : "Who is that V "John Bragg." "Oh, John Bragg. Now that's lucky. Could ec send Jinny in for a moment ? 'Tis about tho Easter-cakes.' ' "Sure an' I will then," replied the sexton, and Aunt Brook went back into her parlour. In less than five minutes Jinny was there. She saw the open book. In the light of that one dip her eyes, her face, and her bright hair became radiant as Aunt Brook motioned to her to sit down at the table. "Jinny. Put your han\ You'll never breathe a word." "I never won't, Aunt Brook." The girl leaned forward, and so did the old woman. "Jinny. First thing in the morning you must go into town. You must' order a sack o' the finest wheaten flour. Then go to tho wine vaults for a bottle o' best London gin, an' into Hodgson's, the chemist's, - for two pennyworth o' saffron, an' then — an' then ' But this effort to invent was too much for poor Aunt Brook. She pansed — then pressed her long lean fingers upon her wrinkled forehead. "I can't mind," said she, in alarm. "'Tis lost to me, an' I can't call it home, Jinny. Jinny, what is it ? 'Tis gone." "Then where's the blue endilope ?" asked Jinny quickly. "An' I can run an' 'fetch it to once.'' ' Aunt Brook leaned back in her chair arid covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Jinny ! Wicked woman that I be, I've a-burned tho blue endilope. I couldn't a-bear for another to have 'un, an' I've burned un up this very night in that very same fire. 'Tis no good to look. Jinny. He- is but ashes an' smuts a full half hour agone. For I've a-lived to old age wi' none belonging to me — nemo o' my very own like. An' I could ll' a-bear to pass an 1 not be missed. I did so want to be missed. An' I thought I could hold every letter in mind for myself. An' then, after the end, for every soul in the parish an' for miles round hereabouts to say there's no cakes worth tho sticking a tooth "into now J Aunt Brook is" laid in her last home. ! But run out in shop, Jinny — tear a leaf out o" the book — bring pen an' ink, do i cc. Quick, an' you shall write it down, j Now then, Jinny. 'Tis this : Rub one pound o' fresh butter— No, no. Take two pound o' finest^ wheaten flour — no — rub one pound. 'Tis fled from me, Jinny. 'Tis gone like the swallows from the houses when the frostes be — I mean as the year do age. But, Jinny, the London gin an' the saffron be lies, an' so waa the sherry wine, too — 'tis — 'tis brown brandy. An', Jinny, hearken once again. Take two pound — no, rub ono pound " You may buy Aunt Brook's Eastercakes even now, for Jinny Bragg was a clever woman, and she knew the value of a name. It was wonderful, so peoplfc said at the time, how two persons could offer such widely different interpretations of the same recipe. But all that is forgotten long ago. Few remain who have tasted the real Aunt Brook. It was the very poetry of cake. I never eat the present article. It i 3 too sweet. And Jinny has made improvements. Paugh ! Where is the good old saucepan lid ? The thing has fluted edges now. — Walter Raymond, in the Tribune.