The Body in the Bouillon by Katherine Hall Page

possibility of a new, unwelcome, addition to her wardrobe. She ripped open the envelope on her way downstairs. It was a heavily embossed invitation to a dinner dance on December fourteenth at the Copley Plaza in Boston for the benefit of Hubbard House. Two tickets were enclosed. That was next Wednesday. She didn’t think they had plans, and it would be a way to see the cast of characters. She hadn’t even met Dr. Hubbard yet—father or son. They were sure to be there. She wondered if Denise would be going.
    It was raining, and there were more people in for lunch. The kitchen was so busy that Faith barely had time to say hello, much less ask Mrs. P. for the inside dope on Hubbard House. They had started to set out the trays when Mrs. Pendergast said, “Can you do these? I’ve got some marrow bones and a piece of beef set aside to make soup for tomorrow, and I want to put it on.”
    â€œOh,” said Faith, with all the ardor of an ingénue who’s just heard the star may have twisted an ankle, “let me. I can make a lovely, rich bouillon. It’s very nourishing.”
    â€œIf you like,” Mrs. Pendergast agreed. “There’s some greens and carrots in the fridge you might want.”
    Faith did and merrily set about assembling a good strong stock. She’d clarify it in the morning and bring some leeks and Madeira or port to add.
    There was enough time for a visit with Farley before she left, and he regaled her with stories of various inhabitants of Aleford—mostty long gone. She tried to steer him toward the Hubbard family, but there didn’t seem to be anything of interest there to Farley, except sympathy for Dr. Hubbard—“Poor Roland. Losing Mary so young.” Faith did learn, however, that Millicent Revere McKinley’s father had had a lucrative bathtub gin business, and she filed the information away for possible future use.
    That night Faith told Tom she definitely had to get back to work. Making such a large amount of stock was a
poignant reminder of Have Faith’s past glories when she had had any number of pots going at once.
    â€œIt’s exhilarating—of course I love to cook for you and Ben, but there’s not quite the scope for imagination a banquet offers.”
    Tom was amused. “Maybe Mrs. Pendergast will let you do the main course soon if she likes your bouillon—and then who knows what next.”
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    Mrs. Pendergast did like Faith’s bouillon. Faith offered her a steaming cup after she had added the egg whites, Madeira, leeks, parsley, and other seasonings before straining it.
    â€œVery tasty—and you’re right. It does look nourishing. Are you going to bring up Mr. Bowditch’s tray today?”
    â€œYes, I have time, if you don’t need me here.” Faith felt as proud of her bouillon as of her first galantine de lapereau.
    Muriel Hubbard was in Farley’s room when Faith entered. She was about to take his blood pressure and had his medication in a small paper cup.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Fairchild, how nice to see you,” she said.
    â€œIt’s always nice to see Faith,” Farley added gallantly. “What have you brought today besides your charming self, my dear?”
    â€œVegetable quiche, salad, rolls, fruit compote, and some bouillon I made.”
    â€œThat will be a treat. Muriel has one or two necessary things to do with my poor old self; then I will consume it with relish. Can you stay a while?”
    â€œI’m afraid not today, but I will see you on Monday, and you know when you feel up to it, someone will come and get you for church. I’m sure it will be soon.”
    Muriel agreed. “Mr. Bowditch will be up and dancing at our annual Hubbard House Christmas party, just like last year, I’m sure.”
    â€œSave me a waltz,” Faith said, and left.

    The afternoon was filled with errands, and she was tired by the time she and Ben got home. She