The morning light filtering through her window was thin and pale. The sun was still low behind the city's rooftops, casting faint shadows across the room. Nimue lay in bed for a moment, watching the branches of the plane tree outside move in the breeze.
Their shadows shifted slowly across the ceiling. Cinder was already awake, his ears turning toward the door whenever a car passed on the street below. The low rumble of each engine seemed to vibrate through the old walls.
She heard Saoirse before she saw her. Her aunt's voice carried up the stairs, bright and quick, as it always was when she had plans. Jane answered in her usual calm, measured tone. Then the kettle clicked off with a sharp snap, and the house settled into its familiar morning routine.
Nimue climbed out of bed. The bare floorboards felt cold beneath her feet. She dressed quickly, pulling on her shorts and a cotton shirt before slipping into her blue trainers. She still had to tie the laces twice to make sure they would stay in place. Cinder followed her downstairs, his claws clicking against the polished wooden steps.
Saoirse was in the kitchen, her hair pulled back tightly and a handwritten list in her hand. Jane sat at the table with a steaming cup of tea, while Jack stood by the window, looking out at the little garden. His shirt was untucked, and his hair was still messy from sleep.
"We need food," Saoirse was saying. "Actual food. Not just bread and butter."
Jane looked up when Nimue appeared in the doorway. "We are going to the market. Would you like to come?"
Nimue nodded quickly. She had visited a few shops before, including the bookshop, the café, and the place where Jane bought her tea, but she had never been to a market. She wasn't quite sure what to expect.
Saoirse was already reaching for her coat, while Jane picked up her bag. Somehow, it felt as though something interesting was about to happen.
The market was four streets away. They walked past rows of houses with black iron railings and narrow front gardens, then passed a corner shop with newspapers displayed in its window and a pub that hadn't opened yet.
Nimue walked between Jane and Saoirse. Cinder wore the lead Jane had bought for him, though he stayed so close to Nimue that it was hardly necessary. His soft fur brushed against her leg as they walked.
She heard the market before she saw it. Voices called out prices and exchanged greetings. Wooden crates clattered as people moved them between stalls. Then they turned a corner, and the street opened into a wide square filled with market stalls.
The smells reached her first. There were earthy vegetables, fresh fish, and something sweet from a stall at the far end.
The air carried the scent of wet pavement, cut grass, and the sharp saltiness of the fishmonger's ice. Somewhere nearby, bread was coming fresh out of an oven. She could also smell oranges and the damp wool of the coats worn by people passing around her.
Nimue stopped at the edge of the square and stared.
Stalls filled every corner. Brightly colored canvas awnings stretched overhead, and crates of apples were stacked higher than her head.
Bunches of carrots, their green tops still attached, were tied together with twine. A woman called out to advertise her tomatoes, while another held up a fish by its tail, its silver scales catching the gray morning light.
Saoirse was already moving. She pulled Jane toward a stall with a pyramid of oranges.
"Look at these! Look at the color."
Jane laughed and let herself be dragged along. Nimue followed, her eyes moving from one stall to another as she tried to take everything in.
"This is a market," Jane explained, crouching beside her. "People bring food here to sell. Vegetables, fruit, meat, and fish. Bread and cheese. Almost anything you might want to eat."
Nimue looked at the oranges. Their skins were bright, almost glowing beneath the gray sky.
"Where do they come from?"
"Somewhere nearby, or somewhere far away." Saoirse picked one up and held it to her nose. "Smell that? That's how you know it's good. Sweet and fresh."
She handed the orange to Nimue.
Nimue held it close to her face. Its skin was cool and dimpled beneath her fingers. The scent was sharp and sweet at the same time, like summer or something she didn't have a name for.
"We will get some," Jane said. "But first, vegetables."
She led them to a stall where carrots were piled in untidy heaps. Cabbages sat in neat rows, their pale green leaves tightly folded. The woman behind the stall had gray hair and thick, calloused hands. She smiled when she noticed Nimue looking at the vegetables.
"First time at the market?" she asked.
Nimue nodded.
The woman picked up a carrot and held it out to her. "You want the firm ones, without any soft spots. See?"
She gave it a squeeze.
"That's a good one. If it bends, it's old. You don't want that."
Nimue took the carrot. It felt hard and cool in her hand, and its green top was still damp with dew. She squeezed it herself. It didn't bend.
"Good girl," the woman said.
Jane bought carrots, onions, potatoes, and a cabbage so large that Nimue had to hold it with both hands. Saoirse chose some leeks and a bunch of celery.
Nimue watched her aunt tap the stalks, then bend one slightly to listen to the sound it made.
"Fresh," Saoirse said. "Hear that? That's how you know."
Nimue tried it with another stalk. It snapped cleanly, making a sharp little sound. She placed it in the basket.
Next, they visited the fishmonger. The smell was stronger there, and the ice glittered beneath the stall lights. Saoirse spoke with the man behind the counter about white fish and what he recommended that day. Nimue watched the fish laid out on the ice, their silver and gray bodies still, their eyes clear and their gills red.
"Never buy fish with cloudy eyes," Jane told her quietly. "That means it's no longer fresh."
Nimue studied their eyes. They were clear as glass.
They bought two cod fillets, wrapped in thick paper, along with a handful of prawns for something Saoirse called a starter. Nimue didn't know what that meant, but she carried the bag of prawns herself, feeling the cold through the paper.
At the bread stall, the man let her choose a loaf. She picked one with a thick crust and a pattern cut into the top. He wrapped it in brown paper, tied it with string, and handed it to her as carefully as if it were something precious.
Nimue held it against her chest. It was still warm.
By the time they left the square, her arms were full and her legs were beginning to ache. The morning air had made her nose cold. Saoirse carried a basket over one arm and a bag of oranges in the other, while Jane held the vegetables. Cinder walked beside Nimue, his ears perked up and his nose twitching at all the scents they were carrying home.
. . .
The kitchen was small, but it didn't take long for them to fill it.
Jane unpacked the vegetables onto the counter. Saoirse put the fish in the refrigerator before taking out several heavy pots and pans. Jack came downstairs and stopped in the doorway, looking at the piles of food.
"We are cooking," Jane announced. "All of us."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "All of us?"
"All of us." Jane handed him a knife. "You are in charge of the vegetables."
He took it without arguing. Saoirse was already placing a heavy pot on the stove, while Jane unwrapped the fish. Nimue stood in the middle of the kitchen, unsure where she could help.
"Nimue." Jane pointed to a bowl of carrots. "Wash these for me. Use the cold tap and scrub them with your hands. Get all the dirt off."
Nimue dragged a stool over to the sink and turned on the water. It was colder than she expected. The carrots were firm and muddy, and she held one beneath the stream, rubbing her thumb over its skin as the dirt washed away and ran brown down the drain.
When she finished, she lined them up neatly on the counter. Jane inspected them and nodded.
"Good. Now the potatoes."
Nimue washed those too. They were round and heavy, with rough skins. Saoirse took them from her and began cutting them into thick slices, her knife moving quickly and evenly. Nimue watched how her aunt curled her fingers away from the blade and how each slice fell neatly onto the cutting board.
"Watch," Saoirse said. "Hold your hand like this, almost like a claw. Keep your fingers tucked in. The knife goes straight down, not forward. That way, you are less likely to cut yourself."
She handed Nimue a potato and placed her hand over the girl's, guiding her as she brought the knife down. The blade passed through the vegetable with a soft crack. Nimue pulled her hand back, fascinated by the clean cut.
"Good. Now try another."
She cut three more slices. Each was a little crooked and slightly thicker than the last, but Saoirse didn't correct her. She simply added them to the pot with the others.
Jack was at the counter cutting onions. His eyes were watering, and he worked more slowly than Saoirse, but his slices were thin and even. Nimue watched how he held the onion steady, keeping his fingers curved just as her aunt had shown her.
"Why are you crying?" she asked.
"Onions. They do that."
"Everyone should know how to cook," Jane said. She was at the stove now, heating oil in a pan. "It doesn't matter whether you are a man or a woman. Everyone needs to eat, so everyone should know how to prepare food."
"Your grandmother taught me," Jack said. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "She said no son of hers was going to live on toast."
Saoirse laughed. "She said the same thing to me. Then she taught me how to make her stew. The one with red wine and beef."
"That stew," Jane said, her voice softening. "I haven't had that in years."
"We don't have beef," Saoirse replied. "But we have fish, leeks, and butter."
She was already reaching for another pan and taking butter from the refrigerator. Jane passed her the leeks, and Saoirse began slicing them thinly. Her knife moved so quickly that Nimue could barely follow it.
"You want the white part," Saoirse explained. "The green is too tough. You can save that for stock."
Nimue leaned closer. The leeks were white and pale green inside. As Saoirse cut them, they separated into soft, delicate rings.
Jack finished the onions and started on the celery. Jane had put the fish in a pan, and its skin was already sizzling. The smell began to spread through the kitchen. In another pan, Saoirse melted butter and added the leeks. They made a soft, steady sound as they cooked, almost like rain against a window.
Nimue stood on her stool and watched everyone work. Her mother stood at the stove, her shoulders straight and her hand steady as she moved the pan. Her father worked beside her, transferring vegetables into a bowl and wiping the counter without being asked. Her aunt moved between them, reaching for salt, pepper, and the herbs kept in a glass jar on the windowsill.
They never bumped into one another or argued over where things belonged. Each seemed to know what the others needed, moving around the small kitchen as though they had shared it for years.
"Here," Jane said.
She lifted Nimue so she could see into the pan. The fish was golden brown, its skin crisp and crackling around the edges.
"That's what it looks like when it's done. You don't move it too much. Just let it cook."
Nimue watched the oil bubbling around the fillets. The smell was sharp and clean. Her stomach rumbled, making Saoirse laugh.
"You can set the table now," Jane said, lowering her back onto the stool.
Nimue knew how to set a table. She had been doing it since she was two, counting the plates, forks, and napkins. She found them in the cupboard. The plates were heavy and white, and the forks felt cool in her hands. She carried everything to the dining room and placed one set at each chair.
Then she stepped back to inspect her work.
Four chairs.
Four plates.
Four forks.
The table was smaller than the one at the manor, and even smaller than the one at Thornwell. Still, every plate was straight, and every fork was in the right place.
When she returned to the kitchen, Saoirse was carrying a pot to the table. Jack was opening the oven, and the smells of bread, fish, and butter filled the house.
Dessert came last.
It was pale and wobbly, sitting in a glass bowl on the counter. Jane had made it the night before while Nimue was asleep. When she brought it to the table, Nimue leaned forward to get a better look.
"What is it?"
"Panna cotta," Jane said, as though she were sharing a secret. "It's one of your grandmother's recipes. She learned it in France."
The dessert was white and smooth. When Jane spooned it into bowls, it trembled like the surface of a lake disturbed by something moving beneath it. Nimue took a bite. It was cold and sweet, with the taste of vanilla, cream, and something else she couldn't quite describe.
She ate slowly, watching the others. Jack had his eyes half-closed, the way he did when he particularly enjoyed something. Saoirse scraped the last of her dessert from the bowl, while Jane watched Nimue with a soft expression.
"Good?" Jane asked.
Nimue nodded.
She felt warm, full, and tired. It was the pleasant kind of tiredness that came after a morning spent walking, carrying things, washing vegetables, and learning how to cut potatoes.
She was about to ask for another serving when Jane pushed her chair back.
"We have something to do first."
Jane had prepared ten small bowls of panna cotta, each covered with wax paper and tied with string. She placed them in a basket along with the loaf of bread Nimue had chosen at the market and a small jar of honey from Mr. Chen's bees.
"When you move somewhere new, it's polite to introduce yourself to the neighbors," Jane explained. "You bring them something, usually food. It lets them know you are friendly and want to be good neighbors."
Nimue looked into the basket. There were ten bowls, ten little pots of honey, and slices of bread wrapped separately.
"We are staying here for a month," Jane continued. "That's long enough to get to know the people who live nearby."
She took Nimue's hand, and they went out into the street.
The first house stood on their left. Its door was red, with a brass knocker shaped like a lion's head. Jane lifted it and let it fall. The knock sounded loud in the quiet street.
An elderly woman opened the door. Her white hair framed a deeply lined face, and she looked first at Jane, then at Nimue, and finally at the basket.
"We have just moved in," Jane said. "The house with the green door. We will be staying for a month, and we wanted to come over and say hello."
She held out one of the bowls, and the woman accepted it with slow but steady hands.
"Panna cotta," Jane explained. "And some bread and honey."
The woman looked down at Nimue. Her eyes were a pale, gentle blue.
"Well, that's very nice. Very nice indeed."
She bent down slightly, her back giving a soft crack.
"And what is your name, dear?"
"Nimue."
"Nimue." The woman repeated it slowly, as though tasting the sound. "That's a pretty name. French?"
"Welsh. It means Lady of the Lake."
The woman's face brightened with a smile.
"Well, Lady Nimue, welcome to the street."
They went to the next house, then the one after that. They met a bearded man who shook Jane's hand rather too firmly, and a woman holding a baby on her hip who smelled of talcum powder and milk. At another house, a girl not much older than Nimue peeked out from behind her mother's legs but didn't say a word.
By the fifth house, Nimue's legs were getting tired again. By the seventh, she was leaning against her mother's side. At the ninth, she had started counting the steps to the tenth house, keeping her eyes fixed on the door and hoping it would be the last one.
The tenth house had a blue door and a pot of dead flowers on the step. Jane knocked, and a tall, thin man opened it. He wore glasses and a cardigan with one missing button.
"Oh," he said when he saw them. "Hello."
"We have just moved in," Jane explained. "We wanted to introduce ourselves."
He accepted the bowl she offered.
"That's very kind of you. Very kind indeed."
His gaze shifted to Nimue before returning to Jane.
"You have a daughter."
"Yes."
The man nodded slowly.
"I had a daughter. She lives in Manchester now. She sends me letters."
He looked down at the bowl in his hands.
"Pudding?"
"Panna cotta. And some bread and honey."
He smiled, and for a moment, he seemed younger and less tired.
"My wife used to make something like that. Before she..."
He stopped, then gave a small shake of his head.
"Well, thank you."
He closed the door.
Jane stood quietly for a moment, resting her hand on Nimue's shoulder. Then she turned, and they walked back down the street toward their own house, with its green-painted door and brass knocker.
Even before they reached it, they could hear Saoirse singing off-key and Jack laughing inside.
The house felt warm, bright, and full of life.
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