Page:Death Comes for the Archbishop.pdf/69

 Into the kitchen I never go—too many women. But there it is, and the woman in charge is named Rosa.”

When the Father entered the kitchen he found a crowd of women discussing the marriages. They quickly dispersed, leaving old Rosa by her fire-place, where hung a kettle from which issued the savour of cooking mutton fat, all too familiar to Father Joseph. He found a half sheep hanging outside the door, covered with a bloody sack, and asked Rosa to heat the oven for him, announcing that he meant to roast the hind leg.

“But Padre, I baked before the marriages. The oven is almost cold. It will take an hour to heat it, and it is only two hours till supppersupper [sic].”

“Very well. I can cook my roast in an hour.”

“Cook a roast in an hour!” cried the old woman. “Mother of God, Padre, the blood will not be dried in it!”

“Not if I can help it!” said Father Joseph fiercely. “Now hurry with the fire, my good woman.”

When the Padre carved his roast at the supper-table, the serving-girls stood behind his chair and looked with horror at the delicate stream of pink juice that followed the knife. Manuel Lujon took a slice for politeness, but he did not eat it. Father Vaillant had his gigot to himself.

All the men and boys sat down at the long table