Dr Bakewell and the Three Chocolatiers

By L. T. Talbot

The third instalment of the Dr Bakewell series, 'Dr Bakewell and The Three Chocolatiers', travels back in time to see Dr Bakewell as a young boy, charting his life from childhood, through adulthood, to the eventual birth of Honeycomb Hall.

Eight year old George Bakewell has a happy, carefree life living with his family in the little village of Sherberton. They live a very ordinary, quiet life - until one fateful day when Sherberton and its residents are unexpectedly rocked to the core and the lives of the Bakewell family take a very unexpected turn and young George's life is thrown into chaos.

By the age of 21, he decides that he wants to spend the rest of his life as a confectioner but one element of the profession eludes him - the art of chocolatiering. But the best chocolatiers are in Switzerland so he has a heart-wrenching decision to make - should he stay in England and support his family business or move to Switzerland and follow his dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244082888

Book preview

Dr Bakewell and the Three Chocolatiers

DR BAKEWELL AND THE THREE CHOCOLATIERS

by

L.T. Talbot

Copyright

Copyright © L. T. Talbot 2018

eBook Design by Rossendale Books: www.rossendalebooks.co.uk

eBook ISBN:  978-0-244-08288-8

All rights reserved, Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention and Pan American Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Also available in the Dr Bakewell Series:

Dr Bakewell’s Wondrous

School of Confectionery

(2015)

Dr Bakewell and The Cupcake Queen

(2016)

Dedication

For Andrew and Ian

with love

and in memory of Ann and Graham

who passed away whilst I was writing this book.

God bless.

Prologue

Vaughan, Verity and Caroline were seated on Dr Bakewell’s settee in his office on the last day of term, Verity amazed that Dr Bakewell had just - extremely generously - given her family back the restaurant that two years ago, Henry Sorrel stole from them. It was clear from Dr Bakewell’s demeanour that not only was he very pleased to have returned to the Rose family something that he felt should have remained theirs, but he also appeared to be quite satisfied in giving the Sorrel’s their comeuppance. It was crystal clear to anyone that knew them both that Henry Sorrel and George Bakewell would never be best of friends, but Vaughan could sense a deep-seated resentment between the two he couldn’t quite fathom.

But why is it that you and Henry Sorrel don’t get on asked Vaughan, feeling more confident in asking his Headmaster something that had been intriguing him since he’d heard about Sorrel refusing to authenticate the truffles.

A deep sigh escaped the mouth of Dr Bakewell and he rolled his shoulders back, releasing tension. There’s a lot of history between us, Vaughan he admitted and most of it not good, I’m afraid.

Really? Vaughan replied, surprised. He assumed Dr Bakewell only knew the Sorrel’s through Avery being a pupil at his school, he never imaged Dr Bakewell may have known Henry before then.

What happened, Sir? asked Verity, curious about their history. She also didn’t realise the two men had known each other before Honeycomb Hall.

Dr Bakewell looked at his young protege’s intrigued faces and considered his options. They weren’t being nosy, they were genuinely interested and if it wasn’t for them, he reminded himself, the school would undoubtedly be closed by now. These three children were special pupils - he knew he should show in them the same confidence they had shown in him this last two years. Especially with the plans he had in store for them. Very well he conceded. "Settle into the settee and get comfortable, this is quite a long story.

It all began back when I was a young lad, a few years younger than you. My father - William Bakewell - was a great confectioner, always making sweets and treats for people and one day decided to open up a sweet shop in our hometown of Sherberton. ‘Billy Bakewell’s’ he called it..."

Chapter 1 - The Sherbert Mine

Tap, tap, tap...... tap, tap, chink...... chink, chink, thunk;......

tap, tap, tap...... tap, tap, chink...... chink, chink thunk;......

tap, tap, tap...... tap, tap, chink...... chink, chink thunk......

The heavy steel pickaxes rhythmically tapped the solid rock walls of the mine, the noise echoing through the underground network of narrow tunnels and passageways as the tools were raised high and swung up and over the broad, strong shoulders of the miners, who smashed them into the twinkling black rock face of the mine. A cheery William Bakewell hummed merrily along to the unique, raw music, created by an orchestra of steel tools tapping and banging the rocks in their ceaseless search for buried crystals. Despite the dark, depressing atmosphere which existed 700 metres below the surface of the earth - where the miners worked - William Bakewell was very glad to work in the mine; he was a naturally cheerful person who always had a smile on his face and no matter the situation, always tried to see something positive in it. Mining was incredibly hard work - long hours, never-ending darkness broken only by occasional twinkling of crystals and the inadequate halos of yellow light the miner’s oil lamps provided, the physical exhaustion of repeatedly raising heavy tools above their heads before they smashed them down into the rock, the dirt and gloomy atmosphere they were surrounded by twelve hours a day - not to mention the danger of working so far underground for such long periods of time. Yet the friendship amongst the miners was both rare and unique; all the men and their families supported each other during difficult times and most were good friends back on the surface of the earth as well as in it’s bowels, where they spent the majority of their time. This camaraderie was what kept the miners motivated - nothing else could make-up for the horrendous conditions they endured day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. But William Bakewell was thankful for his job as it meant he could provide for his family; friendship was all very well but it didn’t put food on the table. Since the birth of his second son Charlie the previous year, William was the sole provider for a family of four and it was his responsibility to ensure that there was always a ready supply of food for his wife Doreen, eight year old son George, baby Charlie and of course, himself.

As he counted his blessings and made up lyrics to the pickaxe music, he heard the beginnings of a slight rumble and smiled - it sounded like a distant drum roll which amused him at first as it added depth to the tune he was humming along to, sounding as though more musicians were joining his imaginary orchestra. Yet the drum roll didn’t fade away. It increased rapidly in speed and volume, swiftly quashing William’s amusement - this was not a good rumble, this was a bad rumble, very bad indeed. It sounded as though the very core of the earth, far below the feet of William and the other miners, was starving and grumbling for food, whilst unaware the men continued to swing their picks into the mine’s rock face over and over again.

The rumble came swiftly, increasing in volume as it surged through the makeshift tunnels which allowed the miners and their carts to move between caverns and levels. The ground vibrated as the noise increased greater still - it was almost deafening. William had never heard anything like it and he’d worked in the mines for five years - even the more experienced miners paused and lowered their tools as they peered into the mouth of the tunnel nearest to them, which seemed to be where the noise was coming from. Cautiously, they stepped towards the tunnel and to their horror, the cavern they stood in shuddered violently; the wooden support logs holding up the tunnel gave way and the tunnel roof collapsed in a plume of black dust and rocks which burst into the cavern, blinding the miners and sealing off the tunnel. Instinctively, the shocked miners turned their faces away from the tumbling rocks and the billowing dust, lowering their heads and raising their forearms to shield their eyes from the mushrooming dust cloud which surrounded them. The thick, suffocating dust swirled around the cavern, extinguishing the flames of the oil lamps and blocking all vision until it settled on every available surface, covering everything in its path - including the miners - in a layer of tiny, black, sooty particles. They began to cough and splutter as they tried to clear their throats and lungs from the unexpected, unpleasant and unwelcome irritant. William fumbled around in his pockets, desperately trying to find a pack of matches or flint that he could use to re-light his lamp. After a few panicky minutes of no luck, eventually a small spark ignited as William struck the match head against the matchbox and a solitary flame flickered. Carefully, William placed it against the wick in his lamp and breathed a sigh of relief as it caught light and emitted a tiny glow. As the miners called out to one another, William managed to make his way around the mine, literally bumping into other miners and one by one they lit each others lamps. After six lamps had been re-ignited and they had just about sufficient light to enable them to see a couple of metres, the first few men slowly raised their lamps to survey the damage and check if anyone was hurt. As they looked around, the frightening realisation of what had just occurred hit them and they stared, in shock and unable to speak. No-one had ever experienced this before and no-one knew what to do. William Bakewell was the first to break the mesmerising silence the stunned miners were in.

"CAVE IN!!!" he shouted and ran, clutching his pickaxe, to the tunnel which was completely blocked with fallen rocks and debris. Seconds behind him followed his fellow miners and they all swung their tools into the mountain of rubble before them in a desperate attempt to clear the tunnel and rescue the miners who were working in a deeper cavern in the mine. The collapse had occurred in the worst place possible - the largest and main tunnel - off which ran several smaller tunnels and they all knew that whilst the rubble blocked this main tunnel, their colleagues in the mines below were trapped; there was no other way out. They needed to clear this blockage, get their fellow miners out of the deepest caverns and get them out quickly before they ran out of oxygen.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the mine, in the deepest but narrowest cavern, six miners immediately downed their tools and stopped working; the incredible rumble they heard and felt almost deafened them. They stared at one another, then assessed the small, deep cavern they were mining. The violent earth-shaking that accompanied the deafening rumble caused the rickety wooden ladders they used to reach the higher crystals to fall down - one of them taking Harry Laing, an experienced miner - down with it, such was the speed of the tremor. Before he could react, Harry was flung off his ladder and fell over twenty feet before hitting the ground hard, emitting a blood-curdling scream as his leg twisted beneath him and snapped like a twig. His ladder also broke in two when it hit the ground and despite the obvious terrible pain that Harry was in, as he continued to scream in agony and clutch his leg, all the miners breathed a sigh of relief to see that one broken ladder and one broken leg appeared to be the only damage. Harry may have been screaming his lungs out but at least he was alive and conscious, thought the foreman of the group Ted Edwards, at least he was alive.

What the devil was that? asked the youngest and newest miner, sixteen-year-old Arthur Jarvis. Sounded like a train hurtling through the mine.

Summat you don’t want t’ ’ear many times when you’m a miner, Art replied Ted, that’s the sound of a cave-in. Summat somewhere down ’ere ’as just give way an’ collapsed. Come on, we need t’ find the others, quickly. The six men gathered their wits, their jangling nerves frayed by the cave-in caused adrenaline to course through their bodies. Relief that they were all relatively safe was immediately marred by worry about getting Harry medical assistance and more worry about their colleagues in other caverns - what had happened to them? Were they safe in their tunnels and caverns? Had anyone else been hurt? Altogether there were fifty miners underground in this one mine - Ted’s group needed to check the remaining forty-four were accounted for and safe before they could even begin to work out how to get Harry to the surface.

Arthur and Ted went to Harry first and each man draped one of Harry’s arms over their shoulders, trying to take his weight as they helped him to his feet. Supported by Arthur and Ted, Harry managed to stand, wobbly but upright. Gently he placed the foot of his broken leg on the floor of the mine. As soon as it touched the ground, a second bloodcurdling scream escaped his lips again and he flopped backwards, pulling Arthur and Ted with him and the three of them almost fell over one another. Ted and Arthur managed to steady Harry and they laid him gently on the ground, propped against a rock as he moaned in agony and clutched his shattered leg.

Get them ladders, Art instructed Ted as he looked around the mine for something they could use to make Harry more comfortable, We’ll mek him a splint. Arthur immediately ran to the broken ladder and grabbed the shortest piece, standing on the rungs and snapping them off, to leave two narrow strips of wood which he and Ted placed either side of Harry’s broken leg. Rope said Ted, watching Harry who was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. Arthur ran to the coils of rope they used to both secure ladders to anchor points and also to hoist up large chunks of rock to the levels above where the mine carts were stored. Within seconds he’d undone a length of rope and watched as Ted skilfully wrapped the rope around Harry’s leg, securing the wooden splints which would keep his leg in one position. When he’d finished, Harry was barely conscious and as the two miners lifted their casualty, his head lolled aimlessly and dropped forwards. Not much time, Art Ted said breathlessly as they began to haul Harry with them towards the tunnel. The cavern was starting to get even hotter than usual and Ted knew this could mean one one thing - air was no longer passing through the mine, cooling the miners. A cave-in and a lack of oxygen was very bad news indeed - clearly wherever the cave-in had occurred, it had blocked the passageways which afforded the miners the oxygen and air they needed to survive. Following the sounds of his fellow miners who had gone before him to look for an escape route, Ted led Harry and Arthur to the spiral rock steps they had hollowed out in the mine, to ascend to the next level. As long as those steps were still there, Ted thought, they’d be fine. Please, please, let those steps be there.

Chapter 2 - The Day That Rocked Sherberton

In contrast to the dramatic events unfolding in the mine, all was peaceful and calm at the home of William Bakewell. In number 12, Blackrock Rise, Sherberton, Doreen Bakewell sat next to the fireplace, baby Charlie perched on her lap as she fed her son his lunch. Sweeping her wavy blond hair out of her eyes, she glanced up at the clock which hung above the sideboard in the living-room and saw that it was two o’clock - she’d been trying to feed one-year-old Charlie for the last half an hour but despite his face being covered in pureed apple-sauce, he was finally almost finished. It would be at least an hour and a half before eight-year-old George came home from school and another four hours before William (or Bill as he was known to friends and family) came home from the mine - plenty of time to do some laundry and prepare dinner once she’d settled Charlie off to sleep, she thought. She wiped Charlie’s face and cleared away all remaining apple sauce; now fed and ready for his afternoon nap, Doreen gently lifted her son off her lap and placed him tenderly in his crib. She tucked in the corners of the blue knitted blanket and began to sing a soothing lullaby whilst she rocked the crib and stroked her son’s soft blond hair, as he drifted off to sleep.

Doreen Bakewell had the magic touch when it came to children - within less than two minutes and before she’d reached the end of the lullaby, little Charlie was fast asleep and softly snoring, contentedly. She smiled down at her child, stroked his plump, rosy cheek with the back of her finger and lightly kissed his forehead, before straightening up to get on with the rest of her busy day. Walking to the kitchen, she glanced up and checked the clock once more - five minutes past two - more than enough time. If Charlie slept undisturbed until past three o’clock she’d even have time to sit down and have a cup of tea before George arrived home from school at three-forty. Right then Doreen she said to herself, first things first. Let’s see what we’ve got left in the pantry.

The kitchen was a long, narrow kitchen, built directly behind the small, square living room and jutted out into the garden. Most of Sherberton’s terraced houses had this layout - two bedrooms only upstairs while the living room, front room (used only for best and for visitors of course), kitchen and bathroom were all downstairs. Two houses were built adjoined to one another and a narrow entry ran between each pair of houses. The entries ran down the length of the houses, opening out onto the gardens, at the rear of which was a long, cobbled, alleyway which ran all the width of the gardens in each row, each garden had a gate which opened out onto the alley. On the other side of this alley were more gardens and houses, a mirror image of each street. The alley that ran past the rear of the Bakewell’s garden divided the houses on Blackrock Rise and Miner’s Row, providing a handy cut-through for residents to quickly access neighbouring streets and houses. For the local children, these entry and alley cut-throughs were fantastic short-cuts to one another's houses, perfect rat-runs for playing tag or hide-and- seek and the brick walls of the entries were ideal for playing ball - much to many of the older residents annoyance! At least once a day you could hear someone shouting at a child to stop throwing balls against their house! Locally, these terraced houses which occupied Blackrock Rise, Miner’s Row, Rocky View and Boulder Lane, were known as ‘The Miner’s Cottages’ - largely due to the fact that they were almost exclusively inhabited by miners and their families.

Sherberton’s main source of employment was the Sherbert Mine; a deep, rich source of trona ore, the foundation of sherbert and other baking ingredients, such as bicarbonate of soda and baking powder. The miners would dig out the white crystals of trona and using a sophisticated system of ropes and pulleys, would haul sacks of crystals to the top level of the mine where they would be loaded onto a horse-pulled cart and transported to the sherbert factory on the outskirts of town. The workers at the factory would crush, pound and work the crystals to a fine