Extras: Dan Churchill meets Downton Abbey
“Excuse me, mum, but Mrs. Patmore, ye’d best come quick!” Daisy, the kitchen scullery maid, burst into Mrs. Hughes sitting room.
“Mrs. Hughes and I had just settled down for a moment’s rest. You should apologize–” Mrs. Patmore scolded.
“But he just appeared out of nowhere. Ye have to see. Come quick!” Daisy turned and hurried down the servant’s steps, leaving the two women no option but to follow. A crowd had gathered in the back of her kitchen with a young handsome stranger rummaged in her shelves.
“Who are you?” she exclaimed the moment she stepped into the room.
“He says his name is Dan Churchill,” Daisy replied. “Isn’t he handsome?”
She couldn’t argue with that. The boy was certainly attractive with broad shoulders and curly dark hair. A thin streak of a mustache inched along his upper lip, which seemed permanently creased in a smile. He was practically naked wearing nothing more than what appeared to be long johns tightly stretched across over his chest and some black trousers.
“Well Mr. Churchill,” Mrs. Patmore demanded. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”
“Looking for your peanut butter, mum. Coconut oil, quinoa, hazelnuts…all the ingredients to make a feast that’s healthy and won’t destroy you from the inside out.”
“What did he say?” One of the footmen asked. “It’s nonsense he’s talking.”
“Not nonsense. He’s Australian. I have family down under,” another replied. “They all talk like that.”
“My cooking does not destroy anyone,” Mrs. Patmore said, clearly irritated.
“Let me show you. I’m going to take these bananas….”
“Not my bananas! Those cost a pretty penny, they did.”
“We’re going to mash them like this then add some…where do you keep your almond milk?”
“You can’t get milk from an almond!”
“Soy then. Do you have soy milk?”
“We’ve got English milk from an English cow.”
“All right then.” Mr. Churchill’s smile barely dimmed. “Let me show you this chicken. It’s easy to make and stuffed with – hold the phone, put down the children, take a breath mid rep and wait for it and –”
“How many people do you feed with one chicken because I have to feed five upstairs and a dozen down.”
“Are you going to stuff it with the bananas?” Daisy asked. “Because they’ll turn if you just leave them in the bowl like that.”
Mr. Carson interrupted. “Did he say he wanted to use the phone?”
“No one is holding the children. They’re upstairs with their nanny,” another added.
“Dude!” Mr. Churchill exclaimed, waving a knife. “I’m just trying to cook here.”
Mr. Carson tugged on the lapels of his coat and spoke in his most aristocratic tone. “Sir. You’ll find no dudes among the man-servants at Downton Abbey. I suggest you return from whenst you came.”
“No worries, Mr. Carson.” Mr. Bates used his walking stick to smartly rap the stranger’s hand to release the knife. “We dealt with ruffians like this in the second Boer war. Keep the women back”
Churchill held his wounded hand and winced. “What is wrong with you? Cooking brings people together. We just wanted to do a promotional photo shoot.”
“Shoot?” A footman exclaimed. “Look out! He’s got a gun!”
Then he was gone. Only a lovely baked chicken and a bowl of mashed bananas
Remained on the table.
Mrs. Patmore smiled. “Just in time for a little supper. Daisy, set the table. Mr. Carson – next time let’s find someone who can speak the Queen’s English.”