Excerpt from My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

One
Why Can't the English Learn?

In the year 1833 of the Common Era, a fair ten years since King George IV died and his much beloved daughter, Princess Charlotte, succeeded him as Queen Charlotte of England, Ireland, Hanover, and so on and so forth, one Miss Penelope Pickering stood in the shadowed portico of St. Paul's London, wondering how much longer she'd have to wait for her dear friend Helena Higgins.

Of course, as even Penelope would admit if pressed, Helena had never been what one might call the epitome of charm. Nor would one characterize her as a lady of grace, for her sharp tongue offended nearly everyone she met. She was, however, well on her way to becoming the foremost authority of their generation on the culinary arts in Britain, and therefore considered herself entitled to tell people when they harbored incorrect assumptions about Culinaria, or indeed the world. And, to be quite honest, Helena was very often right. Most of Helena's schoolmates found this trait downright irritating, but Penelope Pickering was of a decidedly tolerant bent.

This perhaps explained why Penelope now found herself standing across from the Covent Garden Market, wishing she'd remembered to bring an umbrella on this chilly evening in early January. She had only just returned from touring the Americas with her parents, and after not seeing Helena since the final day of their previous spring term at the Royal Academy of Culinaria Artisticus—a good six months since—most of her memories of Helena's less-than-ladylike manners had softened. Distance and time have a way of making friends forget each other's faults, and Penelope was not immune to this phenomenon.

She looked about her once more, then pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her navy blue traveling dress. She held it up to the flickering gas lamp to her left with one gloved hand as she did her best to shield it from the rain with her other.

Number 9, Cavendish Square
January 5, 1833
Marylebone, London

My Dear Penelope,

What a pleasure it is to welcome you to Cavendish Square! It seems an age since we first concocted this scheme to spend our final term at the Royal Academy living away from those dreary girls at school, and the day has finally come. I am pleased your parents relented at last! My own parents and brother continue their sojourn on the Continent, and therefore I must apologize for not being able to greet you myself, but I trust the staff has welcomed you with great ceremony and that you are now settling into the violet room with your every comfort well attended. I daresay your journey was decidedly unpleasant, but I hope you will be sufficiently recovered from your travels to join me this evening in some research. I shall await you at eight of the clock at St. Paul's Church, and we shall sample London's most authentic taste of the Americas. Bring your appetite and coin purse as the night market has markedly improved in your absence.

Yours as ever,
Helena Higgins

Penelope glanced across the street at the vendors hawking their wares and food by the light of the gas lamps. The usual assortment of unaccompanied young men and ladies her own age milled around the purveyors who had set up on the street—those who couldn't afford stalls inside the columns of the market building. Hats, umbrellas, or hooded capes shielded most of the patrons from the worst of the rain as they bought goods and food from the roaming hawkers. Unlike Penelope, they had come prepared for the weather. None of them looked particularly like Helena, however. Penelope stuffed the letter back into her pocket and her hands back into her fur-lined muff. With the rain, many of the vendors now had a captive audience as ladies and gentlemen emerged from the theaters only to huddle under whichever awnings and porticos they could.

Excerpted from My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen. Copyright © 2022 by Jennieke Cohen. Excerpted by permission of HarperTeen. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.