Leaving the half-polished trinkets carefully arranged on their velvet-lined tray, you made your way down the winding servant's staircase to the kitchens. The warmth of the ovens wrapped around you like a blanket as you entered the bustling space. Cook, a stout woman with flour-dusted cheeks, was already elbow-deep in mixing a pale pink batter. 'Ah, just in time!' she huffed, nodding toward a bowl of fresh sardines. 'Her Ladyship requested something special today - salmon mousse with a hint of dill in the shape of little fish.'

You rolled up your sleeves and began carefully deboning the sardines, your fingers working with precise movements honed from years of culinary service. The kitchen cat, a scruffy orange tabby named Marmalade, wound between your legs hoping for scraps. You tossed him a tiny piece of fish, which he caught mid-air with surprising grace. 'None for you,' Cook chided playfully, waving her wooden spoon at the hopeful feline.

As you worked, Cook shared the latest mansion gossip - the gardener had spotted a peculiar black cat lurking near the rose bushes, and the downstairs maid had received a rather stern note from Lady Whiskerton about the improper folding of her napkins. The rhythmic chopping of herbs and the bubbling of sauces created a comforting symphony of domesticity. Soon, the delicate fish-shaped molds were filled and placed carefully in the icebox to set, their surfaces gleaming with a delicate aspic glaze.