London - Edward Rutherfurd [531]
The Guv’nor’s dinner party had resumed its jovial progress. Claret – an excellent one – was served with the meat. With the arrival of this course, Mary Anne had politely turned to renew her conversation with the old gentleman on her right. Glancing down the table towards the Guv’nor she could see that everyone had chosen to forget the embarrassing foolishness of young Meredith. The Guv’nor himself was describing the rhododendrons he was importing from India to improve his garden. Silversleeves was explaining to an old lady how smoke might be extracted from an underground railway. Captain Barnikel was describing the beautiful lines of his new tea clipper. Penny was wondering aloud what use the Crystal Palace might be put to after the Great Exhibition was over and his wife was explaining that the queen herself had made one of her many visits to the exhibition only the very day before she had been there herself. Without quite meaning to, Mary Anne also stole at glance at Meredith.
In less than a year, she thought, whatever he does in India, he will have joined a regiment: he’ll be in uniform. It was not difficult to imagine him in a scarlet tunic. He would look very handsome. She wondered if he would grow a moustache. He was clean-shaven now, but as she mentally added the moustache to his face she unconsciously gave a tiny gasp. It would be auburn chestnut, like his hair, quite long, rather silky. The women will be all of a flutter and no mistake, she thought; and hardly realizing what she was doing she gazed into the middle distance until a gentle cough from the old gentleman on her right made her aware, with a little start, that she had completely forgotten him.
For the final course, even the Guv’nor relaxed his somewhat puritan rule a little, and more than six dishes were allowed. But then the final course, at a Victorian dinner, consisted of two distinct kinds of dish. For those who were either still hungry, or did not have a sweet tooth, there were savoury dishes: quails, a mayonnaise of chicken, turkey, heavily larded, or green peas à la française. These could be ‘removed’ – in other words, the palate cleansed – with a soufflé or an ice. But for those who liked a sweeter ending, there was a magnificent choice: a compote of cherries, Charlotte Russe, Neapolitan cakes, Madeira wine jelly, strawberries, pastries. More claret or a sweet wine was offered here.
People round the table seemed to be talking in little groups now. After some minutes of making dutiful conversation with the old gentleman, Mary Anne was glad to be able to turn to young Meredith again. Feeling rather conspiratorial she ventured to ask him: “Tell me about the Hindu gods. Are they really so dreadful?”
“The religious books of the Hindus are as old as the Bible, perhaps even older,” he assured her. “They’re written in Sanskrit, you know – which has a common root with our own language.” His enthusiasm was infectious, and he talked so well of Vishnu and Krishna that she begged him to tell her more and he described the fabulous palaces of the maharajas, their elephants, their tiger hunts; he conjured up visions of steaming jungles and of floating mountains. It occurred to her that this aristocratic young adventurer, her junior by only a few years, would soon be far more worldly, far wiser, far more experienced and more interesting than she would ever have the chance to be. “I wish,” she said softly, hardly thinking of the implication of her words, “that I could come with you.”
Then she noticed that Edward was watching her, intently. He understood certain things very clearly. One of these was the brewery. He understood that his beer must be sound and that his word as to its quality must be sacred. He understood how to be a hale and hearty fellow and a good sportsman, because this was good for his business in this sporting age. He understood efficiency and simple accounting, and the fact that his assets, being ancient, were worth many times their value as shown on his balance