Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [91]
“Will you sit here by the window?” Elisabeth asked him, patting the high back of an upholstered chair. “Dinner will not be long. We lack only plates, linens, and cutlery, and those will be arriving shortly.”
Busy at the hearth, Mrs. Kerr was wearing her new black dress. Elisabeth, alas, was still dressed in her dreary old gown. Had she not begun sewing a new one? Or had Hyslop not purchased sufficient fabric? Jack dared not ask Elisabeth and risk embarrassing her. Nor could he praise the elder Mrs. Kerr’s mourning gown without drawing attention to her loss. Sometimes proper manners were a decided nuisance when one needed the truth on a matter.
Reverend Brown and his manservant, Gibson, came knocking a moment later, arms laden with pewter plates, linen napkins, and sterling forks and spoons. “Here we are, ladies,” the minister said, depositing his offering on the table. “My late wife would be glad to know these things were put to good use.”
With Gibson’s help Anne quickly laid the table for four, then stacked the rest of the settings by the hearth. Jack could not imagine how dinner would be served. Would they take turnabout at table? Stand to eat? Dine two to a plate?
His conscience quickly nudged him. They have given you the best chair and will feed you shortly. Be grateful. Be humble. Be silent.
Thoroughly chastised, Jack sat quietly in his chair and surveyed the dinner preparations. Though Elisabeth stood at the ready, her mother-in-law evidently had things well in hand. The air was filled with tantalizing aromas. Jack thought of his mother, who’d kept two cooks yet still insisted on doing all her own baking.
While Anne entertained Peter with a chapbook, Reverend Brown settled into the seat next to him and struck up a conversation. “For a man who’s circled the globe, riding the marches of our North Common must have seemed a dull journey.”
“Not at all, Reverend.” Jack related in detail his experiences that morning, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the sagging beams, the bare floor, and the shabby trunks by the box bed.
A half hour later Elisabeth escorted him to table. “If you might take the chair at the head, milord.” She also seated Reverend Brown, Mr. Dalgliesh, and her mother-in-law.
Mrs. Kerr eyed her dishes with concern. “I do hope everything is seasoned to your liking, milord.”
However small the table, Jack could not deny that the food looked promising. “Rest assured, madam, I will eat every bite.”
The question of where the others would sit was soon answered. Anne and Elisabeth took the upholstered chairs, neatly balancing plates in their hands, while Gibson and Peter served as footmen, bringing each course to table. “We ate earlier,” Peter announced, the flour on his nose suggesting he’d enjoyed a roll or two.
To Jack’s amazement Mrs. Kerr had prepared not only the obligatory courses offish, flesh, and fowl but vegetables dishes as well. Potted eel was followed by savory veal pie, then stewed chicken with mace. Warm rolls, fragrant with ale yeast, were served next, then pickled beetroot and asparagus with butter. Strawberries and soft cheese arrived as the final course.
Jack would never inform Mrs. Tudhope, but he’d met her equal.
Conversation ensued when their forks were put aside. Michael Dalgliesh, Jack decided, was a clever raconteur posing as a tailor, who regaled the family and guests with amusing stories. The elder Widow Kerr spoke little but, by her speech and manners, was clearly a gentlewoman. He would see what he could learn of her history and Elisabeth’s as well.
When it was his turn, Jack shared his adventures aboard the Centurion, including visiting exotic ports of call in Brazil, Argentina, China, and the Philippines. Elisabeth and Anne quietly