| The menu served ... |
The
seating plan ...
|
|
First
Course: Second
Course: Third
Course: Fourth
Course: Fifth
Course: |
 |
Sixth Course:
Punch Romaine
Seventh Course:
Roast Squab & Cress
Eighth Course:
Cold Asparagus Vinaigrette
Ninth Course:
Pate de Foie Gras
Celery
Tenth Course:
Waldorf Pudding
Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly
Chocolate & Vanilla Eclairs
French Ice Cream
Anja returned to her assembled guests just as the gong struck. Even though it was in the Entrance Hall, it boomed throughout the ground floor and even upstairs, should any late arrivals still linger.
"Shall we go through?" she asked.
She gave her arm to Clifford (the highest ranked man there). Jane giggled, and blew him a kiss.
Wallace Emerson hesitated, then offered his arm to Miss Escuskiovna, and Miles Secord did the same to Lucinda. Then Reginald paired off with Clara, Oswald with Hermione and Major Dessard with Jane.
Jane took the Major's arm and leaned in companionably.
"My," she commented slyly, plucking an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. "You are certainly the dashing soldier, aren't you?"
Dessard did not have the grace to blush.
"Why thank you, Miss Blume. Or may I call you Jane?" he asked as he escorted the young lady to her chair. "You look quite lovely as well. A beautiful young woman on my arm ... and no mistletoe in sight."
He sighed, smiling at the jest.
"Oh, call me Janie, please!" she responded cheerily. "And I hope you don't mind if I continue to call you 'Major.'" She gave his arm an appreciative squeeze. "I quite fancy soldiers."
"Tell me," she continued demandingly, "have you ever killed anybody? I'm just dying to know what it was like... "
Dessard laughed in a forced manner. "Apart from the Great War? Believe me my dear Janie, its not pleasant. Here you go." The dashing soldier pulled out Miss Blume's high backed dinner chair, and waited for her to sit herself. He looked across the table at his placard. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation later? I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."
He left that word hanging as Dessard excused himself and sat diagonally across the table, between Miss Ericksson and Clara Mulchop.
Miss Mulchop accepted Reginald’s arm graciously. She was turned out rather nicely in a black silk satin flapper dress with chenille roses. One splendid embroidered rose over her left shoulder & a hemline full of others just before the fringe. Miss Mulchop slid very ladylike into her chair.
"Thank you so much Mr. Staughton."
The other men, Brandon Lawrence and David Smyth, brought up the rear.
The table in the dining room was laid out with a magnificent display of silver. Family silver. The Staughton family silver. Reginald noticed this, and winced. Bad taste, he felt.
The gentlemen escorted the ladies to their seats, and then sat down in their own places. The first course - oysters - was already set out before them.
"Oysters," said Jane, smiling, to those around her, "...aren't they supposed to be grand aphrodisiacs?"
Miss Mulchop's oyster very nearly slid down the wrong pipe at this pronouncement. She coughed & sputtered into her water.
Dr. Lawrence snorted. "Bosh, I'm afraid; at the most, they're an excuse to drop your restraint a bit. Still, at least they're fairly harmless, unlike some of the other concoctions folks have come up with."
Jane smiled charmingly. "Oh, really? And what do you recommend, Doctor?" she asked coyly, peering at him from above the shell of an uplifted oyster.
Dr. Lawrence, his amiably neutral expression back in place, shrugged slightly. "Nothing fancy. Good exercise and clean living in general, and a modicum of natural desire in the event."
He consumed a pair of oysters before he added, "Dissipation does far more damage than age."
Davyd chuckled softly at this, his gaze lingering on Jane.
He spoke to the doctor. "Oh, do elaborate, Dr. Lawrence. I think almost anything should be tried at least once. And again if one doesn't enjoy it the first time..."
Brandon's smile twisted. "And if it doesn't kill you. Powdered rhino horn's not poisonous, though it's rather hard on the rhino. Chan Su, made from the skin of certain toads, on the other hand, has a history of killing a fair number of those who hoped to, ah, 'benefit' from it. And as for the famous--or infamous--'Spanish Fly,' made from a pulverised beetle...well, get the dose wrong, and you could wind up with severe blisters, if you don't go mad."
Davyd grimaced. "The things we humans do for love. If I might be so bold as to take back my previous statement, I think that I'll stick to the good old hormones..."
The sherry was now taking its toll on Davyd, and the social world was looking less daunting by the second. Now all he had to worry about was these oysters ... Not really the type of food he'd grown used to in the trenches. Turning to his left, he found himself looking at a mature woman.
"Hello there, how are you finding the gathering? I'm Davyd by the way. With a 'y'. I seem to have missed your name earlier..."
"Anna Escuskiovna," the turbaned lady replied, with a smile that made her seem a bit less daunting. "And you are Mr. Smyth, yes? Davyd Smyth? I am afraid I am not well acquainted with the family friends as yet. Miss Ericksson I was introduced to by a mutual acquaintance, one who had also come into possession of an ancient manor full of restless spirits. I was able to be of some small service in that regard, you see, so Miss Ericksson thought it might be wise to have this house investigated as well."
Davyd raised an eyebrow, turning to her and 'accidentally' knocking his oysters onto the floor. He wasn't sure if anyone had seen or not, and wasn't really that bothered anyway.
"A medium? I don't suppose you could ask my comrade, Matthew Drakes, where he used to live. Only I saw a photo of his wife and she was really quite dashing..."
"One may always ask, Mr. Smyth," Anna replied imperturbably. "But it is the spirits themselves who decide whether - and what - to answer. Our role is merely to provide a conduit for them."
At her end of the table, Anja seemed to be in a rather frosty mood. She toyed with her soup, and barely took a few mouthfuls of the chicken.
When the beef came, it was rare and bloody ... she looked at it broodingly for a few moments, and then signalled angrily to the footman.
"Take it away! You know that I cannot abide the sight of blood!"
Once it had been removed, however, her mood seemed to lighten slightly, in a macabre fashion.
"Tell me," she said to those sitting closest to her, "This country, beneath is surface of civilisation, sometimes seems to me to be savage ... and bloody ... like the meat you favour.
"What do you think should be the price paid for betrayal?"
Miss.Mulchop looked down at her plate in embarrassment, but did not offer any suggestions. Head still bent she gazed at the other guests at the table measuring reactions.
Dessard shot Miss Mulchop a curious glance, then turned his attention to his hostess. "I cannot say, Miss Ericksson. I know that on the Dark Continent, the native tribes exact the ultimate punishment for betraying one's tribe - Death."
He said seriously, then returned to his meal with gusto.
Brandon snorted, softly, then quickly turned his attention to Lucinda, seated next to him.
"So, are you enjoying yourself?"
"Oh yes, tremendously!" she said eagerly. "I've only had one season ... I wanted to marry Jimmy Twistleton-Vyve, but Mummy said we should wait a year and see if it 'took'. And now he's engaged to Susan de Vere. So I could suppose you could say it didn't 'take' after all.
"I'm utterly heart-broken," she added cheerfully. "Cast down into gloom and despondency and all that. Do you hunt? We had a simply thrilling run over by the Slaughters the other day."
"Mmm...well, do bear up, won't you? It's a shame to see such a lovely young girl under the weight of such melancholy." He smiled at her, actually meeting her eyes for once.
She smiled back mischievously.
After a moment, he remembered her question. "I hunt, but I'm afraid I don't ride. I'm more of a birder, I'm afraid. The chase has never suited my temper. I take it that it does yours? In life as well as the hunt, perhaps?"
"Birder? You mean falcons? Or just shooting? I go out with Daddy sometimes to shoots ... I act as his loader. I can shoot too ... Daddy taught me. But not at shoots, of course. The men get frightfully upset if the see a woman bagging more birds than them."
She looked up at him with limpid blue eyes. "But I've always longed to fly hawks!
"As for chasing," she added with simple honesty, "in life, the chaps generally seem to do the chasing of one, don't they?"
"Mmm. Yes, what's the old line? We chase until we're caught? As for the birding, I do it with a gun, not other birds. It's always struck me as odd to go recruiting among the raptors, as though they were agents in our pay, avian traitors to bring things back to our hostess' topic of conversation."
This last was said in a lower, almost conspiratorial tone of voice, with a grin flashed towards Anja.
"Anyway, as I said, I use a gun. I was actually hoping to get some hunting in while I was here. Anja said there are quite a few pheasants about, at any rate."
As the meal progressed, it became apparent that Wallace Emerson was in fact eating very little. And instead of the excellent wines that were being served, it was notable that he was only sipping water. One of those closest to him asked in some concern if he was quite well.
"Dyspepsia," he said shortly. "Can't eat. I generally have a cup of Bengers in the library after dinner. Gives me the nourishment I need."
His voice was carrying, and reached the far end of the table. Anja looked up.
"Ah yes, your famous Bengers! It looks so horrid - like slimy sludge. What does it taste like, I wonder?"
Davyd couldn't help but grimace at the mention of this product; he'd had it practically every day of his military life. Having said that, he'd only ever had to look at some of his malnourished fellows, suffering from myriad deficiency-related illnesses, to appreciate the mixed blessing.
He spoke up before his brain had a chance to intervene. "It's a hot, milky broth type thing. Not terribly pleasant if you don't mind me saying."
"Oh, it is quite mild and soothing, Miss Ericksson," Madame Escuskiovna replied. "I often take a cup myself after any particularly upsetting contact . . . so strengthening, you know. But my dear Mr. Emerson, how distressing that you cannot enjoy this so lovely meal. I have a tisane that might do you good." She rummaged in her handbag. "I always carry a packet or two, my own special blend . . . for I am sometimes subject to dyspepsia myself, I must tell you, if I am not cautious about what I eat. Please, I insist!" She produced a sealed packet of waxed paper and beckoned to a nearby footman. "Have this made up for Mr. Emerson. It is like a tea, you must tell your cook; put it in a cup and infuse it with boiling water, it must be boiling, and let it steep for no longer than three minutes before straining it. You may serve it to Mr. Emerson with his Benger's, perhaps."
She smiled at Emerson. "The flavours do not fight terribly with each other, I promise you. And you will feel ever so much better."
Dr. Lawrence leant toward this conversation, trying to catch the words. "Well, Mr. Emerson, I'm not your physician, but I hope you'll be cautious about taking just any old potion. You never know what's in some of these...mixtures."
He smiled in Madame Anna's general direction, but there was a bit more of an edge to it than usual.
Anna smiled back at him, with how much sincerity he could not quite tell.
"As for that, Dr. Lawrence, I should be happy to furnish you with a recipe. And Mr. Emerson as well, if he finds the mixture helpful. Herbal remedies, you know, are so much kinder to body and spirit than some of these harsh medicines."
Brandon made a dismissive gesture.
"Herbs are the roots of our other medicines, if you'll excuse the pun. I'll be happy to look at the recipe and see if there's any merit in it, to my knowledge. The commercially produced medicines are just purer, for the most part. And tested, so that we know what they do."
His expression verged on the painfully self-assured, bordering on smug. "To the body, perhaps, Dr. Lawrence," Madame Escuskiovna conceded with unimpaired calm. "To the spirit...? Ah, who can tell?"
"Poor Wally," Anja went on. "These business people cause him so much worry ... "
"But not for much longer," said Emerson, this time so quietly that only those closest to him at the table could hear ... And his knuckles whitened as he clenched his hand on the glass in his hand.
When the meal is finished, Anja rose.
"Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?" she asked. Jane smiled, and batted her long lashes at Anja... and then at the gentlemen beside her.
"Oh, I think I shall stay down," she said. "That way, I'll have all the men to myself for a bit. But you girls go on. We shall be waiting when you return... If I haven't stolen them all away by then!"
She laughed, and tactlessly removed a little compact from her beaded purse, applying her poisonous red lipstick, right at the table.
The other ladies followed Anja from the room.
"I suggest we go upstairs and freshen up," said Anja, "and then meet in the living room ... "
As she was speaking, Gladys appeared from the lower regions with a tray.
Anja looked irritated. "Is that for Mr. Emerson? He will be a little time yet. And there are more important things to do. Cover it over and leave it in the morning room. It can be taken through later. It's more important now that you see everything is organised in the living room ... and that the sherry glasses are cleared away."
"Now, ladies, shall we go up?" she continued, as she led them through the living room and to the area where the staircase began. "Lucy, darling, you can use the bathroom in our room, to save you going to the stables flat."
Lucinda, at this rare sign of favour, brightened.
End of Chapter 3
|
Home
Page
| About the game | Chapter
1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter
3 | |
