Page 15 of The Sisters of Sea View
At that, she crossed the room and sat in an armchair closer to his bed. Nearer now, she glimpsed the scarred skin of his cheek and noticed how dark his hair was against the white pillows. She could not make out the color of his eye. Not brown, she did not think. Green or grey? It was also difficult to determine his age. Perhaps thirty?
She selected an article about the exiled Napoleon and read:
“The health of the Emperor has not been in any degree affected by the indignities and hardships he is made to suffer—nor are his spirits in the least diminished. The island has been visited by contagious fever, from which the town Major and several of the principal inhabitants suffered, but the Emperor remains hale.”
Major Hutton frowned again. “Why am I not surprised? The old despot remains in good health while our men guarding him suffer and die.”
She read a while longer, then rose to return the broadsheet to the pile. “That concludes our hour, sir.”
He nodded curtly. “Remember to keep your guests off my property.”
Ignoring that, she took her leave, thinking,Old despot, indeed.
They had decided to serve dinners to their guests only five nights a week to avoid overtaxing Mrs. Besley. Miss Stirling had pronounced the plan reasonable, as there were other dining options in town.
They had settled on six in the evening, a compromise between earlier meals in the country and fashionably later dinners in the city.
They had also decided that the sisters would take turns overseeing the serving and assisting Jessie as needed. Viola refused to wait at table, so she ate dinner with Mamma in her room. At least she would keep Mamma company and take care of bringing up trays for Mamma and herself, then carrying the dishes down when they were through. It was something, Sarah thought, although she realized the arrangement was not quite fair to the others.
Sarah was nervous about that first dinner with their guests, Mr. and Miss Henshall. The menu was relatively simple and servedà la françaiselike a family meal: broiled mackerel, rump-steak pie, and spinach, followed by a baked rice pudding.
She hoped it would meet their expectations, and perhaps even gain their praise.
The father-daughter pair were uncomfortably quiet during the meal. Mr. Henshall tried to engage the girl, Effie, in conversation a few times, but she remained silent and sullen throughout, and he soon gave up trying.
Sarah, helping Jessie refill a glass here or remove an empty platter there, felt self-conscious in her role. She had assumed the guests would prefer to sit alone, rather than having the family join them and be forced to make conversation with the hosts.
Instead there was no conversation at all between the two, which seemed more awkward yet. She told herself things would improve when they had more guests. Hopefully very soon.
———
A few hours later, after helping to clear the dining room and making sure all was in readiness for the next day’s breakfast, Sarah went upstairs to retire for the night. On the way to her room, she heard Mr. Henshall softly playing his guitar. By the time she had prepared for bed, the music had stopped and all was silent.
Sarah fell asleep quickly, exhausted after all the work to prepare for their first guests and all the accompanying anxiety. She felt as though she could sleep for days.
Sadly, something awoke her early the next morning while it was still dark. It was bad enough having to get up earlier than usual to help with breakfast, but to be awoken before sunrise?
Sarah groaned and turned over but heard a door shutting somewhere in the distance. She remembered locking the outer doors before retiring, so it had to be someone leaving. Who would go out at such an hour? At least she hoped it was not someone sneaking inside.
With another groan, she tossed back the bedclothes and rose, crossing to the window.
The night had faded to the faintest grey of approaching dawn. A man in a top hat and greatcoat, collar up against the damp, strode from the house. He turned his head to look for approaching vehicles before crossing the lane, and she glimpsed his profile.
Mr. Henshall. What was he doing up and about at such an hour? Where was he going all alone?
Unease needled her at the thought of his leaving his daughter unattended. And she realized, although he could unlock the doorfrom inside to let himself out, he could not lock it again without a key.
Sidmouth was relatively safe, and it was almost morning. Even so, she didn’t like it.
Sarah sighed. So much for sleep. She resisted the lure of the warm bed and began dressing for another busy day.
4
My health is much improved by the sea; Not that I drank it, or bathed in it, as the common people do: no! I only walk’d by it, & look’d upon it....
—Thomas Gray, poet
Emily had decided Sidmouth was at its best in the mornings, before the crowds took over the beach and the library veranda. Leaving Sea View’s lawn, she crossed the road and esplanade, then descended the natural rampart of pebbles to reach the beach.
