Page 175 of The Sisters of Sea View
Sarah said, “Do stay and join us. We are about to serve supper and have plenty of food.” She gestured toward the dining room.
“Thank you. If you are sure you don’t mind uninvited guests.”
“Not at all. It is all spur of the moment. Or perhaps I should say, spur of the flood!”
Mr. Henshall came in behind them, followed by a reluctant trio of Cordeys, hats in hand, along with an elderly man from the poor house.
Sarah’s spirits lifted to see them, her gaze lingering on Mr. Henshall, clothes damp, hair tousled, face ruddy from the wind. She had never found him more attractive.
Mr. Henshall wiped his feet and advanced into the room, but the fishermen hung back.
Mr. Cordey said, “Don’t wanna muck up yer floor.”
“Never mind that. Please come in. We’re all somewhat bedraggled tonight. Here are towels for each of you, if you’d like to dry off a bit. And Mr. Henshall can show you where the water closet is.”
“An indoor water closet?” Mr. Cordey asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, just upstairs.”
“Have ’ee no privy?”
“We do—it’s outside at the back of the garden.”
“That’ll do fer me. Never used an indoor privy in me life and don’t mean to start now.”
“Just promise you’ll come back. We shall need your help eating a great deal of food. There’s beef, ham, pie....”
“Aye, maid’n. That I can do.”
Effie approached her stepfather and spread a knitted blanket around his shoulders.
His expression softened. “Thank ye, lass.”
Then the Eltons crept tentatively down the stairs.
“Well!” Mrs. Elton lifted her nose. “I see you are making good use of the food we paid for.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Elton.” Sarah scraped together a final remnant of kindness for the couple. “Will you not join us? These dear people either were stranded by the flood or risked their safety to rescue those who were. It seemed a pity to waste all of this good food.”
Mrs. Elton looked from one guest to the next, hesitated on the well-dressed Huttons, then recoiled when her gaze landed on Mr. Cordey.
“I think not. One must have standards. Come, Mr. Elton. Back to our room for one final night of torture. I told you we never should have chosen this place.”
Oh dear, Sarah thought. Well. She had tried.
Mr. Banks, from the poor house, had fallen in his first attempt to climb into the boat, so Sarah offered the elderly stranger dry clothes—her father’s coat and trousers, and the shirt she had sewn for Peter. It had lain wrapped in tissue in her trunk longenough. She showed the man to an unoccupied room where he could change.
A short while later, at her mother’s signal, Sarah summoned their guests into the dining room. “Come, everyone. There is a veritable feast awaiting you. I cannot tell you what a blessing it is to have so many gathered here to partake of it.”
———
Some time later, Sarah sat down for a moment’s rest, weary from all the preparations but pleased with how everything was going. There was something deeply satisfying about feeding people, she realized.
Nearby, in a high-backed armchair near the fire, Miss Reed sat stiffly, veil over her face.
“May I bring you something to eat or drink?” Emily asked her, and not for the first time.
“No, thank you.”
