Page 31 of The Sisters of Sea View
Sarah wondered if it was a mistake not to serve luncheon to their guests. An elderly man on his own, and blind in the bargain, might find it difficult to stroll to one of the hotels to dine. Well, it was too late now.
———
An hour later, her sisters gathered in the dining room for a simple family luncheon.
On her way to join them, Sarah glanced into the parlour to see if the tea or plate of sandwiches needed replenishing. Their new guest sat there alone, sipping a cup of tea. At the sight of the solitary figure in the empty room, her conscience smote her.
“Mr. Hornbeam, why do you not join us? My sisters are just across the corridor in the dining room.”
“Thank you, but no,” he said pleasantly. “I would not wish to intrude upon your private family time. I am content here with my tea.”
Stopping in the threshold, Emily added, “Please, sir. You would be doing us a favor. We grow weary of one another’s company. Come and offer us some fresh conversation, if you would be so kind.”
“Well, in that case.” He rose. “If you are certain...?”
“We are. Here, I shall carry your tea.” Emily took his cup, and Sarah put a hand under his elbow.
“Right this way.”
Reaching the dining room—they left the door closed this time of day—Emily opened the paneled door and led the way inside. She pulled out a chair, one not occupied in ages, while Sarah gently guided him into it.
Sarah explained, “We have persuaded Mr. Hornbeam to join us.”
Viola stilled, glass partway to her mouth. She set it down again.
Georgiana said, “Excellent notion.” Without being asked, she leapt up to fetch an extra plate, cutlery, and a linen serviette from the sideboard, and in short order, the man had everything he needed.
“It is only a plain family meal, I’m afraid,” Sarah said. “Fried whiting and vegetables.”
“A family meal sounds heavenly.”
Emily carried over the serving platter. “Fish, Mr. Hornbeam?”
“Just a small piece. I’ve already had a sandwich.”
“Potato pudding?”
“Just a bite.”
“Broccoli? I’m afraid there is only a little left.”
Georgiana smirked. “He may have mine, if he likes.”
Emily scooped the last of the broccoli onto his plate.
Sarah explained, “We serve it with oil and vinegar and a little salt, like they do in France.”
“Sounds delicious. Been to France, have you?”
“Viola has.”
He waited expectantly, brows raised above his dark glasses, but they all just looked at one another.
Finally Viola said, “That was a few years ago.” Then she added wryly, “Some travelers bring back artwork or French wine; we brought back a recipe for broccoli.”
He chuckled, and relieved that the awkward moment had passed, the others joined in.
“Tell us about yourself, Mr. Hornbeam,” Emily said. “I know from your letter that you come from London but little else.”
