Page 52 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Your health? Mr. Hornbeam’s blindness is not catching.”
“How do you know? One reads such horrible accounts of”—she lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper—“Egyptian ophthalmia.”
The term had often been in the newspapers a few years ago, when the disease had hospitalized whole regiments of British and French troops, eventually affecting civilians too. Physiciansinitially believed the condition was not infectious, but in recent years learned better. People were, therefore, justifiably cautious.
Not in this case, however.
“Mrs. Elton, while I understand your concern, Mr. Hornbeam’s loss of sight was the result of another condition. I am sure it’s nothing contagious.”
“That’s what they said about”—another dramatic whisper—“Egyptian ophthalmia, and look how many lost their sight.”
Sarah had not asked Mr. Hornbeam directly, yet she had gathered his blindness had come on over several years, probably due to glaucoma or cataracts as sometimes afflicted older people, and not because of any communicable illness like smallpox, measles, or heaven forbid, ophthalmia.
“There is only the one table in the dining room,” Sarah said. “If you and your husband prefer to dine in your room, that can be arranged, but I do hope that will not be necessary.”
“You won’t askhimto do so?”
“Heavens no. We enjoy Mr. Hornbeam’s company. I think you would as well, if you gave him a chance.”
“Could you at least ask him about his eyes? Just to reassure me?”
Sarah inwardly sighed. She glanced up and saw the man making his slow but steady way toward the dining room. “There is Mr. Hornbeam now. Perhaps we might ask him together?”
Mrs. Elton blanched and looked ready to bolt. Before she could, Sarah called, “Mr. Hornbeam? Might we have a word?”
“Of course.” He directed his steps in their direction.
“Mr. Hornbeam, I believe you have met Mrs. Elton?”
“Yes, at dinner the other night.”
“She is wondering ... That is, she only wants to make sure that your eyes are not... That is, that your blindness is not ... contagious.”
“Ah. Rest assured, madame, it is not. I have seen the best doctors in London. They diagnosed an unspecific glaucoma. Age-related,no other cause or illness identified. Nothing to be done for it either. I carried on with my role in the House of Commons until my sight grew too dim. And you know they would never have allowed me anywhere near members of Parliament had anyone suspected contagion.”
“Parliament?” Mrs. Elton’s eyes widened. “Well. That does reassure me. Thank you. I don’t know why Miss Summers insisted on troubling you. I was only curious and making conversation. But shewouldembarrass us both. Ah well, not everyone has refined manners, do they?”
Lip quirked with a slight sarcasm Sarah recognized, Mr. Hornbeam said, “Sadly, they do not.”
After that, it was with equal parts relief and trepidation that Sarah watched their guests gather for dinner a few minutes later: the Eltons, the Henshalls, Mr. Hornbeam, and Mr. Stanley.
The menu was simple, and the preparation perhaps not all it should be, due to the delays earlier in the day. Even so, Sarah had tasted the spring soup and thought it delicious. Then there was the fish that Mr. Henshall had cleaned and the peas she had shelled, along with a salad, cold beef, and a boiled lemon pudding.
Sarah thought it best not to mention Mr. Henshall’s involvement, unsure whether it would embarrass him or her own family more, at having put a guest to work.
Mr. Henshall, however, showed no such reticence.
“This fish is excellent, if I may say so. After all, I cleaned them myself. A sovereign to anyone who finds a bone.”
Mr. Stanley nodded appreciatively, while Mr. Henshall’s daughter seemed mortified and lowered her face, picking at her peas.
Mrs. Elton arched one dark brow. “You did? My goodness.” She set down her fork.
“Don’t look so scandalized,” he said. “I begged to be allowed the privilege. Took me back to my boyhood, it did. In those days, we caught and cleaned our own fish, and fried them over an open fire beside the sea. Nothing like it. Though this is deliciously close.”
“I agree. Well done.” Mr. Stanley lifted a forkful in salute and took another eager bite.
Mr. Hornbeam asked, “You grew up in Scotland, is that right?”
