Page 72 of The Sisters of Sea View
Next, to convince their cook.
The sisters went belowstairs together and proposed the plan.
“I have not prepared a picnic in ages, and never for paying guests,” Mrs. Besley warned.
“We will all help,” the girls assured her.
After they perused the larder shelves and discussed the idea with Mamma, a menu was drawn up and a shopping list written. They decided the picnic meal would resemble the cold collation they served on Sundays, although simpler: cold roast chicken and ham, fish pie, fresh fruit if they could find it, or stewed fruit in glass bottles with biscuits, cheese, rolls, and tarts. Tea and cider to drink.
They would also need sugar lumps and milk for tea, cups, glasses, plates, and utensils.
As the details mounted, Sarah’s pulse began to pound.
Later, Mrs. Besley reviewed the list and nodded her head. “We can manage this, I think. And it will make a pleasant change, I own. Might I ask our neighbor’s cook to help me?”
Confusion flickered. “Which neighbor?”
“The cook at Westmount. He’s as green as they come but eager to learn. He comes by now and again to ask me how to do something.”
As if on cue, someone knocked on the basement door, and a moment later, Jessie led an unkempt young man into the kitchen.
Mrs. Besley smiled. “Come in, Mr. Chown, we were just talking about you.”
“That don’t bode well,” the young man said. He wore a stained apron and sheepish expression and was in need of a shave.
“Not at all,” Mrs. Besley said. “We were wondering if you might help us prepare a picnic?”
“Never done the like before, but happy to help if I can.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t suppose I could borrow some suet in the meantime?”
Mrs. Besley beamed like a proud parent of a prodigal. “Well, of course you can.”
Later, Viola walked to Westmount for the day’s reading session. It was really becoming quite ridiculous of her to wear her veil onthe short walk over, but she did. The desire to shield herself was deeply ingrained.
The footman let her in and gestured down the passage.
“I know the way, Taggart. Thank you.”
Before she knocked on the major’s door, she untied her bonnet ribbons.
“Come.”
Stepping inside, she removed the bonnet, veil and all. As she set it on the nearby side table, she noticed her hands tremble. This was not the first time Viola had removed her veil in his presence, yet she still felt nervous. After all, he did not know how she had come by her scar.
She turned slowly toward him.
He glanced at her, then grunted in satisfaction. “Glad that is dispensed with.”
Wanting to shift his focus from her person, she asked, “Good swim?”
“How did you know I went?”
“Oh. I ... assumed.” She blinked, trying to dispel an image of him standing bare-chested in waist-high water.
She stepped to the pile of correspondence and recent newspapers. “What shall I read today?”
“Talk to me first. Armaan has gone riding, and my father and brother aren’t much for conversation. How are you keeping—anything new?”
“Yes, actually. I’ve begun reading to a woman in the poor house.”
