Page 75 of The Sisters of Sea View
Mrs. Elton spoke a great deal and tended to dominate the conversation, but Sarah had learned to turn her statements into questions for the others, stemming the flow, at least for a time. This was one thing she did better than Emily, who easily lost patience with the woman and was occasionally brusque with her, cutting her off as she was about to launch into yet another tale of all their impressive new friends in Sidmouth, or how much their neighbors back home were missing them.
Mr. Stanley ate with them only occasionally. With his sister still staying at the York Hotel, he often dined with her instead.
Mr. Hornbeam, always pleasant and polite, was an asset to the company and regularly contributed to the conversation. When asked, he would tell about his experiences in Parliament but seemed to take more interest in others’ lives, posing excellent questions. Everyone quickly became accustomed to his dark glasses and his inability to know what food was before him. Those sitting on either side soon learned to offer him dishes without being asked to do so. Even Mrs. Elton grew to accept him.
Viola still refused to sit with the guests or to wait at table and continued to take her meals with Mamma. Sarah understood Viola’s hesitance, as one could not easily eat while wearing a veil. And in all honesty, she did not know how Mrs. Elton might react to her defect, considering her response to Mr. Hornbeam. Thankfully, Viola was able to pay Bibi from her reading fees, so Sarah did not protest.
That night, Sarah oversaw the serving, while Emily filled the role of hostess once more.
She asked Mr. Henshall more about his boyhood in Scotland, and after he’d relayed a few tales, Sarah noticed Effie roll her eyes.
“The poet Walter Scott is from Edinburgh,” Emily said.
“That’s right,” Mr. Henshall agreed. “In fact, I met him once.”
Emily’s jaw dropped. “You never!”
“I did, at a dinner party. He recited a long poem after hearing it only the once. An astounding memory. He then read from one of his own.”
“Which one?”
He looked up in thought. “I believe it was ‘The Lady of the Lake.’”
Emily’s eyes brightened and she recited a few lines. “‘Harp of the North! That mouldering long hast hung, on the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan’s spring, and down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung.’”
He nodded. “That’s the one. I was surprised to see Scott is lame in one leg.”
Emily’s expression fell. “Lame?”
“Aye. But it doesna seem to hinder him much. Said he even climbed Edinburgh’s Castle Rock.”
“Then it must be a fairly minor condition,” Emily said, apparently mollified.
“Certainly didna stop him bein’ the most popular fellow there.” He winked.
Mr. Hornbeam added, “I understand Scott served as clerk to the Court of Session in Edinburgh.”
“Aye. And sheriff depute of the county.”
Emily remained more interested in what the man wrote. “Do you like his poetry, Mr. Henshall?”
“I own I have not read much of it. Always more interested in music, I’m afraid.”
Mr. Hornbeam raised an expressive hand. “Are not songs rather like poetry, set to music? And I for one greatly enjoy Mr. Henshall’s music.”
Mrs. Elton coughed. “Well, we each have our own levels of taste. I love nothing so much as the opera. Do you not agree, Mr. Elton?”
“Oh. Ah... I like that you like it, my dear. Your enjoyment is mine.”
He and Mr. Henshall shared a conspiratorial look.
Emily said, “As we have no opera here, perhaps Mr. Henshall might play for us after dinner?”
He glanced at his stepdaughter. “If Effie will sing.”
The girl wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not. Besides, there’s to be a concert at Wallis’s this evening. Let’s go there instead.”
He agreed amiably, while Sarah swallowed her disappointment.
