Page 81 of The Sisters of Sea View
In the meantime, Brighton is more expensive than I anticipated, so if you would be so good as to advance another twenty, I would be much obliged, Pater-dear.
I know you will understand and find some pleasant way to spend your time.
Yours,
Giles”
Viola glanced over her shoulder at Emily, and the two shared sorrowful looks. Poor man. What to say?
“I am sorry, Mr. Hornbeam,” Viola began. “I know how disappointing this must be.”
“Hmm. I am afraid Giles disappointing me is nothing new. I had hoped he would mature in time. Sadly...” He slowly shook his head. “But a father never stops hoping, and praying, and wishing he had done things differently. Ah well.”
Again the sisters shared pained looks. How could they comfort him?
Emily tried, “At least it sounds like he might still come. Eventually.”
In reply, the man managed a closed-lip smile, but it was not very convincing.
The following day, they all bustled about preparing for the picnic on the morrow. They had invited their guests, and everyone accepted. Emily gazed out the window at the sky whenever she passed, hoping the weather would continue fine.
The cook from Westmount came over to assist with preparations, and Bibi stayed longer to help. By noon, Mrs. Besley washuffing and puffing and giving orders to anyone who dared cross her path. Emily was tempted to make herself scarce, but since she had suggested the idea, she resolved not to shirk her duty, even though the book she was currently reading kept calling to her like a siren song. She resisted its call and did whatever was asked of her, chopping, stirring, bottling, and folding linens.
At one point, Sarah asked her to see if the afternoon tea tray needed refilling and to bring down some serving utensils from the dining room. Emily went upstairs to do her bidding.
In the parlour, Emily saw Mr. Gwilt, teacup in hand, a plate of crumbled seed cake on the table beside him, and his parrot in its cage nearby.
Curiosity got the better of her. Joining him, she asked, “Where did you get your parrot, Mr. Gwilt?”
“Oh, now. I know you want me to spin some fabulosity, like I sailed with a great explorer to Africa or South America. That’s where most parrots come from, you know.”
“And did you?”
“No, lass. Truth is, I bought him in a curiosity shop. He’d been found in some old sailor’s lodgings after the man died. Poor creature was scared and starving. They fed him in the shop, but lads used to tease him in there—torment him, more like, the devils. I couldn’t abide seeing such a regal creature treated cruelly. So I bought him, which was foolish and impractical, yet it was fate. He needed me, and I needed him, though I did not yet know it.”
He glanced fondly at the bird. “Took a long time to gain his trust, after all he’d been through. But he learned to trust me in the end, he did. They say parrots live a long time, and I hoped...” Mr. Gwilt shook his head. “He was already an old parrot when he came into my life. Even so, I will never regret bringing him home.”
“Did you give him his name?”
Mr. Gwilt nodded. “Parry, short for parrot.”
“Could he speak?”
“Oh yes. ‘Want more.’ And several salty sailor’s terms I shan’t repeat.”
He winked, and she smiled in reply. Despite herself, she found herself liking the man.
Sarah came in. “Oh, here you are, Emily. Find those serving spoons I asked for?”
“Not yet. Just talking to our newest guest for a few minutes.”
Her efficient sister began gathering the used plates and cups left by other guests. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gwilt. Have everything you need?”
He beamed up at her. “I do indeed. Excellent seed cake.”
Sarah glanced at the dry-looking, caraway-heavy slices but said only, “Pleased to hear it. I will let Mrs. Besley know you enjoyed it.”
As far as Emily knew, her sister had not yet attempted a cake.
