Page 13 of A Winter By the Sea
Mr. Gwilt waited in the hall. He glanced at Mr. During’s burden and offered in his cheerful Welsh accent, “May I carry that for you, sir? Looks heavy, that does.”
During hesitated, studying him with wary eyes. “Who are you?”
“Robert Gwilt, sir.”
“Mr. Gwilt assists us around the house,” Sarah explained, surprised by his wariness. Was it not usual practice at inns and hotels to help guests with their baggage? Just what was in that chest?
Mr. During straightened his narrow shoulders and puffed out his skinny chest. “Ah. I appreciate the offer, my good man, but it is my personal responsibility to keep this chest safe.”
“You may assistme,” Mr. Bernardi said, handing over his valise with a friendly smile.
“With pleasure, sir.” Mr. Gwilt took the valise, then extended his free hand toward the large satchel in the cook’s other hand. “And that one as well?”
“No, thank you.” Bernardi lifted the bag with a long wooden pestle and several other handles protruding. “I prefer to keep the tools of my trade close at all times.”
“Right you are, sir.”
“Very well. This way, gentlemen.” Sarah led the way up the long flight of stairs to the bedroom level.
Reaching the landing, she turned left, pointing out the water closet before passing Mr. Thomson’s room.
As she reached the next room, Sarah barely resisted the urge to run her fingers over the door. This had been Mr. Henshall’s bedchamber, and she could not pass by without thinking of him. In his honor, they had named the room Scots Pine.
She installed Mr. Bernardi in Willow, a corner room with only a partial view of the sea, but closer to the back stairs in case he was serious about wanting to be near the kitchen.
And finally, she showed Mr. During to the room in the far corner, on the other side of the linen closet and back stairs. It had once been her father’s room and was also the most set apart.
She opened the door for him and led the way inside. “Will this suit?”
He glanced around and set down the chest on a dresser with another clank. Sarah flinched, guessing he had scratched the polished wood surface.
He turned back toward the door. “Pardon me. May I ...?”
She handed him the key and stepped aside so he could test the lock. Then, without meeting her gaze, he nodded. “Yes, this will suffice. Who all has keys to this room?”
“We have one other key that allows us to enter for cleaning when a guest is absent.”
“And where is that key kept?”
“In a desk drawer in the office.”
“Hmm... I shall need to think about that.”
Sarah watched him in some concern. “Well, do let me know if there is anything else you need.”
He nodded, his expression remaining serious. He was probably only thirty, but he looked older as well as somber and distracted, and Sarah wondered if he ever enjoyed himself.
She had barely stepped out of the room when she heard the key turn in the lock. She looked back in surprise before continuing.
Mr. Bernardi stood in the passage, leaning casually against his doorframe, arms crossed.
“Don’t mind During. He has a bloated view of his own importance.”
“Why? What duty does he perform for the duke and duchess?”
“Table-decker and keeper of the plate.”
Sarah looked at him in mild alarm. “That was the royal plate chest? Tell me that poor man is not lugging around tableware for fifty.”
