Page 162 of A Winter By the Sea
Clearly expecting the worst, Mr. Bernardi lifted the lid and studied the soup warily. The broth had a rich red color, similar to claret. He leaned down and took an experimental whiff.
“What do you call this?”
“I call it soup. You might call it Polish soup or even borscht.”
“What gives it this unusual color? Cochineal?”
“Beetroot, of course. Fermented juice of beetroot, along with grated beets.”
He made a face. “I am afraid I do not like the taste of beetroot.”
She sent him a saucy grin. “You have not tasted it whenIprepare it!” Reaching over, she handed him a spoon with a challenging lift of her wiry grey eyebrows.
He accepted the spoon, dipped a modest portion, and raised it to his lips, sipping cautiously. His eyes widened.
“But this ... this tastes ... good. So many flavors. What am I tasting? Clove and thyme and sweet basil?”
“As well as bacon and chicken and pork sausages.”
He took a more generous spoonful, mounded with onions and celery. “But the vegetables, they have something else. ...”
“Fried in butter before added to the pot.”
“Ah. Delicious. I must have your recipe.”
“I just told you. It’s not written down, if that’s what you mean.”
“Pity.” Mr. Bernardi ladled himself a bowl of the soup.
Mrs. Novak watched him with satisfaction. “It’s even better served with eggs with horseradish, dipped in breadcrumbs and fried.”
After another spoonful, he closed his eyes to savor and pronounced,“You, madame, should be cooking for kings and queens.”
Mouth quirking, she gestured through the door to the table where the poor-house residents gathered. “I am. And today, so are you.”
Together they enjoyed the meal, the residents praising the food and everyone talking and laughing and eating some more.
Sarah noticed Viola looking around the gathering with pleasure, keeping the conversation going, asking if everyone had all they needed, and now and again sharing gratified smiles with her husband. She looked very much like Mamma at the moment, reigning graciously over the table like a long-accomplished hostess.
Early the next morning, while the rest of Sidmouth was preparing to view the royal funeral procession, those at Sea View were preparing for another somber leave-taking.
The Summers family and their guests lined up in the hall to bid farewell to Selwyn During.
He bowed first before Sarah. “Again, Miss Summers, I am utterly ashamed of myself. I never in a hundred years intended to endanger you.”
“I know, Mr. During.”
“Danger? How were you in danger?” Georgiana asked, eyes wide.
“Never mind. I shall explain later.” Though how she would, Sarah didn’t know.
Sarah handed him a paper-wrapped parcel. “Here are a few baked goods for your journey. Nothing as fine as Mr. Bernardi could have made, but—”
“Not at all. I am grateful.”
She had guessed the man would not want to spend money his family desperately needed to purchase meals at inns along the road.
In return he handed her the arrangement of silk flowers they had borrowed the day before, made with his own money. “I will leave these with you.”
