Page 123 of A Winter By the Sea
As the scheduled mealtime approached, the residents emerged tentatively from their rooms, eyes wide and uncertain.
“Come, everyone. Be seated,” Sarah said with a friendly smile. “We are nearly ready.”
Miss Reed, Mrs. Denby, Mr. Banks, and two other elderly men she had not yet met sat down. Mrs. Denby introduced them as Mr. Satterly and Mr. Pring, retired fishermen. The latter grinned, and Sarah saw that he was indeed missing several teeth. She hoped the chicken would be tender enough.
Discovering Mr. Hornbeam had joined them, Miss Reed made no effort to conceal her pleasure.
Mrs. Denby said, “Whatever that is smells delicious.”
Mr. Bernardi brought out the large serving dish of chicken with rice “eggs.” He set it on the table to a chorus of delighted ohhs and ahhs. Sarah followed with two bowls of vegetables, while Mr. Thomson carried out the rolls, and Emily, the butter.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Denby said. “We ought to give thanks for such a feast. Mr. Pring, perhaps you would oblige us?”
“Oh, aye.” Mr. Pring bowed his head and the others followed suit. “Thank ’ee, Lord, fer this foine catch and them what cooked it. We’m grateful.”
“Hear, hear,” Mr. Hornbeam said.
Mrs. Denby nodded. “Amen.”
The meal began.
Mr. Banks, sitting in the middle, dished out portions of chicken and rice while others passed the vegetables and rolls.
Mr. Pring bypassed his fork and scooped a heap of sauce-covered rice with his spoon and regarded it curiously. “What’s this, then?”
“Have you never eaten rice, Mr. Pring?” Miss Reed asked.
“Only in rice pudding!” He laughed and ate a bite, smacked his lips, and proclaimed, “Whatever it be, it tastes like more!” And he quickly scooped a second bite.
The others chuckled.
Miss Reed chewed more delicately, then said, “This chicken is incredibly tender and flavorful.” She looked at the hovering helpers and insisted, “Come. You must try some of this too. Bring in extra plates. There is more than enough for everyone.”
The helpers were quick to agree—it really did smell delicious—and soon Mr. Thomson, Mr. Bernardi, Emily, and Sarah each held plates of food, the ladies sitting on spare chairs, while the men stood, leaning against the sideboard.
“Not bad, if I say it myself,” Mr. Bernardi allowed.
“Talentedandmodest?” Sarah teased.
After a time, Mr. Bernardi bent his head to Sarah’s and whispered for her to stay where she was and enjoy herself. He and Thomson would see to the tea and dessert. The two men excused themselves.
From down the passage came the sound of the outer door opening. A moment later, a middle-aged couple entered the communal dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Robins. Mr. Robins was the treasurer of the Poor’s Friend Society, as his wife was forever reminding people. What were they doing there?
The laughter around the table died and smiles faded. Even Mr. Hornbeam seemed aware of the sudden change in the room’s atmosphere and put down his fork, the bite uneaten.
Mrs. Robins, holding a quartern loaf of bread and wedge of cheese, looked with wide eyes from the serving platters to the plates mounded with food, her mouth stretched in dismay. “What in heaven’s name is going on here?”
“In heaven’s name ... How accurate!” Mrs. Denby exclaimed. “Is it not grand? I do hope you have come to join us.”
“Not at all. We heard Mrs. Novak was unable to perform her duties, but I never expected this. Such excess. Such ... extravagance.”
Her husband nodded his agreement. “They seem to eat better than we do.”
The small woman lifted her chin. “We regularly describe the poverty and mean state of the residents...”
Sarah noticed Emily frown and open her mouth to retort, so she quickly laid a staying hand on hers.
“...to encourage donations from potential donors. And this...” Mrs. Robins gestured toward the table. “This makes liars of us all. Thank goodness we have not brought a potential donor with us today. They would be shocked indeed, as we are!”
