Page 87 of The Seaside Homecoming
“Do sit down and help yourselves.”
When they were seated side by side, Claire went downstairs and brought up a plate of cheese, bread, and cold meat as well, setting it before them without fanfare.
“When you’re finished, just leave everything here, and I will tidy up later.”
“Thank you, missus.”
Claire went upstairs. She first peeked into the parlour, where she saw Monsieur Lemaire and Mr. Filonov bent over a game of cards, quietly speaking together in French.
Mr. Jackson sat alone, organizing his bobbins by the looks of it. He glanced up with a friendly grin. “Ah, Miss Summers. Any chance of more tea?”
“Of course, Mr. Jackson. I shall bring it up in a few minutes.”
Finally, after she’d delivered a fresh pot of tea, Claire went in search of Mr. Hammond.
She saw Mary coming down the attic stairs in her dressing gown.
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” Claire said.
“I did but I need to use the water closet again.”
She wondered if Mr. Hammond had retired early or had returned to his study. “You have not seen Mr. Hammond lately, have you?”
“Aye, miss. He’s up on the roof again.”
“The roof?”
She nodded. “With one of them spyglass things. Goes out through one of the empty rooms up there.”
“Does he? Interesting. Thank you, Mary.”
Curious, Claire lit a candle from the landing lamp and went up to the attic, past Sonali’s, Mira’s, and Mary’s bedchambers. Noticing weak light seeping from an open door at the end of the passage, Claire investigated.
Inside, a candle lamp sat burning on a small table near an open sash window. She looked outside and saw Mr. Hammond standing at the far end of a narrow roof walk, bent over a telescope mounted on a three-legged stand. Moonlight outlined his form, cheek creased and one eye squinted to focus with the other.
She set down her candle and climbed through the window to join him on the roof, which was enclosed by a low-railed parapet. She had seen the parapet from below but had thought it an architectural feature for ornamentation, not as protection for someone venturing onto the roof. She wondered how stable it was.
“Here you are,” she called.
He glanced over. “Ah, Miss Summers.”
“Mary told me you were up on the roof again, using a spyglass. And here you told me you were not a spy.” She sent him a teasing grin, even though she was not certain he could see it in the dim light.
“I am still not a spy,” he replied, waving her forward. “But come and have a look.”
She gingerly crossed the roof. “What are we looking at?”
“Polaris, also known as the North Star.”
He stepped aside and gestured toward the eyepiece.
Being shorter, she did not to have to lean down very far to place her eye to the instrument.
“Where?”
“The brightest star in current view. Just left of center?”
“Ah. I see it.”
