Page 18 of Winterset
“Can I offer you some wine, sir?” Bexley said.
“Please,” Mr. Jennings replied a bit too readily for a man of gentle breeding, though he would need it to stomach this plateful.
Glass filled to the brim, Mrs. Owensby moved to serve Mr. Jennings’s meal. First, a piece of burnt bread, then a chunk of overboiled beef so rubbery that it bounced off his plate onto his lap, then fell unceremoniously to the floor.
“Pardon me,” Mrs. Owensby said, sounding more than a little embarrassed as she lowered herself to retrieve the meat. She served him another portion and then stood with Bexley by the wall.
I held a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing—I would not make that mistake again—then watched him eat. It took him considerable time to chew the meat enough to swallow it safely. That he could chew it at all was a testament to the fact that he indeed had a strong set of teeth.
“May I serve you more beef, sir?” Mrs. Owensby asked when he’d finished his food.
“No!” Mr. Jennings said swiftly. “That is, I’ve hadmorethan enough.”
I was sure he had. I grinned.
“Would you like dessert?” Mrs. Owensby asked.
“Dessert?” Mr. Jennings said hopefully. “That would be most agreeable. Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure, sir. I will fetch it from the kitchen. Bexley, will you assist me?”
“Certainly,” he said and followed her out of the dining hall.
As soon as the door closed and Mr. Jennings was alone, or so he thought, he let out a low moan and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands. He sat like that for a long moment, his golden curls poking through his fingers, then heaved a weary sigh and relaxed back into his chair.
He looked exhausted, and his pallor was gray. Clearly, the country did not agree with him. We were doing him a favor in hastening his trip home.
Mrs. Owensby returned only a minute later carrying Mr. Jennings’s dessert: headcheese jelly covered in custard and spritzed with lemon. A unique blend of savory, sweet, and sour, which could only loosely be called dessert.
When Mr. Jennings saw the oozing, gelatinous concoction, he held a hand to his mouth as if he might be sick. “Only a small serving, please,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Owensby said. “After the long journey you’ve had, you deserve a king’s portion, you do.” She served him a healthy helping, then waited for him to take a bite.
He reluctantly did, appearing to swallow without chewing. He continued in the same way until he’d eaten nearly all the dessert. Then he claimed fatigue and retired to his bedchamber.
I had to give Mr. Jennings credit; despite everything we’d put him through today, he had remained calm and controlled. His cool demeanor would not last long though. I would make sure of it.
Oliver
Sunlight streamed through the window,and a scratching sound—rats?—roused me from a restless night’s sleep.
“Charlie,” I groaned, rolling over on my hard-as-rocks mattress. “Close the curtain.” But, of course, Charlie could not hear me because his quarters in my new house were below stairs with the other servants.
I wrestled back my covers and stumbled toward the window. After the day I’d had yesterday, I’d wanted to sleep as long as possible. Apparently, Winterset had other plans.
I grabbed the curtain to close it, but when I pulled, the rod broke and the curtains fell to the floor.
Devil take it!
I made several attempts to drape the curtain across the broken rod before giving up the fight and leaning against the window frame, exhausted. Last night, sleep had come in fits and starts, and thanks to Miss Lockwood’s portrait and her unsettling smile, it had not been at all restful.
The view from my bedchamber window was nothing special, just the overgrown grounds, but cloaked in morning mist, it appearedslightlyless unpleasant than yesterday, likely because I could not yet see it clearly. As a boy, I’d risen early every morning to watch the sunrise. It was the most magical, hopeful time of day, but it had been many years since I’d risen early enough to view it.
Before arriving yesterday, I’d been excited to make Winterset the pearl of the north. But now that the estate had proved less a dream and more a nightmare, I wasn’t so enthusiastic.
I released a heavy breath, and the warmth fogged the frozen window panes. As I watched the sun rise, some of my agitation settled. Seeing the sun peek over the horizon, the newness of the day, made me feel more serene.
Perhaps I’d been too pessimistic yesterday. I had been weary of a week-long journey and tired and hungry. Perhaps the shock of seeing the condition of the courtyard yesterday had clouded my impression of the manor. While I wasstilltired, having seen the sunrise, rude awakening notwithstanding, I felt more optimistic.
