“Well,” said Lady Carletane, “I didn’t bring it up.”
The Duchess chuckled, a throaty genuine laugh. “No indeed. I brought it up. But you are right, Lord Carletane, it is very much like talking business at the dinner table. How rude of me! What would you like to talk about?”
“Well, for one,” said Lord Carletane, “I would like to know how your cook comes up with these lovely broths. This is such a simple dish, and yet it is delicious.”
There were murmurs of assent all around the table and spoons were busily employed dipping up the golden-colored liquid.
In short order, the servants took away the empty bowls, and brought in the meat and vegetable course. In country fashion, they were placed on the table and passed around, rather than serving as a full seven-course meal.
It was a simple meal that night. This late in June, a large butchering was not advisable, so the meat offering was a pair of plump hens flanked by a mound of fluffy dumplings.
The magistrate took a large bite of dumpling and hummed his approval. “Mmm,” he said. “Just the right amount of sage and something else I can’t quite identify.”
“Our cook is a master hand with the spice jar,” the Duchess said. “I have given up asking him what is in each dish but simply let him surprise me with the delicious selections.”
“Very wise,” said Lady Carletane. “I can quite see why you would not want to be continuously asking what is in each dish, especially when the results are this good.”
“Indeed,” said the Duchess, “it is much better simply to enjoy it.”
However, Miss Notley simply sat looking at the dumplings. She did not even attempt to taste them.
“Is there a problem?” Darius asked politely.
“No, no,” said Miss Notley. “I’m sure it is quite delicious but my stomach is upset. I’m afraid I cannot eat a single bite.”
“Try it,” Darrius urged. “The cook is a genius. However, if this is not something that you can eat, we will send down to the kitchen to ask if he will prepare something different for you.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Notley in a faint voice. “I could not possibly put him to such trouble. I will simply sit here and watch the rest of you enjoying your meal.”
“Nonsense,” said the Duchess. We can certainly send for something that you can eat. Can you not at least have a bit of the chicken?”
“It has come to my awareness,” said Miss Notley, “That meat comes from living creatures that have feelings, relatives, and babies. I simply cannot eat anything that comes from flesh.”
Darius looked at her, brows raised in astonishment. “When did this come about? For you were enjoying roast beef only a week or so ago.”
“I found a book,” she said “And it spoke of the lives of the animals that we have on our farms.”
“Very well,” said Darrius. Trying to maintain civility he beckoned to the butler. “Please, can you find something that Miss Notley can eat?”
The butler bent his head in a proper bow, and said, “I will speak with the cook, Your Grace.” And he immediately left the room.
“Now I have put the servants to extra trouble,” Blanche said. “I am so very sorry, Darrius.”
“Not to worry, my dear,” said the magistrate sententiously, “That is what servants are to do. They are to wait upon our pleasure.”
Blanche looked across the table at Mrs. Swinton. “Mrs. Swinton, how do you feel about this?”
Mrs. Swinton, who had been caught with a mouthful of dumpling, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and said, “Working in the great houses provides many people with positions that will earn money. Without that work they would be in want. I do not think that finding a vegetable dish for you, Miss Notley, will be outside our cook’s abilities, nor will he be upset by finding something suitable for you to eat.”
“There, you see?” Darrius said, not unkindly. “We cannot have you sitting at table starving, Blanche. Just think how uncomfortable it would be for the rest of us.”
“And of course it would be pleasant for me, would it not?” she retorted hotly.
“I should not think so,” Darius said, “nor would we wish for you to have that experience.”
“Then why did you have such a dish made?” Blanche asked, in a high-pitched whine that put Darrius’ teeth on edge.
“Begging your pardon,” he protested. “I am terribly afraid I had nothing to do with the menu.”
