“This is good, really good,” Constable Morris said, after hastily swallowing a bite. “You would not believe the swill that was standard fare at my last job. This is chock full of carrots, and I do love a good carroty stew.”
“It is good that you do not require too much meat in your stew,” Dr. Alton remarked.
“Meat? Nah. I can taste that this was rabbit, an’ that it wasn’t off when it went in it. But it’s the carrots that I really like. The bread is good, too, an’ the butter nice an’ sweet... you don’t get food like this up in London.” Constable Morris single-mindedly mopped up the gravy out of his bowl with a bit of bread. “This is prime eatin’, this is.”
“Did you not enjoy the food at the Dower House?” Dr. Alton enquired.
“Of course I did!” Constable Morris affirmed. “Who wouldn’t? But I was nervous that I would use the wrong fork or forget to quirk my pinkie just so,” he demonstrated by quirking his little finger at an awkward angle whilst picking up his mug of ale.
“The best part o’ that meal was the dessert. It is good fortune that the young Miss was out of the room so’s we wasn’t treated to no Cheltenham tragedies whilst we were eatin’ it.”
“Have a care, Constable, when you are talking about the influential families,” Dr. Alton cautioned. “An inn is scarcely the place to discuss your patrons.” He glanced around the nearly empty room with its scarred tables, blackened rafters, and fireplace that was in dire need of a cleaning.
“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Constable Morris looked down at his plate.
“Just a word to the wise,” Dr. Alton sighed, trying not to think about his own faux pas. “What did you think of the companion?”
Constable Morris picked up on the idea that a companion could be discussed, whereas the titled or nearly titled could not. “Purty as a pitcher. Seems odd that she should be a widow no older than she is.”
“Death does not always respect age. Her husband was carried away by consumption. She nursed him right to the end. I was concerned about her health since she was so intimately connected with him.”
“How would that matter, Dr. Alton?
“Consumption can be a contagious disease, the humours passing readily from one person to another.”
“Do you think that Mrs. Swinton might carry consumption to the Duchess?” Constable Morris asked, with some alarm.
“No, no. We burned John Swinton’s effects and all of the clothing that Mrs. Swinton wore while nursing him. Although that might not be completely effective, I believe it will suffice to keep from spreading the contagion. It has worked in other cases. Mrs. Swinton herself is hale and hearty, showing no signs of illness. Miss Notley, on the other hand...” Dr. Alton glanced around the nearly empty room, “Let us save that discussion for my office after dinner.”
When the two gentlemen finished their repast and wended their way peacefully back to the physician’s small house, which contained his office, receiving room, and occasionally the village morgue, they settled themselves into his office.
“Brandy?” Dr. Alton asked.
“No, no,” Constable Morris replied. “I have my rounds yet to walk tonight, and I’d just as soon do it with a clear head.”
“A man does hate to drink alone,” the physician remarked. “If it is wakefulness you require, perhaps we could share a small pot of kaffee.”
“Kaffee?” Constable Morris immediately perked up. “I had a cup when I was in France. You actually have some?”
“I do. More than that, I have a pot and cups from Arabia, so I can brew it in the traditional fashion as it deserves.”
For several minutes, the physician busied himself with crushing beans and preparing the pot. While it was simmering, he sat down in a curious chair that had patchwork cushions and two curved rails like sleigh-runners beneath. The body was woven, like a picnic basket. Constable Morris stared at it. With one foot, Dr. Alton set it into gentle motion.
“Never seen a rocking chair, constable?” the physician asked.
“Seen one, sir,” the young man said thoughtfully, “but never one quite like that.”
“Nor are you likely to see one just the same,” the physician replied. “My father had this one sent from the Colonies just before the rebellion in 1776 on the recommendation of Benjamin Franklin.”
The young constable’s eyes grew round. “The American diplomat?”
“The very one. My father met him while he was here in England. The fellow was quite old by then, and he was bothered by gout. Apparently, the chair’s movement was soothing to him. In all events, I find it soothing. Now, then, I think ourqahwah, as it is called in Arabia, is done.”
Dr. Alton poured the kaffee into tiny cups. The liquid was thick and syrupy. They took a few minutes to sip the thick, bitter liquid.
After a sip or two, Constable Morris said, “That will put hair on your chest.”
Dr. Alton laughed. “Indeed it will. More than that, it will leave your senses bright and alert, not dulled in the manner of wine or brandy.”
