Read Online Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea by Nancy Atherton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy Atherton
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said, “with your permission, of course.”
“I don’t mind if the boys don’t,” I said, and turned to the twins. “Rob? Will? Do you want to come downstairs with me?”
“Do we have to?” the twins chorused. “We’re having fish fingers for lunch!”
It was transparently obvious that a lifetime of maternal love was as nothing when compared to the joys of fish fingers for lunch. I left the twins in the nursery without the slightest twinge of conscience.
Sir Percy had hung a Waterford crystal chandelier from the dining room’s ceiling and covered the walls in crimson silk. The hearth had been walled off, he explained, when he’d moved the kitchens from their traditional location belowstairs to rooms adjacent to the dining room.
“Ridiculous to transport meals down miles of drafty corridors,” he opined, with impeccable logic, “unless you have a taste for tepid soup and congealed gravy.”
The polished mahogany table was large enough to seat twenty, but Sir Percy, Damian, and I clustered at one end of it, in the shadow of a silver candelabra, to eat a lunch fit for a highly successful business mogul: pea soup with truffle oil; seared salmon with grilled eggplant and hollandaise sauce; and sticky lemon cake drizzled with heavy cream. The meal was served by Mrs. Gammidge.
Sir Percy had changed for lunch. He looked every bit the country squire in a tweed blazer, a yellow waistcoat, a pair of tweed plus fours, and argyle knee socks. I’d done nothing more than replace my jacket with a cable-knit cardigan before leaving the suite. Although the rooms were warm enough, Sir Percy had been correct in describing Dundrillin’s corridors as drafty.
As Mrs. Gammidge made the rounds with the soup tureen, I couldn’t help wondering why a housekeeper taxed with the enormous job of running a castle would add waitressing to her list of responsibilities. My puzzlement must have shown on my face, because when Mrs. Gammidge returned the tureen to the kitchen, Sir Percy answered my unspoken question.
“I have a staff of twelve in residence at the moment,” he explained, “but Mrs. Gammidge insists on serving meals. She’s a perfectionist, of course—wants to see the job done right—but she’s also an unrepentant nosey parker.” He leaned toward me and added in a stage whisper, “She likes to listen in on conversations.”
I laughed and spread my napkin on my lap. “Will Kate and Elliot be joining us?” I asked, although the answer was self-evident: Only three places had been set.
“Good heavens, no,” said Sir Percy. “Time is money, my dear girl. They’ll eat at their desks and like it.” He noted the flicker of disapproval in my eyes and laughed heartily. “I jest, Lori, I jest. I have tried many times to pry my young assistants away from their desks but have yet to succeed. Cook sends bounteous feasts to them in the office, I promise you.”
I smiled ruefully. I should have known that he’d been joking. Sir Percy Pelham was many things, but a tyrant he was not.
“Sir Percy,” said Damian, “might I add a few comments about security?”
“Fire away,” said Sir Percy, and turned his attention to the pea soup.
Damian turned to me. “You and your sons are Sir Percy’s only guests at the moment. There’s no need for you to memorize the staff’s names and faces. Andrew and I know who belongs here.”
I hadn’t planned to memorize any names or faces, but I nodded wisely.
“Andrew and I have familiarized ourselves with Erinskil’s residents as well,” Damian went on. “You needn’t worry about them.”
“There are bound to be travelers visiting the island,” I pointed out. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave the castle. Abaddon might come to Erinskil disguised as a tourist.”
“He might,” Sir Percy acknowledged, looking up from his soup, “but we don’t get many tourists. Just the odd bird-watcher and a handful of island-baggers.”
“Island-baggers?” I said.
“Tourists who
“I don’t mind if the boys don’t,” I said, and turned to the twins. “Rob? Will? Do you want to come downstairs with me?”
“Do we have to?” the twins chorused. “We’re having fish fingers for lunch!”
It was transparently obvious that a lifetime of maternal love was as nothing when compared to the joys of fish fingers for lunch. I left the twins in the nursery without the slightest twinge of conscience.
Sir Percy had hung a Waterford crystal chandelier from the dining room’s ceiling and covered the walls in crimson silk. The hearth had been walled off, he explained, when he’d moved the kitchens from their traditional location belowstairs to rooms adjacent to the dining room.
“Ridiculous to transport meals down miles of drafty corridors,” he opined, with impeccable logic, “unless you have a taste for tepid soup and congealed gravy.”
The polished mahogany table was large enough to seat twenty, but Sir Percy, Damian, and I clustered at one end of it, in the shadow of a silver candelabra, to eat a lunch fit for a highly successful business mogul: pea soup with truffle oil; seared salmon with grilled eggplant and hollandaise sauce; and sticky lemon cake drizzled with heavy cream. The meal was served by Mrs. Gammidge.
Sir Percy had changed for lunch. He looked every bit the country squire in a tweed blazer, a yellow waistcoat, a pair of tweed plus fours, and argyle knee socks. I’d done nothing more than replace my jacket with a cable-knit cardigan before leaving the suite. Although the rooms were warm enough, Sir Percy had been correct in describing Dundrillin’s corridors as drafty.
As Mrs. Gammidge made the rounds with the soup tureen, I couldn’t help wondering why a housekeeper taxed with the enormous job of running a castle would add waitressing to her list of responsibilities. My puzzlement must have shown on my face, because when Mrs. Gammidge returned the tureen to the kitchen, Sir Percy answered my unspoken question.
“I have a staff of twelve in residence at the moment,” he explained, “but Mrs. Gammidge insists on serving meals. She’s a perfectionist, of course—wants to see the job done right—but she’s also an unrepentant nosey parker.” He leaned toward me and added in a stage whisper, “She likes to listen in on conversations.”
I laughed and spread my napkin on my lap. “Will Kate and Elliot be joining us?” I asked, although the answer was self-evident: Only three places had been set.
“Good heavens, no,” said Sir Percy. “Time is money, my dear girl. They’ll eat at their desks and like it.” He noted the flicker of disapproval in my eyes and laughed heartily. “I jest, Lori, I jest. I have tried many times to pry my young assistants away from their desks but have yet to succeed. Cook sends bounteous feasts to them in the office, I promise you.”
I smiled ruefully. I should have known that he’d been joking. Sir Percy Pelham was many things, but a tyrant he was not.
“Sir Percy,” said Damian, “might I add a few comments about security?”
“Fire away,” said Sir Percy, and turned his attention to the pea soup.
Damian turned to me. “You and your sons are Sir Percy’s only guests at the moment. There’s no need for you to memorize the staff’s names and faces. Andrew and I know who belongs here.”
I hadn’t planned to memorize any names or faces, but I nodded wisely.
“Andrew and I have familiarized ourselves with Erinskil’s residents as well,” Damian went on. “You needn’t worry about them.”
“There are bound to be travelers visiting the island,” I pointed out. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave the castle. Abaddon might come to Erinskil disguised as a tourist.”
“He might,” Sir Percy acknowledged, looking up from his soup, “but we don’t get many tourists. Just the odd bird-watcher and a handful of island-baggers.”
“Island-baggers?” I said.
“Tourists who
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