Free Love Bade Me Welcome by Joan Smith Page B

days,” Homer said, becoming irritable.
    “Shakespeare, not the Bible,” Jarvis persisted, enjoying his discomfort. His smile invited me to join in the roasting.
    “Shall we have a glass of wine?” Homer inserted rather quickly.
    We finished it without further literary references. As soon as it was done, I left the men and went to bed. Thal had sent her latest novel along to my room. I read for half an hour, which was long enough to make my eyelids heavy.
    I refused to ponder on the night’s party. It would only vex me to dwell on the hints dropped on all sides that I was interested in Cousin Bulow, that he was throwing his hanky at me, that Eglantine Crofft was interested in Homer, that intriguing hint that she would welcome his advances. I was not ready for such a surfeit of romantical tangles. Let them sort it out amongst themselves. I was a widow, and meant to stick to my weeds for many a long month yet.
     

Chapter 6
     
    When I awokethe next morning, I felt decidedly unwell, as though something I had eaten the night before had disagreed with me. The shellfish cropped immediately to mind. It was unfortunate that the food I most liked should have this ill effect upon me, but it was not the first time lobster had bothered me. I hardly had the energy to get out of bed. I was in the limbo of being too sick to get up and not sick enough to remain abed without being bored. So after twenty minutes lingering I pulled myself up and got dressed.
    The spectacle that greeted my eyes in the mirror was not likely to incite any of the local gentlemen to anything but disgust. I was pale, my eyes ringed with dark circles, my hair a black tangle, hanging unkempt. My black gown did little enough to enliven my looks either, but when I had made my toilette, I went down to breakfast. I was hungry, despite that lingering bit of nausea. Having stayed in bed longer than usual, I missed Homer at the table. Jarvis was still there, and though he had finished eating, he stayed behind to keep me company.
    “Some boxes arrived for you,” he said. “The carter left them off half an hour ago. Perhaps it would be Norman’s books and writings? The boxes were very heavy.”
    “Very likely. I’ll have a look right after breakfast, and turn the papers over to you for perusal at your convenience.”
    “There is no great rush. I am polishing up an extract for publication in the Antiquary’s Digest at the moment, a bit of work I carried on two years ago during my summer vacation. The Mendip Hills are so convenient to us here in Somerset and so interesting that I often take a trip over on a fine morning and stay for a day. You might be interested to come with me one time, if Norman’s work has fired your interest in that direction.”
    “I would enjoy it very much. Norman often spoke, and indeed wrote, of the Roman ruins in the Mendip Hills. It is where they mined lead and silver, is it not?”
    “Mostly lead. Occasionally a pig will turn up, dated and all, to tell us precisely when the work was being executed.”
    I knew a pig was not an animal in this case, but a cast block of metal, ready for shipping. “The lead was used to produce silver, I believe?”
    “Precisely. They required plenty of that for their coins. Upon rare occasions of good fortune one might even come across a skeleton with its tools beside it, as I did ten years ago.”
    “Norman also spoke of exploring the caves in the Mendip Hills. The Devil’s Punch Bowl, I recall, was the name of one of them.”
    “There are hundreds of them. The place is a honeycomb. Norman, of course, was not really interested in Roman remains at that time. It was more in the nature of a day’s outing in the fresh air for him. He carried a gun for rabbit shooting, and not a notebook or knapsack. It is good to hear he eventually developed a serious interest.”
    “Some of his notes indicate he was very much interested in what he saw. You will have a better opinion of him when you get time to read