Free Convalescence by Maynard Sims Page B

I’m glad my tardiness didn’t spoil your meal.”
    â€œIt was very nice,” I said, not sure if she was being sarcastic. “Pork chops.”
    She sat down opposite me. “It sounds lovely. Perhaps, Amy,” she said without looking at her, “you’ll fetch mine now.”
    â€œYes, yes, of course,” Amy said and scurried back to the kitchen.
    â€œYour uncle sends his apologies but he won’t be joining us tonight. He has some important work to attend to, so he’ll be in his rooms.”
    â€œIt’s all right. He must be a busy man.”
    â€œIndeed he is, Jimmy. Indeed he is.”
    When Amy returned she was carrying two plates—one containing Mrs. Rogers’s pork chops, the other a delicious-looking slice of apple pie smothered in rich yellow custard.
    She laid the plates down in front of us. “I asked cook to give you extra custard,” she whispered as she set mine down.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYes, well, that will be all for now, Amy. I won’t be having dessert tonight, so come back in half an hour or so to collect our plates.”
    Amy inclined her head and went back to the kitchen.
    Mrs. Rogers sliced a piece of pork from her chop and popped it into her mouth, chewing assiduously. She swallowed. “My, that’s good. Mrs. Ebbage has surpassed herself.”
    She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Now, Jimmy, I think it’s high time we had a chat.”
    I looked at her uncertainly. “Okay,” I said.
    â€œSo, tell me, are you starting to settle in here?”
    I nodded. “I think so,” I said.
    â€œTeething problems,” she said. “That business yesterday, when I found you in the west wing. I can understand your desire to explore your new surroundings. It’s quite natural for a boy of your age, but I think your uncle made it very clear when he said the west wing was out of bounds.”
    â€œYes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
    She waved away my apology. “I won’t mention it again, so long as we’re clear.”
    â€œYes,” I said. “We’re clear.”
    â€œSplendid. Perhaps we can play cards after dinner?”
    â€œActually, I’m a little tired tonight. I was going to the library to read before I go to bed.”
    â€œAnd that’s fine too. Sensible, in fact. What are you reading?”
    â€œIt’s a book by Geoffrey Trease— No Boats on Bannermere .”
    â€œReally,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever read that one.”
    â€œIt’s about a brother and his younger sister who go to live in the Lake District, where they find the skeletons of Vikings and a hoard of buried treasure.”
    â€œMy word,” she said. “That sounds exciting…a bit too rich for my blood, I’m afraid. I’m a big fan of Barbara Cartland. Have you ever read anything by her?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œNo, I suppose you wouldn’t. Not really your cup of tea, I suspect. Lots of romance and kissing.”
    I pulled a face.
    â€œYes, as I thought. Far better to stick with your Vikings and buried treasure.”
    The conversation continued in a similar vein for another twenty minutes or so. Eventually she stopped eating, crossed her knife and fork, and laid them on her plate.
    â€œWell, I’m sure you don’t want to sit here listening to an old woman prattle on. Get on to the library with you and read your book.”
    I started to rise from the table, but she laid a hand across my arm. “Thank you, Jimmy, for sitting with me. My son, Hughie, and I used to take all our meals together. Much nicer than dining alone. Come and see me for your tablets before you turn in for the night.”
    â€œYes, yes I will. I won’t be too late.” I feigned a yawn and left the dining room.
    I left Bannermere in my room and took the Eagle annual down to the library. There was no sign yet of