The cacophony of the common room was welcome after the debacle in the dining room. She wished the noise would envelop her so she could disappear into it. She suddenly felt very tired as she pushed into the kitchen.
Mr. Davies was in the kitchen again, trying to calm Sammy, who stood in front of him, hopping from foot to foot.
“Start over,” Mr. Davies said. “I couldn’t understand a word!”
With visible effort, Sammy fought to still himself, though his feet in their scuffed, oversized shoes continued to tap anxiously.
“I said,” he began, his huge eyes intent, “Sally can’t come. Pa just found out she’s got a belly full, and now he’s hollering and swearing to kill the man what did it. And me mam is hollering, trying to get Pa to be quiet. Sally’s crying, and says Pa had best not hurt a hair on her beau’s head, because she reckons she’s in love, and wants to marry him. So, Sally can’t come. She’s either planning a wedding or a funeral now. I don’t know which. I cut out of there.”
Mr. Davies growled. “So much for your sainted sister.”
For a moment, Isabelle forgot all about the insufferable man she used to be married to, who happened to be sitting in the dining room down the hall. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh at the precocious boy’s animated recitation. She let out an undignified snort, which drew Mr. Davies’ attention.
“Just you tonight, then,” he said.
Isabelle clucked her tongue and rolled the cart to its spot in the corner.
“I could ask Doris,” Sammy said.
“Here, who’s that, then?” Mr. Davies asked.
“Me other sister,” the boy explained.
Mr. Davies looked ready to spit. “Why didn’t you ask her while you were home?”
“Didn’t think about it.” Sammy’s chest puffed out. He proudly tapped it with a fist. “I just found out I’m going to be an uncle. That’s a big ’sponsibility.” He fixed first Mr. Davies and then Isabelle with a quelling look. “And didn’t neither of you offer your felicitations.”
“How remiss of us!” Isabelle inclined her head in a stately fashion. “Please accept my congratulations for your impending happiness, Uncle Samuel.”
“Cor, you go on, Miz Smith,” Sammy said, blushing furiously. “You sound just like them lady nobs.”
Isabelle winked at the boy. “Anyone else need stew, Mr. Davies?” she asked.
He stroked his hand first down one mutton chop sideburn and then the other. “Yeh,” he finally said. “New table o’ blokes in the middle. And the apothecary came in. He and his missus want supper, too.”
She loaded her tray with food and headed to the common room, hoping her former husband wouldn’t venture this way. Marshall showing up in the George’s private dining room in no way fit into her plans of a fresh start in life.
• • •
Several hours later, the supper crowd in the common dining room had finally begun to disperse. Those remaining had set about the more serious endeavor of becoming thoroughly sotted. Mr. Davies took over the trips up and down the cellar stairs to keep his customers in a steady stream of intoxicants.
The pots and pans had all been washed, dried, and hung on the rack over the butcher block. Now she sliced a roasted leg of mutton and another roast of beef for cold plates. The chambermaids could easily assemble a simple supper for any overnight guests coming in from the road after the kitchen was closed for the night.
The door swung inward to admit her employer. “About done there?” Mr. Davies asked. At Isabelle’s nod, he said, “Don’t forget the private dining room. Those dishes need collecting.”
“Yes, sir,” Isabelle said, her heart sinking in unease. She had kept herself industrious in the hopes that Mr. Davies would take care of the gentlemen himself. It had been hours since she first delivered supper to Marshall and his companion, though. They must have long since retired to their rooms.
She wheeled the cart down the hall again, accompanied by the tearful rendition of “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” a lone patron sang to a stupefied audience. His lilting voice rose and fell, shaping the lyrics into the ocean waves that had carried away the narrator’s love. A few more voices rose up to join in the chorus.
The melody followed her down the hall. Isabelle opened the dining room door without knocking. To her surprise, Marshall and his friend were still in the room. They had moved to armchairs facing the fireplace, with their backs to the door. The men were deep in conversation and did not notice her entrance. Judging by the impressive collection of empty bottles on the table, it would seem quite a few of Mr. Davies’ trips to the cellar had been on their behalf.