“Yes, definitely,” Kelsey said.
Mrs. Avery came walking into the room, her lips pursed. She seemed unhappy that Emil appeared to be enjoying his guests. Perhaps she was just unhappy that he was there at all.
“Will you have hors d’oeuvres soon?” she asked politely.
“Yes, we will, Denise. But, first, come here. You must see this!”
“Really, Emil—” Mrs. Avery began.
“Oh, come, come, Denny! Come over here and see this. You must sit, too, if Miss Everett is willing. I’m quite astounded by the likeness she created of me.” Emil said.
“I have business—” Mrs. Avery began.
“Yes, yes, you do. You work for me. Sit for a spell. Jane, will you?” Emil asked.
“If you wish.”
“Will this take long?” Mrs. Avery asked.
“Five minutes,” Sloan said.
Jane thought there was something firm in his voice. He used a tone she knew, though it wasn’t often directed at her anymore. People complied with that tone.
Mrs. Avery sat.
She began to sketch and caught the woman’s high cheekbones and thin lips. Because it seemed that the sketch was coming out a little too harsh, she set a tiny stray curl upon the forehead and down the face. The sketch caught the true dignity of the woman, but softened her as well. Jane was surprised to see Denise Avery’s face as she studied the drawing.
She looked up at Jane with a smile. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”
“And she’ll let you keep it, Denny,” Emil said. “After Logan snaps a pic, that is.”
“I would love to keep it. Thank you,” she said.
Before she could rise, Chef stuck his nose and then his body into the Great Hall. “May I begin with the service?”
“Oh, not until Miss Everett does a sketch,” Mrs. Avery said. “Come, sit!”
Jane looked at Sloan.
He grinned at her with pleasure. Logan, she knew, would get a snapshot on his camera of every shot. That night, he’d get every drawing, along with names, to their base. Then they’d know if everyone was who and what they claimed to be.
Before they were done, she’d sketched everyone working at the castle except for the two maids who only came in from nine to five—Sonia Anderson and Lila Adkins. Before she finished with everyone, she asked Chef to bring in the hors d’oeuvres. And as he and his assistants, Harry Taubolt and Devon Richard, served the food, Sloan began speaking with them. By the time she was done with her last sketch for the night—that of Scully Adair—it was agreed that they would all—guests, owner, and employees—eat together that night in the Great Hall.
“It’s nice to be together,” Scully told Jane, sitting beside her.
The food was all on the table and they passed things around.
It had all gone surprisingly well.
“Considering the fact that a man died here just hours ago,” Devon Richard said.
“An accident,” Harry said. “It’s awkward, isn’t it? I mean, none of us really new the reverend, so we can’t mourn him as if we lost a friend. And yet, he died here, and we’re having dinner.”
“People still have to eat,” Mrs. Avery said.
“Yes, I know. And work and breathe and go on. It’s just that I feel we should be mourning,” Avery said.
“And things shouldn’t go on as if they were so normal,” Phoebe Martin said. Then she laughed uneasily. “Of course, this isn’t normal. I’ve never dined in the Great Hall before.”
“This is our way of mourning,” Emil Roth said, and they were all quiet for a minute.
“We should say something,” Chef announced. “I mean, it doesn’t feel right. It just doesn’t.”
Sloan stood. He’d wound up across the table from Jane. “Shall we join hands.”
They rose and did as he suggested. Sloan said a little prayer for Reverend MacDonald ending with, “May he rest in peace, a good man. He’ll reside with the angels, certainly.”
“Thank you,” Emil said when he sat.
“The hall is quite something. But, I can see why you like to eat in your room, Mr. Roth, when you’re here alone,” Mr. Green said. Even he had been called in for a sketch and dinner. “Of course, I do remember the days when the family was alive and cousins came from many different places, old aunts and uncles, too. Then, the place was alive with laughter, kids running here and there.”
A silence followed his words.
“The castle is still a happy place,” Mrs. Avery snapped. “You should hear the people when they come here. They love to laugh and to shiver! And our overnight guests are always delighted. Why, we have some of the best ratings to be found on the Internet.”
“I wasn’t implying that it wasn’t happy,” Mr. Green said. He looked quickly at Emil Roth. “I certainly meant no disrespect.”
“None taken, my man,” Roth said. “I say, pass the wine, will you, Phoebe? And do fill your glass first.”
Phoebe looked at him, plucked up the wine, looked at him again, then poured herself a large glass.