I wiped my face free of any expression. From the set of her mouth, Isabel was apparently still irritated with me. “I know you better than you know yourself, Mary. You hate stuff like that.” She looked down to Clara. “Are there other things you can go and find?”
Clara shoved her plate at me and skipped away.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. Can we call a truce?”
Isabel shook off my apology.
I gestured to the table. “You needn’t have sent Clara hunting for food. There’s plenty here.”
“Gives her something to do.” Isabel picked up a cheese square. “Have you ever noticed how silly adults sound when talking to kids? My nanny used to do that. It’s embarrassing. But kids Clara’s age are the absolute worst. They want to be treated like adults, like you could actually be friends with them, and yet they demand almost as much attention as a toddler.” She turned and surveyed our compatriots. “I hope she doesn’t ruin this.”
“She’s eight, Isabel. She can’t ruin anything. Besides, Austen had plenty of small kids in her books.”
“No, Sylvia was right.” Her right ended with a hard t. “Other than Fanny’s sister in Mansfield Park and Catherine Morland’s barely mentioned sisters, there’s only one real girl and a few boys by name; none got any page time.” Isabel leaned closer. “But if she doesn’t ruin it, he’s sure to.” She sent a smile Herman’s direction.
“He’s lovely,” I whispered back.
“He’s completely unaware. Probably Alzheimer’s.” Isabel mumbled the words.
“Isabel.” Again I whispered her name, but she didn’t hear. She’d turned away and, without missing a beat, replied to another of Herman’s concerns.
I studied the plate Clara had left in my hands. There was one paté-laden toast point left. I put the whole thing into my mouth and chewed.
Clara returned with another plate. This one carried four cheese puffs.
“Duncan has these now and Papa said we’d like them. Mama said I could only take four.”
“I hope you don’t mind; I just ate the last paté. I think I liked it. What did you think?”
“It was not my favorite.”
I smiled; she wrinkled her nose.
“That’s what I’m supposed to say if I don’t like something.”
“Very polite. And to be honest it wasn’t mine either.”
After a round of more personal introductions, I decided that I liked Sylvia and Aaron Lotte, and I adored Clara. I was about to ask her what we should eat next when she tugged her dad’s sleeve.
“Now?”
“Fine.” He crouched to address her eye to eye. “You may go, but you must meet us back here in one half hour. Do you understand? Where is your watch?”
“One half hour.” She clasped her wrist and nodded at each word. Then she skipped away.
I looked at Aaron.
“Gertrude said she should act as if the house is hers and assures me there is nothing off limits. So, naturally, Clara wishes to test the theory.”
“Naturally.” I smiled—and excused myself as well.
Clara had almost made her escape with me only a few steps behind when Gertrude walked into the room. Rather than the waxed coat and bright-pink boots of earlier, she was now dressed in a black sheath dress with diamonds in her ears. They sparkled in the candlelight. Her gray hair fell like platinum, smooth and sleek, to just above her shoulders. She glowed—as if part of the room and the experience.
After a few words to Clara, who spun on her Mary Jane heel and rejoined her parents, Gertrude turned to me.
“Good evening, Miss Davies. I’m so glad you made it down before dinner. Did you and Miss Dwyer rest?”
“Please call me Mary, and not exactly . . . The room is magnificent.”
“Thank you. The Green Room is very special. The desk in that room was a gift to the family in 1815.” Her gaze drifted up, perhaps envisioning it and enjoying the memory. She then looked around the room and called, “Everyone, please, dinner is served.”
The “experience” was to begin tomorrow, but I could feel the pieces dropping into place. We had chosen our characters and now we processed to dinner.
Herman held his arm for Isabel.
Aaron shot him a glance, then followed his lead and lifted both of his in a stately and stiff fashion—one at a ninety-degree angle, one at a low forty-five. Sylvia and Clara grinned and latched on.
Helene grabbed for my hand in delight and pulled me beside her. “Herman will be fine. He is already having fun and as he relaxes he won’t get so fretful. He does like to make people feel important.” She nodded to her husband’s back. “It’s his gift.”
Despite how close her words hit the mark, her face was so kind and open I was sure she hadn’t heard Isabel’s comments. I squeezed her hand in unspoken thanks.
Herman and Isabel led our small retinue. Even from a few steps behind, I could tell Isabel was relishing his attention. She tucked close to the older man and her head bobbed up and down as if she, like our driver upon entering Bath, couldn’t hold in all she had to share. Herman was listening and nodding with equal vigor.
We made a wide variety of noises as we crossed the marble hallway—the tap of high heels, the squish of a driving loafer, the thud of an oxford, and the soft shuffle of a couple pairs of ballet flats. I wondered if tomorrow we’d hear only a masculine heel strike and a whisper of soft silk slippers.
The dining room was long and narrow. A rectangular table, capable of seating at least twenty, stood centered beneath two impressive chandeliers. Light bounced everywhere and refracted to reveal the full spectrum off the crystals and the glasses below. It appeared as if thousands of tiny rainbows had been tossed into the room.
It felt like magic. White linen place mats allowed the light to bounce off the table’s red-black mahogany, adding warmth to the cool light display. Clara stopped so abruptly I bumped into her.
I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Me too, kiddo, and look at that table. There are no lines. It’s one piece.”
Gertrude heard me. “It is. When they renovated this room it could not be easily moved, so they built a crate around it. Then they suspended it by a pulley system to finish the floor underneath it. The family’s history has that it came in through the windows before they finished the stone and glass work in 1767.” She gestured to several small tables nestled in the two bay windows. “I’ve seated us together this evening, but the individual tables will be set in the morning for breakfast.”
I walked down the table’s right side as Clara followed Isabel down the left.
“Thank you, Herman.” Isabel ignored Clara and scooted her chair closer to her clear admirer. If possible, Herman’s chest swelled further.
“Herman told me this is an anniversary trip.” Isabel leaned forward to address Helene, on his opposite side.
“It is long overdue. Our first trip in over twenty years.” He matched Isabel’s posture, blocking the view to his wife.
“We are celebrating our sixtieth anniversary this month.” Helene addressed the entire table.