Chapter 10

"My dear Cecil!" Mrs. Vyse exclaimed from the door leading out of her flat. "Do make haste! Mrs. Turner expected us nearly ten minutes ago!"

"He won't be a moment, Ma'am," Minnie said quietly, approaching Mrs. Vyse as she placed a small cape over her shoulders. "He's in the process of polishing his spectacles."

At this, Mrs. Vyse sighed, her eyes turned to the ceiling. "Gracious! I do hope he won't be long! He doesn't even need those silly spectacles. He thinks they make him look quite dandified." Minnie could not suppress a conspicuous smirk. "Oh, perhaps I should not have said so!" Mrs. Vyse exclaimed, suddenly shamed by her own candor.

"No! I am quite pleased that you did," Minnie said with a devious grin. "It will give me yet another reason to mock the poor fellow. Oh dear. I do hope he does not find my good-natured teasing to be intolerably offensive."

"Think nothing of it," Mrs. Vyse said absent-mindedly, her eyes still fixed on Cecil's door. "He might have his faults, but I assure you that never has there ever been a gentleman who could accept criticism as well as my Cecil can. You must think it his one great virtue."

"It wouldn't be his only virtue," Minnie muttered. "It would be one of many."

Turning about himself in a nervous frenzy, Cecil quitted his chamber and approached his mother, who immediately felt the need to straighten his collar to her satisfaction. "I do hope this will not take all evening," he said stiffly as he put on his overcoat. "I fear it will rain." He felt into his pockets, suddenly perplexed. "Hmm," he mumbled, checking his pockets once more. "How very peculiar." He started towards his chamber once more, much to his mother's aggravation.

"What is it, Cecil?" she asked irritably.

"My gloves. I have one of them, but I cannot seem to find the other."

"Oh!" Minnie cried, rushing towards her own chamber. "I have your glove. I won't be a moment."

Minnie immediately disappeared, leaving Cecil and his mother to exchange astonished glances. Their expressions were immediately transferred to Minnie as soon as she returned with the glove in hand.

"Thank you," Cecil began, eyeing her suspiciously as he placed his hand within the glove. "How on earth did it end up in your possession?"

Minnie furrowed a brow, unable to recall the events that had led to the glove falling into her luggage. As soon as the memory surfaced in her mind, she felt her cheeks grow warm. "Ah," she began, clearing her throat. "As I recall… When I first arrived… I was staying in your chamber… before you returned, if you remember. And… Well, I suppose the glove had been on the table adjacent to my luggage. It must have fallen before I transferred into the guest room."

"But I never keep my gloves on a table," Cecil replied adamantly. "And why would one glove be in my pocket while the other sat most absurdly on a table where it might have been and, in fact, was lost? I don't understand-"

"Oh dear!" Minnie exclaimed, suddenly focusing her attention on the small watch that hung from Mrs. Vyse's throat. "We are nearly fifteen minutes late! We really must go. I hope Mrs. Turner will forgive our tardiness."

Minnie took several bold steps towards the door, followed by a fretful Mrs. Vyse and a pensive Cecil, whose eyes remained fixed on the enigmatic glove.

"Mr. Vyse!" Mrs. Turner screeched, placing her hand through Cecil's arm, her pitch inexcusably high, considering her proximity to the dour gentleman. "How good it is that you have vouchsafed my modest little dinner party with your presence. It's such an honor to see you, sir!"

"I'm certain the feeling is mutual," Minnie said with thinly veiled mockery as she walked behind her hostess. Cecil glanced towards her with unconvincing annoyance. She merely responded with a sly wink.

"Thank you, Miss Beebe," Mrs. Turner muttered with a sneer, hardly turning her eyes to Minnie. "Dinner has just commenced, so I am glad to say that you have missed nothing, sir."

"Oh, what a great relief," Cecil replied.

"I have placed you directly across from me," Mrs. Turner announced cheerily, leading the unhappy fellow to his seat. "And there you are, Mrs. Vyse," she continued pleasantly, gesturing to a chair across from Mr. Turner, her brother. Thinking her task finished, Mrs. Turner seated herself across from Cecil, who eyed Minnie as she lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

"Mrs. Turner," Cecil began. "It seems that you have forgotten Miss Beebe."

"Have I?" Mrs. Turner asked unenthusiastically. "Oh yes. How silly of me. Miss Beebe, you are to sit down there at the other end of the table… across from Mrs. Whiting."

Mrs. Whiting, an elderly lady who was partially deaf, did not respond at the sound of her own name. Reluctantly stepping towards her chair, Minnie watched the older woman, uncertain of whether or not she had fallen asleep. Not wishing to appear ungrateful, she sat and waited patiently for dinner, unable to hear any of the following conversation, as she was too far from the Vyses to hear anything, with the exception of Mrs. Whiting's occasional snoring.

"How very pleasant you look, Mr. Vyse," Mrs. Turner commented with a smile, her eyes lingering on Cecil as he attempted to eat his soup uninterrupted.

"How very kind, Mrs. Turner," he muttered, carefully wiping his lips with his napkin.

"And how very healthy and robust you appear to be!" Mrs. Turner exclaimed. "I do declare, Mrs. Vyse, your son looks very well indeed!"

"Yes," Mrs. Vyse replied. "He has been escorting Miss Beebe every day on her walks. I believe it has proved to be quite beneficial to his health. Would you not agree, Cecil?"

"Yes, I feel quite healthy, Mother," Cecil answered, his attention suddenly caught by the plain napkin with which Minnie was currently dabbing the corners of her mouth. "Mrs. Turner," he whispered gently.

"Yes, Mr. Vyse?" she replied, eagerly taking the confidentiality of his tone as an intimation that she should lean much closer to him.

"Might I inquire as to why Miss Beebe's napkin in different from ours?"

"It's not so very different, is it?" she asked unconvincingly.

"This napkin," he began, scrutinizing the ivory cloth within his hands. "This was woven from silk. French silk, if I am not mistaken."

"You are not," she replied, her smile slowly transforming into an uncomfortable frown.

"And that," he continued, briefly gesturing to the napkin Minnie held. "appears to be part of an older… Do forgive me if I say more modest set…"

"You have a very sharp eye, Mr. Vyse," Mrs. Turner replied, attempting to sound amused. "Very sharp indeed. Very well. I'll confess a little secret to you… But you mustn't tell anyone…" She took the opportunity to gesture for Cecil to lean closer to her. Reluctantly, he complied. "Earlier this evening, the servant, Gertrude, made a rather clumsy mistake as she set the table. She spilled a glass of wine all over Miss Beebe's setting. It was quite disastrous! I doubt the napkin will be saved."

"It's interesting…" Cecil pondered, digging his knife into the veal that had been presented before him with unnecessary vehemence. "… That is, it's fortunate… that no other setting was destroyed in the process. It appears that the tablecloth was not affected in the least by your servant's accident."

"Yes, well… The location of Gertrude's spill was most convenient."

"Very convenient," Cecil mumbled, taking a bite of veal while giving his hostess a disconcerting grin. The dinner continued in silence for several minutes until Mrs. Turner felt the obligation to turn her attention to Minnie, whom she had not addressed since the dinner commenced.

"Is the veal to your liking, Miss Beebe?" she asked. The severity of Mrs. Turner's tone caused Minnie to turn her eyes towards the others, briefly startled.

"I thank you, Ma'am," she replied. "It is quite delectable."

"Perhaps I should have Margaret prepare the recipe for you," Mrs. Turner said with a cruel smirk that went unnoticed by all but Cecil and Minnie.

"I would be much obliged," Minnie replied at length. "Only… I have been under the impression that asking for recipes is considered to be quite gauche in a London setting."

"Not merely in a London setting," Mrs. Turner replied quietly. "But there is no need to stand on ceremony here, Miss Beebe. After all, we are all on friendly terms with one another, are we not? So I'll tell you… The veal… before it is cooked… is smothered in an absolutely divine assortment of spices, all of which I have transported from India. Perhaps it is a little elaborate, but as you can see, it is quite worth the expense… Yes, I really must have Margaret give you the recipe. Do you cook often, Miss Beebe?"

Minnie stared up from her plate, temporarily speechless. Cecil took the opportunity to speak on her behalf. "Miss Beebe has no need to cook, Mrs. Turner. Certainly her family has a servant for that."

"No, actually…" Minnie began quietly, gently cutting her veal. "I am currently the only cook in my mother's household. Ever since Papa died, we… have kept few servants."

"How very unfortunate," Mrs. Turner replied apathetically. "Well, if that is the case, I doubt you'll be able to make use of the recipe. The spices-"

"Are quite expensive. Yes, I believe we heard you, Mrs. Turner," Cecil interrupted, unwilling to finish his meal.

"Are you finished already, Mr. Vyse?" Mrs. Turner asked as Cecil put down his fork and knife. "Yes, of course you are. As are we all, I believe. Margaret, clear these plates and serve the dessert." Mr. Turner briefly attempted to interject, but to little avail. The plates were quickly rushed out of the room. "The dessert this evening is a true delicacy, Mr. Vyse," Mrs. Turner said enthusiastically. Within moments, each guest was served a crystal goblet overflowing with ice cream. All except for Minnie Beebe, who was presented with a glass bowl, in which a small scoop of the delicacy quickly melted.

Cecil observed this, wide-eyed with indignation. "Mrs. Turner," he began severely, causing her to flinch suddenly. "Might I ask why Miss Beebe has been presented with a positively grotesque serving dish and hardly any ice cream within it?" Cecil had not intended to sound quite so insulted and was only a little mortified when the room immediately plunged into an ominous silence. But he certainly could not back away from the matter now.

"Oh…" Mrs. Turner ventured to reply. "Well… It seemed that Gertrude had another-"

"Accident?" Cecil suggested. "And I suppose Gertrude had been stupid enough to only prepare enough ice cream for five. Is that it? Well…" Cecil leapt from his seat and snatched up his crystal goblet. He strode towards Minnie, making it a point to note out the distance between Minnie and the other guests. He abruptly placed the goblet before Minnie, who stared up at him, dumbfounded. He took up her dish and returned to his seat. "Allow me to be chivalrous," he said with unveiled sarcasm as he plunged into the small dish of ice cream that had previously been presented to Minnie.

The rest of the dinner convened in silence. Only Cecil was able to eat his dessert with any sort of satisfaction. Minnie had certainly taken notice of the various slights Mrs. Turner had made throughout the dinner. However, she could never have predicted Cecil's rash behavior. Though his actions had been inexcusable, she could not in any way confess to feeling distressed by them. In fact, they seemed to have quite the opposite affect on her.

For the first time since her arrival in London, Minnie retired to her room that evening with her head full of romantic thoughts, not one of which was in any way affiliated with Freddy Honeychurch.