Erik:
"I am very sorry, but I am not going to eat that." I told her. "I appreciate all the trouble you took, and I'm sure it's delicious, but I just wouldn't enjoy it, not as I should."
Her blue eyes gazed searchingly into mine. She said nothing. She didn't have to say anything; her expression said it all. In it, tenderness mingled with a reproachful look, backed by an iron resolve that I would eat.
"Oh, very well," I caved. "But it probably won't agree with me." I used sleight-of-hand to make it appear as if I popped the headless mouse into my mouth. I pretended to chew.
She made the sound that I associated with her deepest pleasure as I swallowed.
"Mmm. Thank you, Ayesha. What a mighty hunter you are, and generous, too. You brought back a mouse for us to share. What a darling…" She sat and purred some more, a wonderful, rich deep rumble that thrummed as I petted her. The unfortunate mouse now lay hidden in my pocket; I could dispose of it down the commode later.
I was sitting near the open window. Looking out at the pleasant garden, I could see one of the inn's waiters make his way down the central path with a heavily laden tray. Nadir followed at his heels. I withdrew to the concealment of the bed, lest the waiter see a man in a mask spying on the inn, as I was doing.
I looked at my watch. Yes, it was lunchtime. The prospect of yet another meal made me frown. I had that milk-toast for breakfast, however involuntarily, and then eaten a scone out of defiance to show Nadir I was capable of looking after my own needs. That was as much or more than I would ordinarily have eaten for several days. I felt bloated.
I suppose that an inn renowned for its food would want to showcase its greatest attractions, but the cook's determination to stuff guests full at every possible excuse was wearying. It reminded me of the way my mother urged me to eat. At least this Madame Touchet (however spurious her claim to that name might be) did not threaten me by telling me the gypsies would steal me for being bad.
When Darius brought in yet another small tureen, I told him "I don't want any lunch, and since I'm no longer tied down, I shan't eat it. As you and Nadir seem to like the food here so much, you are welcome to divide it between you."
"If we can," he said thoughtfully. "Unclean food is still unclean, however delicious it may smell."
He left me, and in a moment, I decided to try my strength to the point of leaving the room, with the goal of joining them in the cottage's dining room. I could do it, but only just. Had there been stairs, I would not have made it.
The dining room, like the rest of the inn's guest house, had been furnished simply and without clutter. The furniture was sturdy rather than elegant, but some thought had been given to the appearance of the place; the wall paper had a design of apples and leaves on a cream ground, in a pointilistic style, printed in dots of red, green, and teal. Cushions on the chairs and curtains at the windows picked up the colors, and a vase of ivory lilac flowers stood on the sideboard.
"Have you changed your mind?" asked Darius. "We haven't dished it out yet. It's onion soup with toasted bread and cheese. Gruyere, I believe." Master and manservant were eating together, I noted; no ceremony here. I sat down at a place that was not laid for the meal.
"No, you share it. Please, eat. I'll do most of the talking. What have you learned?" I asked Nadir.
"That we have a cold lunch today because on Mondays, and again on Wednesdays, Madame Touchet has the afternoon off," replied my friend. "But since it is cold roast chicken, a salad of fresh new peas, and that hot onion soup you have donated to our repast, I believe we will not suffer too much hardship until the dinner hour."
"I had guessed as much. She and the boy went up into the woods a quarter of an hour ago," I commented as Darius divided the food, spooning out mounds of peas glistening in a creamy dressing, colored like the finest Imperial jade. "They took a picnic lunch with them."
I paused. "He and I are not absolutely identical. His eyes are blue; mine are yellow."
"His mother's eyes are blue." commented Nadir, as he pulled the drumstick from the chicken.
"She may not be his mother." I said, as I had before that day.
"As I recall, Christine's eyes are blue. Therefore, I believe I am safe in repeating that his mother's eyes are blue." he returned. "You have not mentioned the other obvious difference."
"His mouth; yes. He has normally shaped lips, not asymmetrical lumps. I have not observed his teeth well enough to say anything about them. He is too young to have his permanent teeth as yet; milk teeth can be remarkably unlike the second set."
"True." admitted Nadir.
"I have given this considerable thought over the past two hours. I'm not yet ready to share with you what I think are the likeliest scenarios behind Madame Anne and her little Erik. I need more information—otherwise, I'm merely spinning stories around them."
"I am sure you are."
I gave him a hard look. He was being sardonic. I could play that game. "I must make an admission to you. The name I was born with, the name I used until my ninth year, was Touchet."
"I had thought it must be. Your astonishment was clear to me, despite the mask."
"Be that as it may." I continued. "There are two persons now living—I presume they are still a live, but I don't keep track of them—who knew my mother, who knew me, when I still went by that name. Madame Anne must have come across one of them."
"I see I am required to believe you when you say you never—met Madame Anne."
"Yes. You are." I bit out.
"Peace!" he exclaimed. "I believe you—until and unless it should be proved that you did."
"It will never be proved!"
"Then let it pass." he said. "Will you make an effort to locate them now?"
"Yes—if it can be done. I will write to Jules, he should be able to find them."
"He may have found other employment,." Nadir pointed out. "It has been over four years, after all."
"So he might," I agreed. "But even if he has, perhaps he would be willing to make a few inquiries—for old times' sake. Now, will there be another employee of the inn coming by in the afternoon, to relieve the long hours of a sick man?"
"There will be two, and from the kitchen staff itself. I have found out a few things about that little household." He took a spoonful of the soup. "This soup is a poem in broth."
"I am willing to hear about them, if you are willing to tell." Did he have to keep going on about the food?
"During the day, there are six people who are always there. Madame Touchet and her son have been there the longest, of course. She is only twenty years old; he is turning four soon. They live on the second floor, above the kitchen, where they have two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a washroom.
"Madame Sophie Durant, eighty years old or close to it, has lived there over three years now. She lives on the ground floor, in a converted pantry, next to the bathroom, another conversion. The pantry is now in the cellar, along with a true innovation—a refrigeration machine, imported at great expense and with great difficulty, from Germany."
"Interesting—what gas does it use as a refrigerant? Ether?" I would appreciate a chance to examine that machine, if I could do so conveniently.
"I am afraid I did not ask."
"Oh, well. Will Madame Durant be paying a call on me this afternoon?" I inquired.
"No. She has great difficulty walking. Her continued employment seems to be an act of charity on the part of Madame Touchet; the boy no longer needs her, and she can do no work except what can be done while sitting in a chair."
"If she is, as Monsieur Hussenot said, like a grandmother to the boy, and if Madame Anne is a woman of her word, then it is not a matter of charity. One does not turn one's grandmother out of doors—at least I suppose one does not. I have little personal knowledge of such matters." I said.
"I have known those who allowed their elders to die of neglect, while they lived lapped to the lips in every luxury." said Nadir, roughly.
"Dear me," I replied lightly, "you will shake my faith in the goodness of humanity, Nadir. You have spoken of three out of the six. Who are the three others?"
"A kitchen maid, known as Minna Toussaint, seventeen years old, and mute. She is, if not imbecilic, certainly slow-witted, yet a very capable worker. Her job is to do a great deal of the preparatory cutting and measuring. She is afraid of the stove, afraid of fire in general, and afraid of grown men."
"I do not like to think of what usage a girl-child who cannot speak might have undergone." I said.
"Indeed. She came from a charity home two years ago. She was jumpy, and as thin as a rail when she arrived, but in the last two years, surrounded by food in abundance and with a kind-hearted cook as her employer, has grown stout and happy. She and Amelié Norbert, Madame Touchet's niece, have rooms in the attic."
"You are quite the font of information, Nadir. Given that she is a mute, and afraid of men, I take it she will not be paying a visit later, either."
"No. Amelié Norbert and Claude Norbert will be coming by. Amelié is eleven. She and Claude are here to learn the art of cooking, on a rather less formal basis than that of an apprenticeship. Claude Norbert is, at thirteen, Madame Touchet's youngest sibling. He sleeps in rooms above the carriage house, along with the stable hands. I must also add that Amelié will not be coming indoors to speak to you—it is not permitted. No female employee of the inn is allowed to be alone in a bedroom with a male guest, or in the cottage to clean without Madame Hussenot on hand to supervise her. She will speak to you from outside your window."
"A very proper establishment, which oversees the virtue of its young girls, I see. Well, I will be glad to learn more of Madame Anne's family life. It may be that one of them knows where and when she is supposed to have been married to her mythical husband."
"Are you elevating yourself to the level of myth, Erik? You have the most overweening pride of any creature on Earth—."
"Nadir! Had we not already agreed that you were to take my word that I do not know her? No, whatever name she may claim, wherever or whenever or whoever she claims to have married—she is not, was not, was never, has never married. I would stake a great deal on that."
"Why? What insight leads you to that conclusion?" he asked.
"Because if she was married, having such a child—however she came by him— would have destroyed her marriage, her happiness, her life, her every hope and dream. His face would have blighted everything—as it did my mother's life. As it has mine…Instead—and this you have seen yourself—she is happy. Having this child has made her life here. There is money behind this—a great deal of money. Trace the money, and we shall come to the truth." I was shaking with emotion. I pushed back from the table, and made my way back to my room. I could not endure company, even that of Nadir, for a moment longer.
I suppose it might have been possible that there was no connection between that child and myself—that chance and nature had randomly combined to afflict him with a face so similar to mine that he could be taken for my son—but I doubted it.
Back in my room, I seized the glasses again, and trained them on the path I had seen Madame Anne and the boy disappear down, and settled myself down to wait.
How much money had it taken to buy that great, sturdy, maternal, cow of a girl to take the baby off the Chagnys' hands?
Could not Christine have done better for our child, than to put him in the care of an illiterate peasant who thought of nothing beyond the next stupid meal that had to be made?
Why not a musician's family, an architect's, a doctor's, someone who could do him some good in the world?
How much money would inspire the bovine affections of an Anne Norbert to the point where she would put the face of that child to her breast?
And what had happened to the baby she must have borne, for her to have milk to nurse him?
A Salad of Fresh Green Peas in a Creamy Dressing
Ingredients:
3 cups fresh or frozen green peas
1 cup fresh sugar snap or snow peas (the kind where the peas are eaten in their shells)
½ cup sour cream (can use crème fraiche or plain yoghurt)
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives OR 2 tablespoons minced garlic, according to your personal preferences
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro OR 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon curry powder
Salt and pepper to taste
Lettuce
Put the 3 cups of peas, fresh or frozen, in a colander, and pour boiling water over them, until they are slightly softened, if fresh, or thawed, if frozen. The point is not to cook them, just to be sure they are clean and soft. Put them in a large bowl with the sugar snap or snow peas, and toss to combine.
In a small bowl, combine the sour cream, the herbs and/or garlic, lemon juice, and the curry powder. Stir to blend until consistently smooth and thoroughly combined. Add salt and pepper to taste. Pour over the peas, and toss until they are smoothly coated.
Serve on a bed of lettuce.
The same dressing is also good on a salad of small fresh string beans and button mushrooms.
A/N: All recipes offered—not those simply described, like the starlings—are ones I have made, eaten, and served to others, who made enough noises of appreciation to convince me it was good. They come from a wide variety of sources, from my late grandmother to various books and magazines, but all of them have been improvised upon by me. I believe that a recipe need only be altered by 10 or more to be out of copyright—if I am wrong, it is an honest mistake.
Awoman, this recipe is for you! I hope you have room to make it. Fresh sweet peas are a real treat that people don't appreciate when all they know is the overcooked kind. All of my other readers should really check out her fic, entitled What a way to live!
Whatanoddgirl: Good eye! Like Water for Chocolate was one of my inspirations.. Others are: the movie Chocolat, with Johnny Depp, the works of Terry (Discworld) Pratchett, the movie Tampopo, a Japanese film all about the human relationship with food and the quest for the perfect bowl of noodle soup, the novel Madensky Square by Eva Ibbotson, and the works of P.G. Wodehouse.
Erik's Girlfriend: Actually, Little Erik is turning four next month. Thank you for your enthusiastic review, btw…
Anti-sheep cheese muffin—you make me think I should be deeply concerned for your mental health.
Thornwitch: It may be that when Meg Giry marries the Baron,( from Leroux) she has the wedding and reception at the inn. You'll have to wait and see…
Lostschizophrenic, I'll do my best. Here's an update. Fraid Erik senior isn't in a very good frame of mind…
Many thanks also to Sue Raven, Lexi, flamingices, Ellen, Josette and Sat-Isis. So many many lovely reviews…ahh! Keep them coming!