The atmosphere at the breakfast table was subdued.
There were several couples from the previous night in attendance, all considerably less animated than they had been a few hours earlier. Indeed, the pale, wan faces that greeted them were hardly recognizable to Dempsey as the vibrant, loud and raucous guests they had barely managed to extricate themselves from the previous evening. The Everton-Smythes and the Quimbys were there, picking at dry toast and sipping gingerly on cups of tea. Mrs Quimby took one look at the kippers that were being served and blanched visibly before getting rather unsteadily to her feet and walking slowly out into the hall. She did not return.
Mrs Everton-Smythe may have been a shadow of her former self, but one glance at her ample bosom heaving under its tight mauve twin set transported Dempsey back to his confused dream. He shuddered and tried not to stare at her. The brain was a strange thing, he thought, trying to push the mental images away.
Once they were ensconced at the table however, he began to relax and to feel far more an ease than he had done the previous evening. The winter sunshine filtering through the bay windows lifted the atmosphere and he was pleased to find that contrary to expectation, he rather liked the taste of smoked kippers - especially when accompanied by scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes. He was very hungry he realized, and Harry raised an eyebrow as he smothered his fourth piece of toast with butter. The food last night had been okay, but the whole evening was so fraught with tension, he'd found it difficult to eat very much.
He was touched to find that Harry had arranged for him to be served with a personal cafetiere of freshly brewed coffee. She herself stuck to tea, and refused the kippers in favour of her usual toast and marmalade.
Lord Winfield had welcomed them warmly when they entered the room; evidently he was delighted to see them. He jumped up and clapped Dempsey on the back, urging them to sit down. That he adored Harry was obvious to Dempsey: it was clear every time he looked at her, his eyes so full of pride. He knew Harry was close to her Father and it made him want to prove to Lord Winfield that he was worthy of her love; that he wasn't just some yank cowboy. Not that her father had ever really given him reason to believe he needed to prove himself. Her uncle though? That was another matter.
Just as he was thinking this, Giles and Esther entered the room. It seemed to him as though there was a tangible air of froideur that accompanied them. Esther, wearing a black wool dress that tightly hugged her ample curves, smiled briefly and vaguely in the direction of the guests before sitting down and accepting a cup of tea. Dempsey surveyed her with mild curiosity from the other end of the table. She was certainly attractive, in a hearty country - and very english - way. Her thick auburn hair fell around her face in waves, and her cheekbones were high. The face was slightly too gaunt though, which was strange because she was buxom, and not thin in the slightest. Feeling his gaze, she met his eyes before he looked away quickly.
Giles curtly refused Porter's offer of a cooked breakfast and retreated behind his newspaper, barely acknowledging anyone. Dempsey looked sideways at Makepeace and raised his eyebrow. She pointedly ignored him and a second later, he felt a light kick under the table.
"So Daddy" it seemed to be a cue for her to make some conversation; "I thought I'd take James on a tour of the grounds this morning. The weather's perfect for it. I really fancy a long walk. Why don't you join us for some of it?"
"I'd love to Harry dear," he replied, "but I really must grab the colonel before he leaves and press him on his plans for the Game Fair next month. Quite fortuitous that he ended up staying actually – although he's not managed to make an appearance yet, the old goat."
"That's fine. We'll see you for lunch in that case" she said.
Giles lowered his paper. "Going for a walk are you Harriet?" he said mildly. "Esther and I were planning on doing the same. The countryside is rather lovely in winter, isn't it? Although I can't think that it must hold much attraction for a New Yorker such as you, Mr Dempsey. This must be all terribly quiet and dull for you, surely?"
He smiled ingratiatingly and, Dempsey thought, extremely insincerely. It was the eyes that gave him away - they were two cold stones.
"On the contrary" he replied civilly, returning the smile was an equally false one of his own. "I love the English countryside. You can't beat it - so much beauty and space."
He decided to keep going.
"What about you, guess you grew up here?"
The man blinked at him. The question had been innocuous enough he thought, so why did it feel as if he'd committed a faux pas?
"I did," Giles said shortly. "This was my childhood home, just as it was Freddy's. I lived here until I was 18 years old and went up to Cambridge."
"You're lucky," said Dempsey. "Can't imagine what it must've been like, growing up in a place like this."
Giles opened his mouth to respond, and Dempsey suspected he was going to say something insulting about New York, but before he could speak, Harry cut in smoothly.
"I thought growing up here was amazing," she said, "but rather isolating too. The summer holidays could feel quite long sometimes. There weren't many other children around when I was growing up. My nanny was company, of course."
"Harriet was an only child, you see," said Giles, glancing at his niece briefly. "Poor little Harriet."
She chose to ignore the sneering tone. "Hardly poor" she laughed. "I had tons of friends at school. And Daddy spoilt me rotten in the holidays."
"Didn't do you any harm dear" said Freddy fondly. "You turned out alright in the end, eh, even if you did take up this police business."
Giles went back behind his paper without another word. Dempsey's strong sense of dislike for the man was rising by the minute. He pushed the remainder of his kippers away.
Then Esther, who had been a silent observer throughout the conversation, got to her feet.
'I'm going to smoke," she said, "Care to join me Isobel?" She directed this at Mrs Everton-Smythe. "Thank you awfully for breakfast, Freddy dear." Then she walked languidly out of the room.
That she hadn't eaten a thing did not escape Dempsey.
Without another word, Giles got up and followed them into the sitting room beyond. Dempsey watched his retreating back thoughtfully. He was certainly tall. He had no hair to speak of. Could it have been….? Impossible to say after the fleeting glimpse, the darkness of the night and his half asleep state. But never say never. It was possible, oh yes.