He placed the tray down, the not-so-delicate mugs clacking as he did. Her Ladyship sat next to Mrs. Tracy, hand carefully placed on the woman's arm.
He dropped the teabags into the mugs, mugs which he had carefully made sure had nothing vulgar written on them. They were large, heavy things designed to survive the rough usage and constant knocks that a house of five boys will put them through; the chips and glue were a testament to the fact. It was a stark contrast to the fine bone china that had the men in fear of using them.
He poured milk and water, stirring carefully before handing them out, one to her Ladyship, one for Mrs. Tracy, and one for Master Gordon. Everyone else was eerily absent, and Master Gordon didn't much look like he wanted to be here. That was when Mrs. Tracy explained in detail what she knew and how the boys were, and how they'd told her to leave, and he understood. Had he not been in service of her Ladyship quiet so long, he would have missed the worry that passed ever so briefly over her features. There was concern and almost fear, then anger.
Master Gordon looked irritated at the direction of the discussion, and Parker suspected it was because the woman didn't understand what he did and what Parker did, the crippling fear that follows an accident of that magnitude. To be bound so tightly in the unknown and the knowledge that nothing is going to be the same. Much like the mugs, you could glue them but they remained chipped and cracked. The scars remained.
Instead, the men sipped their tea while Penny smiled softly at the teary grandmother.