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“Yes, ma’am,” Abigail said solemnly.
“Come on, Jamie,” Alistair said. “Let’s go into dinner before they form a Society for Bossy Older Sisters.”
Jamie headed into the dining room with alacrity. Alistair took his habitual seat at the head of the table, seating Sophia to his right as was proper, but ensuring that Mrs. Halifax was to his left. He pulled out her chair for her pointedly when she tried to make a break for it and hide at the other end of the table.
“Thank you,” she muttered rather ungraciously as she sat.
“You’re quite welcome,” he murmured gently as he pushed the chair in overly hard.
Sophia was busy instructing Abigail on the proper placement of her water glass and so missed their byplay, but Phoebe watched them curiously from the other side of Mrs. Halifax. Damn. He’d forgotten how observant the little woman was. He nodded at her and received a wink in reply.
“So you’ve begun writing again,” Sophia said as Tom brought in a tureen of clear soup with a maid to serve it.
“Yes,” Alistair replied cautiously.
“And this is the same work?” she demanded. “The one about the various birds and animals and insects in Britain?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She waved away the basket of bread Abigail was attempting to pass her. “No, thank you. I never eat yeasted breads after luncheon. I hope,” she continued, turning on him again, “that you’ll do a proper job of it. Richards made a hash of it with his Zoölogia a few years back. Tried to show that chickens were related to lizards, the idiot. Ha!”
Alistair leaned back to let the maid set a bowl of soup before him. “Richards is a pedantic ass, but his comparison of chickens and lizards was quite reasonable in my opinion.”
“I suppose you think badgers are related to bears as well?” Sophia’s spectacles glinted dangerously.
“As a matter of fact, the claws of both have a striking resemblance—”
“Ha!”
“And,” he continued unperturbed, as they had, after all, been arguing like this since childhood, “when I dissected a badger carcass last autumn, I found similarities in the bones of the skull and forearms as well.”
“What’s a carcass?” Jamie asked before Sophia could set into him.
“A dead body,” Alistair explained. Beside him, Mrs. Halifax choked. He turned and solicitously thumped her on the back.
“I’m quite fine,” she gasped. “But might we change the subject?”
“Certainly,” he said kindly. “Perhaps we ought to discuss dung instead.”
“Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Halifax muttered beside him.
He ignored her, turning to his sister. “You won’t believe what I found in the dung of a badger the other day.”
“Yes?” Sophia asked with interest.
“A bird beak.”
“Nonsense!”
“Indeed, it was. A small one—perhaps a titmouse or a sparrow—but a bird’s beak most certainly.”
“Surely not a titmouse. They don’t come to the ground that often.”
“Ah, but it’s my judgment that the bird was already dead when ingested by the badger.”
“You promised no more dead bodies,” Mrs. Halifax burst out.
He looked at her and had a hard time not laughing. “I promised no more badger carcasses. This is a bird carcass we speak of.”
