Page 62 of The Mad Marchams

“I am aware of that, Mabel.” Felicity marched on, her face pink with exertion. “Perhaps I’d just prefer it if everyone kept their noses out of my business.”

“Oh.” Mabel grimaced. That was as forceful a putdown as she was ever likely to get from a British person. “I’ll shut up, then.”

“Thank you.”

Felicity slowed down as they approached the village. There was a board outside the village shop advertising local ice cream, and the tea shop next door had reopened after its winter break.

“Do you need anything from the post office?” Felicity asked stiffly.

“No, I’m good.” Mabel held her gaze. “And I’m really sorry for being so nosy, but if you need to talk to someone, I’m your girl.”

Felicity sighed. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Will you meet me at the tea shop for elevenses when you’ve finished your errands?”

“I’d love to,” Mabel said.

Half an hour later, after successfully concluding her business with a very enthusiastic Cheryl, Mabel went into the tearoom, which was the usual explosion of pink chintz, patterned china, and lace doilies instead of placemats. She picked her way through the small tables to the far corner where Felicity sat with her back to the wall exactly like a spy. Mabel didn’t think it would be a good idea to point that out, and instead smiled, and took the seat across from her.

“Were you waiting long?” Mabel asked.

“No, I only just got here. The queue in the post office was terrible. Mrs. Frankel was attempting to upgrade her second-class stamps to first-class ones, which meant the dispersal of three extra stamps for each letter, and she had a dozen to send. She insisted on applying the stamps to each one and handing them over to the counter clerk with a detailed explanation about the person who would be receiving them rather than stepping aside and letting someone else have their turn.” Felicity sighed. “I shouldn’t complain. She’s in her eighties and she’s a remarkable woman.”

A waitress dressed in a black dress and a white apron approached the table.

“Morning, Felicity. Morning, Mabel.”

Mabel recognized one of the younger members of the W.I.

“Hi Lucy. How’s it hanging?”

“Er, very well thank you.” Lucy surreptitiously checked the hem of her skirt and then got out her pad and pen. “What can I get you? We have a nice Welsh rarebit with mustard and local ham today, and a lovely carrot cake.”

“Is that an actual rabbit-based thing?” Mabel asked cautiously. “Because I can’t eat Thumper.”

“No, it’s basically a fancy version of cheese on toast,” Felicity said. “It’s quite pleasant.”

“Then I’ll have that, a slice of carrot cake, and a coffee,” Mabel said as Felicity perused the menu.

“I’ll have the earl grey tea and a slice of Victoria sponge, thank you,” Felicity said.

“I’ll have that out to you in a tick.” Lucy wrote everything down. “It’s not too busy yet.”

After Lucy left, Mabel lowered her voice and leaned closer to Felicity. “Do you think this place will offer competition to our planned café up at the house?”

“I shouldn’t think so.” Felicity considered her. “By my calculations the average person in this country needs a drink and a snack every two and a half hours, which means that even if they stop here to refuel, by the time they’ve walked around the house, and gardens they’ll be ready for more.”

“You’re probably right.” Mabel rearranged her silverware into a more pleasing position before centering her napkin on her placemat. She was just about to do Felicity’s side of the table when she noticed Felicity watching her. “Sorry. I’m slightly OCD. It comes with the nerd territory. We like process and there is nothing more orderly than a perfect line of code.”

“My brain doesn’t function in that way.” Felicity set the menu back in its holder. “According to my grandmother, I’m always away with the fairies.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Mabel said. “We can’t all think the same or the world would be a very boring place.”

“My brothers think I’m quite useless as well.”

“Colin would never say anything like that.”

“He doesn’t need to.” Felicity sighed. “I’m the girl, the afterthought, the least important in the line of succession.”

Mabel suppressed a strong urge to suggest that Felicity could change that opinion if she took charge of her own destiny. But they weren’t close enough for that kind of honesty, and Felicity probably wouldn’t take a blast of American positivity and can-do spirit well.