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Chapter Six
Alice exchanged smileswith her husband as two footmen placed the pie on the table in front of him. Mrs. Bascomb had outdone herself. Twenty pilchards stared up toward the ceiling, poking through the pastry topping. Amelia, who had cited star-gazy pie as one of her favorites, clapped her hands in delight. Georgia, who had yet to lose a child’s adventurousness when it came to trying new things, smiled in anticipation. But a ripple of unease threaded through the remainder of their guests.
Ross picked up a knife and spoon. “Shall I serve?” he asked. He addressed Jeanette. “Duchess—would you like one fish or two?”
“Isnonean option?” the man to Jeanette’s right muttered. She swatted him with her hand.
“Henry!” She scolded the duke as if he were her footman, not her husband. “I’m sure it tastes delicious,” she said.
“It’ll taste better than it looks,” Frederica added.
Stiles took a sip of his wine. “It can hardly taste worse, Frederica, my love.”
“Hawthorne!” Frederica exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Alice,” she said. “I think your male guests have left their manners in London.”
“On the contrary, I assure you,” Stiles said. “But I’m the type of man who prefers his foodnotto look him in the eye while he’s eating it.”
“You can always cut off their heads, Papa,” Georgia said.
“Are you going to try some, Georgia, dear?” Alice asked.
“Of course!” the little girl said. “It smells delicious.”
“Then you shall be served first,” Ross said. He scooped a portion onto a plate and handed it to Georgia.
“Duchess?” he asked.
“Yes please, I’ll have one fish,” Jeanette replied. She threw her husband a stern look. “Henry will have two.”
“Is there a reason why the heads are there?” the duke asked, “other than to discompose the diners.”
“It’s because of the legend!” Amelia said, brightly. “It’s to prove that there are fish inside the pie.”
“But we’ll know that, once we start eating,” Stiles said, arching an eyebrow at the plate Ross handed to him. “I must say, my fish looks most aggrieved. It reminds me of a man I sent down for poaching. Though, of course,” he added, winking at Amelia, “I didn’t sentence him to being baked in a pie.”
Amelia giggled. “The pie is a tradition here, to honor a fisherman who braved a storm when everybody else was too afraid. He brought back a huge catch of fish to feed everyone, so they wouldn’t starve.”
“Is that a true story, Amelia?” Jeanette asked.
“Yes, it is,” Amelia said. “It happened over two hundred years ago. Mrs. Bascomb told me all about it.”
Ross addressed Jeanette’s sister. “Miss Susan, one fish or two?”
“I’ll have two,” Miss Claybone said. “I always find I like things which the rest of the world doesn’t.”
“Then you’d get on famously with our neighbor, Mr. Scrimgeour!” Ross laughed.
“Papa, I…” Amelia began, but Alice shot her a warning look. She’d sworn Amelia to secrecy about the incident that afternoon, and had no wish to escalate the matter by telling Ross. She’d dealt with Mr. Scrimgeour, and it was unlikely that he’d threaten Amelia again.
She knew she ought to tell Ross what had happened, but something about their neighbor had prevented her. He’d had a haunted look in his eyes which spoke of some deeply-rooted despair. The look of shock on his face when he’d opened his door had torn her heart in two.
Who was Isabella, the woman he’d mistaken Alice for? And what had happened to her?
Alice knew pain when she saw it, and she’d seen it in Mr. Scrimgeour’s eyes—a crippling, heart-wrenching agony. In the years before she’d found happiness with Ross, she had seen that expression every time she looked in the mirror.
“I think the less we say about Mr. Scrimgeour, the better,” Alice said, glancing at Amelia and Georgia. “He’s an unpleasant sort of man, and not worth our trouble.”
Miss Claybone leaned forward. “He sounds intriguing,” she said. “What do you know of him?”
