so the auction could be. held out on the lawn if the crowd overflowed the house.
Boardinghouse custom decreed that the proprietors spend half an hour in the library after dinner, dispensing coffee and chitchat to those boarders who chose to linger and enjoy their company. Eugene Porter-Smith was the first to leave. This would probably be his last session with the SCRC debits and credits, he told them, before he and his Jennifer buckled down to more serious business like picking out the wedding rings. The moment the half hour was up, Brooks rose.
“I’ll take out the tray. Charles is treading the boards tonight.”
Having a butler who was also an actor, though not a terribly successful one, fortunately for the Kellings’ domestic economy, added glamor to the ambience but sometimes led to a certain amount of confusion with the operational mechanics. “Oh, too bad,” said Sarah. “Can I help clear up?”
“There’s no need. Charles will be back soon, I’m sure! He gets stabbed halfway through the first act. You people go upstairs with Theonia. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Back when Sarah was running the boardinghouse, she’d turned her late mother-in-law’s boudoir into a sitting room for herself. Except for Brooks’s Audubon prints in place of Sarah’s Philip Hale tea party and Charlotte Lamson portrait drawing, and Theonia’s sewing materials in place of Sarah’s art supplies, the room hadn’t been changed much. The love seat on which Max had managed to undermine a young widow’s inhibitions was still where she’d put it, and the two of them quite naturally settled themselves there.
“This is nice,” Sarah observed with a satisfied little sigh. “I’m so glad your boarders conked out, Theonia. Poor Max would have had rather slim pickings if they hadn’t.”
“I don’t see that he looks particularly abused.”
Theonia settled her taffeta flounces in one of the bergères that would perhaps have been put up for auction Saturday night if Mary and Dolph hadn’t donated them to Sarah instead. “Do tell Brooks about the funeral, Max. I haven’t had time to talk with him myself.”
“As soon as he comes up.” Meanwhile Max obliged with a description of the simple service, because Theonia liked to know about these things. He regretted that he was unable to report on how the mourners had liked her chocolate brownies because he hadn’t stayed for the refreshments.
“Why not?” said Brooks, who’d by now joined the party, smelling faintly of dishwashing liquid. “I’d have stayed.”
“No you wouldn’t,” said Max. “Lionel’s wife’s former girlfriend was passing the platters.”
“You don’t mean that strange person they call Tigger, who glares at one from behind her hair like a wolverine out of a thicket? What in the world was she doing there?”
“Sarah got her a job. Tell him, kätzele.”
Sarah explained once more how she’d inadvertently acquired Tigger and led her to the SCRC, and how Osmond Loveday, hearing the magic password Kelling, had trapped the woman into volunteering.
“Leave it to Osmond,” said Brooks, “He may be and usually is totally ignorant about the motivations behind whatever cause he’s working for, but he knows all the tricks when it comes to raising the funds. His philosophy may be summed up as, ‘Never give a sucker an even break,’ Not that Osmond’s dishonest, you understand. It’s just that he’s developed the technique of arm-twisting to its ultimate stage of refinement.”
“He’d better not try twisting Tigger’s too far,” said Sarah. “I think she’s a mental case, or the next thing to one. You should have heard her this morning, berating that Ashe man.”
“What was she saying?”
“I wouldn’t repeat that kind of language even if I knew what it meant. All I can say is, she must have had a thorough grounding in the gamier Elizabethan dramatists.”
“Or spent a good deal more time hanging around on street
Boardinghouse custom decreed that the proprietors spend half an hour in the library after dinner, dispensing coffee and chitchat to those boarders who chose to linger and enjoy their company. Eugene Porter-Smith was the first to leave. This would probably be his last session with the SCRC debits and credits, he told them, before he and his Jennifer buckled down to more serious business like picking out the wedding rings. The moment the half hour was up, Brooks rose.
“I’ll take out the tray. Charles is treading the boards tonight.”
Having a butler who was also an actor, though not a terribly successful one, fortunately for the Kellings’ domestic economy, added glamor to the ambience but sometimes led to a certain amount of confusion with the operational mechanics. “Oh, too bad,” said Sarah. “Can I help clear up?”
“There’s no need. Charles will be back soon, I’m sure! He gets stabbed halfway through the first act. You people go upstairs with Theonia. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Back when Sarah was running the boardinghouse, she’d turned her late mother-in-law’s boudoir into a sitting room for herself. Except for Brooks’s Audubon prints in place of Sarah’s Philip Hale tea party and Charlotte Lamson portrait drawing, and Theonia’s sewing materials in place of Sarah’s art supplies, the room hadn’t been changed much. The love seat on which Max had managed to undermine a young widow’s inhibitions was still where she’d put it, and the two of them quite naturally settled themselves there.
“This is nice,” Sarah observed with a satisfied little sigh. “I’m so glad your boarders conked out, Theonia. Poor Max would have had rather slim pickings if they hadn’t.”
“I don’t see that he looks particularly abused.”
Theonia settled her taffeta flounces in one of the bergères that would perhaps have been put up for auction Saturday night if Mary and Dolph hadn’t donated them to Sarah instead. “Do tell Brooks about the funeral, Max. I haven’t had time to talk with him myself.”
“As soon as he comes up.” Meanwhile Max obliged with a description of the simple service, because Theonia liked to know about these things. He regretted that he was unable to report on how the mourners had liked her chocolate brownies because he hadn’t stayed for the refreshments.
“Why not?” said Brooks, who’d by now joined the party, smelling faintly of dishwashing liquid. “I’d have stayed.”
“No you wouldn’t,” said Max. “Lionel’s wife’s former girlfriend was passing the platters.”
“You don’t mean that strange person they call Tigger, who glares at one from behind her hair like a wolverine out of a thicket? What in the world was she doing there?”
“Sarah got her a job. Tell him, kätzele.”
Sarah explained once more how she’d inadvertently acquired Tigger and led her to the SCRC, and how Osmond Loveday, hearing the magic password Kelling, had trapped the woman into volunteering.
“Leave it to Osmond,” said Brooks, “He may be and usually is totally ignorant about the motivations behind whatever cause he’s working for, but he knows all the tricks when it comes to raising the funds. His philosophy may be summed up as, ‘Never give a sucker an even break,’ Not that Osmond’s dishonest, you understand. It’s just that he’s developed the technique of arm-twisting to its ultimate stage of refinement.”
“He’d better not try twisting Tigger’s too far,” said Sarah. “I think she’s a mental case, or the next thing to one. You should have heard her this morning, berating that Ashe man.”
“What was she saying?”
“I wouldn’t repeat that kind of language even if I knew what it meant. All I can say is, she must have had a thorough grounding in the gamier Elizabethan dramatists.”
“Or spent a good deal more time hanging around on street
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