“Thank you, Mister Foster,” said Nan, stepping through first, followed by Lydia Wakefield.
Both of them were clothed in black crepe; as they stepped in, Lydia removed her hat and handed it to John Paul, who hung it on a hook.
“Can I take your coats?” John Paul asked.
They let him slip their coats off, and he hung them as well beside the hat. Henry looked up as they all walked in and stood.
“Uncle?”
“Ah, yes, of course. Henry, you’ve met Lydia and…” John Paul paused for a moment. Had he ever heard her name?
“Sarah Jacobs,” she cut in.
“Mrs. Jacobs. Lydia, this is my nephew, Henry Roche, you’ve met, yes?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Lydia’s voice faded into a silence that took the air out of the room, then was replaced with the sound of a hammer echoing down the stairs.
“I apologize, the house is not in exceptional shape, miss.”
“Oh,” Lydia said. “I was just thinking how much better than I had expected it had looked. The house has been abandoned since before I was born, you know.”
John Paul flushed, but didn’t answer. Nan reached over and pinched Lydia’s shoulder; prompting her to yelp. Lydia gave an annoyed look and Nan returned it, leaning in to whisper something into Lydia’s ear. Lydia turned back to John Paul.
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”
“Not at all,” he answered. “It’s an old house, but I felt it had some charm, so I decided to have it repaired.”
Lydia nodded.
“I agree, it’s very pretty now that it’s being taken better care of.”
“Are you both hungry?” John Paul asked.
Lydia didn’t immediately answer, but Nan answered for her.
“Lead the way, mister Foster.”
He did; the dining room was one of the nicest rooms in the house, once they’d changed the furniture, and he pulled out chairs for the women before stepping through the kitchen doors. Thomas stood back from the oven, watching it disinterestedly.
“Is dinner nearly finished?”
Thomas looked over.
“Yes, sir; it’s all ready, just keeping it hot. I’ll have it out momentarily.”
“Very good,” John Paul answered, already stepping back toward the door.
Lydia and Nan sat silently across from Henry, who was looking from Lydia to the door. When John Paul reentered, Henry smiled at him.
“Is it almost ready?”
“Thomas says the food will be on its way out momentarily,” he answered, and took his seat at the head of the table. Lydia sat to his left and Henry to his right; he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before folding his hands in front of him to say grace before dinner.
He opened his eyes to see Thomas push through the door, carrying a large platter aloft as he went; he set it down in the middle of the table, and then rush back through the doors and out again carrying another few dishes on his arms.
John Paul turned and got glasses from a glass-faced cabinet behind him; he set them down and turned then to a row of bottles stacked on the far wall.