The Etiquette Mistress – Part 2: Dessert

The dinner went on for hours, and it was the most thorough attention of his life. She had him lift a fork and set it down fifty times. She had him recite the order of the cutlery, and corrected every error with a single quiet word. She made him pour water without a sound, hold a glass at precisely the right angle and wait, silent, while she finished her own course with immaculate slowness. She spoke to him in a low, level voice, telling him exactly how a gentleman sat, spoke, was still. She corrected him with a cool finger under his chin and a murmured no. It was strict, formal and entirely without cruelty, and the candlelit room seemed to hold its breath.

Every half hour: "Does Mr Fenn wish to continue?" "Yes, Madam." "Say it clearly." "I do. Thank you."

"The Mistress does not require thanks." But the candlelight caught her smile.

At midnight she placed her napkin on the table and rang a tiny silver bell.

"Dessert," said Beatrice, softly.

It was her word, and she used it for them both. The gloves came off. She rose, came down the length of the table and sat on the arm of his chair, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"How are you?"

"Corrected," said Nigel, laughing damply. "Thoroughly."

"You were magnificent." She kissed his forehead. "The finest pupil I have ever taught."

"Will there be another lesson?"

"The Thursday after next." She smiled. "I am preparing a very formal tea. There is a great deal of etiquette about the scone."

"I shall study," said Nigel.

"You will observe," said Beatrice, and rang the little bell once more, and a plate of lemon tart appeared from the sideboard, where she had hidden it all evening.

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