All I could hear was the sound of his teeth grinding on his breakfast. I, on the other hand, could only take measly bites. The gentle clatter of cutlery against china supplied a monotonous rhythm; that and Mrs Wiggs, who kept on swinging in and out like a hurricane with more food. I fought the urge to make conversation because I was still firmly of the mind that it was he who had stormed out on me and therefore I was not the guilty party. I had apologised for my reaction at the time. He wouldn’t even look at me and I began to feel quite anxious as this was very unlike him. He adored me. I would have been quite happy to disregard the whole awful event and put it down to a misunderstanding, but he was still carrying a lot of anger, which he appeared to be taking out on his toast. If he was upset, it hadn’t disturbed his appetite as it had mine.
It didn’t take long for Mrs Wiggs to notice the atmosphere. She kept looking at me, then at Thomas, then back at me. I could feel her eyes, though I refused to meet them. She hovered over Thomas as she poured his tea. She was obviously working herself up to say something.
‘What time would you prefer dinner served tonight, Dr Lancaster?’ she began. ‘Mrs Lancaster, would you like me to have Sarah pick up anything in particular? I wonder if you have any family recipes you would like to introduce to the household. It would make it more familiar for you and it would broaden our horizons. Lord knows we’ve plundered Cook’s finite reservoir of ideas several times over.’
‘Oh no, Mrs Wiggs, nothing springs to mind.’ I had nothing in the bank on this one. I had always been lazy and unconcerned about food. I felt like a disappointment and imagined a good wife would have memorised a thousand recipes already. ‘I’ll have to think,’ I said.
‘Very well,’ said Mrs Wiggs. ‘We look forward to your contribution.’
‘I have no idea what time I’ll be home tonight,’ said Thomas.
‘Oh, are you going somewhere?’ I asked.
‘Not sure what time I’ll be finished,’ he said, still looking at his damn plate.
‘We will wait for you, Dr Lancaster,’ said Mrs Wiggs. ‘We won’t have you starve after a day of work.’
‘No, you carry on. No need to wait for me.’
I was about to take a breath and ask him where he was planning to be, but Mrs Wiggs got there first.
‘You were out very late last night, Dr Lancaster,’ she said.
Thomas shot her a filthy look and she recoiled. Even I winced, and she quickly corrected herself.
‘I’m sorry, sir. Forgive me. I am only concerned that you might tire yourself.’ She scooped up the tea and made her way towards me.
‘Thank you for your interest, Mrs Wiggs, but in case you hadn’t realised, I’m a doctor, therefore I’m quite capable of looking after my own health. I’ll be out. Why don’t you and Mrs Lancaster study the recipe books and see if you can come up with something.’
Mrs Wiggs skulked out of the room.
I couldn’t leave it any longer. I couldn’t have him going to work and not coming back without having resolved the atmosphere between us.
‘It isn’t because of last night, is it?’ I said.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine for the first time that morning, eyes dead, cold, flat. ‘Last night? What about last night?’
I was confused. It was quite obvious what I was referring to, but I wasn’t going to say it, it had been embarrassing enough the first time. I wasn’t going to describe the event in words, over breakfast.
‘I thought perhaps you were still angry with me,’ I said.
‘Angry? I do have things on my mind other than you, Chapman. I’m not always obsessing over what you might be thinking. I’ll leave that to you.’
He stood up, threw his napkin down, walked over and pecked me on the cheek. I smiled at him and half laughed, thankful he was speaking to me, but to be honest I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to make light of it for both our sakes or insinuating I was stupid.
Moments later, I heard him and Mrs Wiggs whispering by the front door, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then the front door closed.
Mrs Wiggs came back to start clearing away and I went to leave.
‘Mrs Lancaster, has something happened between you and the doctor?’ she asked.
I was taken aback that she would be so intrusive. It had been my assumption it was not for housekeepers to broach personal matters with their mistresses, but she had me on the back foot, doubting myself, and for a moment I considered I might have an ally. Then I thought better of it. I would take Thomas’s lead on this and forget the whole incident.
‘No, Mrs Wiggs, everything is as it should be,’ I said.
‘Is it?’ I think her eyebrows lifted a little as she smiled sweetly. ‘Well then, that’s good. Only the doctor didn’t seem himself this morning and I wondered if something had happened.’
‘No, Mrs Wiggs. I don’t…’ I wanted to tell her to mind her own affairs and get her pointy beak back in the kitchen where it belonged. My friend Aisling would have told her where to stick it in a heartbeat, but I was so unsure of how things should be. ‘Everything is fine.’
‘Forgive me, Mrs Lancaster. I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable. I only wish to help. Perhaps I have overstepped a little. How clumsy of me. Please accept my apologies.’
‘No need to apologise, thank you, Mrs Wiggs. I’ll start thinking about those recipes.’
I had almost made the door when she said, ‘I’d always assumed a newlywed husband would want to come home. Perhaps we should be thinking about more than recipes for dinner, to make sure the doctor looks forward to returning each night.’
‘I beg your
