Page 35 of The Death Wish

‘Forgoing the distinct lack of sweet treats,’ Pitch folded a leg beneath him on the chair, to add the extra height needed to peer over the table towards the trolley, ‘I must say this all smells divine.’

Silas nodded. Whoever this chap was in the kitchen, Silas had decided him far more a legend than Samuel…and he’d not yet taken a bite. His stomach let loose another eager growl. He was utterly famished, having only taken a few mouthfuls of pie last night, unwilling to deprive Pitch.

‘Eat a decent meal, then you can ‘ave your dessert.’ Tyvain chided Pitch, moving to assist Robert in unloading the laden trolley while the young women whisked about setting the empty places, and laying out the meagre embellishments. The candelabra was set at the centre of the table, with the holly wreath around its base. Long slim candles were produced from deep pockets, and lit with deft strikes against flint-sided boxes.

‘My god it smells incredible.’ Charlie moaned.

‘Let’s get this last supper underway then, shall we?’ Tyvain said, cheerily.

Silas winced at her choice of words. He glanced at Pitch. The daemon seemed not to have heard, or was covering it well. He still sat perched upright, watching the unloading. His eyes were bright, not with flame, but with a relaxed eagerness. A happiness, Silas dared think.

Charlie and Jane chattered excitedly between themselves about what they would try first, thanking the attendants who had set the table. Sybilla lounged back in her chair, a half-smile upon her wounded face, looking more comfortable than Silas had seen her in ages. A platter of Brussel sprouts was set in front of her, steam rising from their plump little bulges. A roasted chicken, ringed with baked tomatoes and with fresh parsley decorating the drumsticks, was placed alongside.

Everyone was, to Silas’s utter delight, content and in fine mood.

‘That fire’s not decent enough,’ Isaac grumbled. ‘Too cold by half.’

Well, most were content.

‘That’s cause you ain’t used to having less than a hundred layers on, you sulky bastard.’ Tyvain was busy uncorking a bottle of wine.

Pitch rose from his chair, and went to the fireplace. The fire was actually fairly decent, but was waning. Within a moment of him lifting his hands, the flames were jumping, crackling fiercely in the hearth. Isaac tilted his head back, and sighed deeply.

‘Suppose you’re good for something then, Astaroth.’ Isaac’s lips twisted, and Silas wondered if the man was feeling ill, until he realised it was a smile. ‘I thank you.’

Tyvain spilled some of the wine she was pouring into Sybilla’s glass. ‘Jesus wept.’

‘Shut ya trap,’ Isaac growled. ‘I’m just being civil.’

‘Since bloody when?’

‘Ty, let him be.’ Sybilla dabbed at the spill with her napkin, but one of the attendants was already reaching for the salt dish.

‘Leave that to me, miss.’ The girl, all rose-cheeked and dark-eyed, fussed around the angel, who gave her the sort of smile which put the lass into a bit of a tizz. Sybilla was definitely in a fine mood, if she found energy enough for some flirtation.

‘Don’t worry Isaac,’ Pitch said. ‘I know you’re still a surly prick who shall be dancing a jig once I’m gone.’

Silas’s contentment frayed on hearing the daemon’s easy dismissal of himself once more. But he’d not allow either Pitch, or his own worries, to stain this moment.

‘This is truly wonderful, Mr Churchill,’ Silas said. ‘You have gone to so much trouble for our sake’ And had done so, seemingly at the drop of a hat.

‘Well, it is a good practice run for Christmas, really. We’ve got five tables booked for a lunchtime gathering. It’s the first year we’ve tried such a thing.’

‘Oh, of course!’ Jane cried. ‘Christmas! We’ve had such trials, there’s hardly been time to look at a calendar. How close is it? A week or so?’

Mr Churchill set down a serving plate heaped high with green beans. He seemed bemused by the question. ‘Must have been quite the trials. It is five days away.’

‘Then this shall be our Christmas dinner,’ Jane said.

Charlie looked fit to dance out of his chair. ‘Yes, yes, oh what a fabulous idea.’

‘What a lot of fuss over nothin’.’ Was Isaac’s surly contribution.

‘Mr Churchill, the holly wreath is lovely,’ Jane grabbed onto her idea with both hands, ‘but I don’t suppose you have anything more for the season?’

The blushing attendant who stood by Sybilla, jumped in before her master could answer. ‘I’ve been practising those paper hats for your Christmas Day opening, Mr Churchill, sir. Got a dozen of ‘em at least in the cupboard up in the attic. Those paperchains, too. They ain’t all the best, but would they do?’

‘Yes, yes. Go on, Mary. Retrieve them if you will,’ Robert smiled fondly. ‘And whatever else you can find that might brighten the room for the occasion. Oh, and Mary,’ the girl paused, already halfway to the door. ‘Will you send someone to check in on Herbert in the stables? Let him know the bread is out of the oven.’ He set down a covered dish, one with tiny brown flowers around the rim of the lid, and gave Pitch and Silas a look. ‘He wouldn’t hear a word of it when I said he should sleep in his bed and not the straw with your horses.’