Emma Pole had an audience. It was a small one, admittedly, but a an audience nonetheless, that was interested in her quickly cooling lunch. Presently, Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were on either side of her chair, both frowning in concern at her untouched soup and back at her as she slumped into her chair. "You must eat," said Mr Segundus. "Why must I?" asked Lady Pole. She had been assured by Norrell that she had a very long life ahead of her exactly as she was. Whatever magic stole her away each night would certainly keep her alive if she did not eat. "You are very thin, Lady Pole," said Mr Honeyfoot in his fatherly way. "It doesn't matter how thin I am, or how my clothes fit. I go nowhere that matters." Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot exchanged glances and though neither could see it, Lady Pole thought their scrunched brows very similar. "It hurts us to see you so disheartened, Lady Pole," said Mr Segundus. "I am very sorry that you are hurt," she said a bit sharply. It was pleasurable at the time to vent some of her anger, but the hurt look on Mr Segundus' face took away any relief she gained from the moment "I am sorry," Lady Pole mumbled to her hands. She felt even worse at the soft smile she was given in return for her vexation. "No, you must not be sorry," said Mr Segundus. "We are full of understanding of your predicament." They were not, but Lady Pole could say nothing that would help them to the understanding they desired. "Is there nothing you will eat?" asked Mr Honeyfoot. "If it is possible and good for you, you only must say and we will comply." Emma Pole sighed to herself. There was nothing, but she felt she must say nothing to ease their nerves. "I would like a blancmange," she said, without real feeling. On either side of her, two faces brightened. "Of course!" said Mr Segundus. "Yes, by all means!" said Mr Honeyfoot. She looked back and forth between the two men, who rose to their feet nodding happily at one another. They were relieved that she had made some request, taken some interest in the things that happened around her. It was as close to a comfort as she had. The men begged her wait with assurances that her blancmange would arrive shortly. In the kitchen, the men consulted their one book on cookery with their scholarly heads bent over the text.
Re: Segundus/Lady Pole - blancmange/cookery (FILL 1/2)
It was a small one, admittedly, but a an audience nonetheless, that was interested in her quickly cooling lunch.
Presently, Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot were on either side of her chair, both frowning in concern at her untouched soup and back at her as she slumped into her chair.
"You must eat," said Mr Segundus.
"Why must I?" asked Lady Pole. She had been assured by Norrell that she had a very long life ahead of her exactly as she was. Whatever magic stole her away each night would certainly keep her alive if she did not eat.
"You are very thin, Lady Pole," said Mr Honeyfoot in his fatherly way.
"It doesn't matter how thin I am, or how my clothes fit. I go nowhere that matters."
Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot exchanged glances and though neither could see it, Lady Pole thought their scrunched brows very similar.
"It hurts us to see you so disheartened, Lady Pole," said Mr Segundus.
"I am very sorry that you are hurt," she said a bit sharply. It was pleasurable at the time to vent some of her anger, but the hurt look on Mr Segundus' face took away any relief she gained from the moment
"I am sorry," Lady Pole mumbled to her hands. She felt even worse at the soft smile she was given in return for her vexation.
"No, you must not be sorry," said Mr Segundus. "We are full of understanding of your predicament."
They were not, but Lady Pole could say nothing that would help them to the understanding they desired.
"Is there nothing you will eat?" asked Mr Honeyfoot. "If it is possible and good for you, you only must say and we will comply."
Emma Pole sighed to herself. There was nothing, but she felt she must say nothing to ease their nerves.
"I would like a blancmange," she said, without real feeling.
On either side of her, two faces brightened.
"Of course!" said Mr Segundus.
"Yes, by all means!" said Mr Honeyfoot.
She looked back and forth between the two men, who rose to their feet nodding happily at one another. They were relieved that she had made some request, taken some interest in the things that happened around her. It was as close to a comfort as she had.
The men begged her wait with assurances that her blancmange would arrive shortly.
In the kitchen, the men consulted their one book on cookery with their scholarly heads bent over the text.