12

8

Fred's long-winded lesson on the invention of the abacus was harder to digest than the group's meal. The end, or maybe he'd just paused to wet his whistle, was punctuated by a small feminine belch from the other end of the table, and the surprised silence of thirteen ladies unwilling to own the slip. Rather than offer indelicate congratulations, Danny simply said, "Agreed!", and pushed his chair back and patted his stomach.

"Was the pie crust to your liking?" Fred asked.

"It was so good I didn't mind there was nothing in it," Danny said.

"The potatoes au gratin were so rich, I thought it best not to overdo dessert."

(For consistency's sake I should point out that there was cream in that casserole, but when you can count the individual bread crumbs on top, it's hardly indulgence.)

"Did I hear correctly," Fred continued, "that you, Rina and Giselle, helped cook with the dish?"

"A gratin is so much nicer when the potatoes are peeled," Ginger answered, looking to Rita to confirm it.

"I don't let the cook peel potatoes anymore," Fred said to the boys. "He's quite heavy handed and we go through double the spuds. Please tell me, young ladies, you wore your gloves. I won't see your suitors diminish due to scullery knuckles. Your parents will think I've exploited you for labour."

"Never!" the girls protested sweetly, and Danny used the fawning as an excuse to duck away and head for the kitchen.

After his fill of praise for what a kind guardian he'd been, Fred finally noticed his guest missing. "Where has Danny gone?"

"Official business, Sir Fred," Francis said with a conspiring nod.

"Ahh, yes," Fred said. "Say no more."

"I hope he doesn't run into our ghost in the corridors," said Lana.

"You didn't see anything last night, did you?" Lena asked Francis.

"No, I didn't because I don't believe in them."

"That doesn't matter if they believe in you," said Ava.

"Well, if I did and if I had, I can't imagine there would've much to talk about."

"Meaning?" asked Rita.

"It's just from the stories I've heard, there are spirits who would make your hair stand on end. Yours let's you live in relative peace and frankly, doesn't sound like it could scare the feathers off a chicken."

"Oh, what would you know?" she said, flopping her wrist dismissively.

"Ever hear of the The Black Knight of Balentyne?"

"No, but I don't like the sound of him," Judy said timidly.

"And you wouldn't. Never mind that laughing stuff. The Black Knight is supposed to have a wail that'll make you jump out of your skin, which is exactly what he wants."

"Why?" Katherine asked.

"Well, if he doesn't have skin, why should you?"

"Go on."

"He's a fearsome thing, The Black Knight. Cursed for all eternity by the Banshee of Balmoral. Shall I tell you about him?" The girls leaned in eagerly. "Okay, but compared to your little castle rover, this one takes the cake."

*****

The hot, cluttered kitchen could have been the inside of a giant's stone oven. Danny watched the cook whip discarded onion heads and garlic peels onto the floor with his stained rag. He flung tins and pots to the wash tub, and swept the floor with a split broom which kicked flour in every direction but the one he seemed intent on. He muttered to himself in a language Danny didn't recognize, and wiped sweat from his brow and onto the apron which strained to cover his round barrel of a chest.