After the Storm

20. Mrs Ambrose

My achievement of this holiday: Completing my large ass Starry Night painting.

I'm proud of myself even though this isn't exact to the original. I got the proportions wrong because my board is of the wrong dimension.

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Mrs Isabella Ambrose was simply the most amazing woman I ever had the pleasure to meet. Yes, she did constantly produce a copious amount of tears which I usually found annoying on others. However, it was made endurable by how she fed me as if I were a turkey preparing for slaughter, not that I was on the way to my deathbed.

"Eat more, my dear. You must be hungry after your journey!" She shoved a plate of fresh sausages, boiled eggs, cold ham, kippers and bread. My eyes grew as large as saucer below my tea cup.

Mrs Ambrose had asked what we would like for dinner. Wanting to experience the breakfast of the rich firsthand, I immediately requested for their morning meal. Knowing Mr Ambrose, we probably would not be staying until the next day to engage in masticating, thus I grabbed the first opportunity I had. I did recieve weird stares from everyone in the household, but I must say that it was worth it.

Using my fork, I took an apprehensive jab at my sausage.

She gave me a watery smile. "Eat up!"

I gladly took her to her word and shoved the entire sausage into my mouth. Mr Ambrose glared disaprovingly at me, but did I care? No! I was in heaven.

"Slow down, Mr Linton. Wouldn't want to choke, would you?" Mr Ambrose's tone held a sizeable amount of warning and sarcasm. He really was picking up from me, wasn't he?

I rolled my eyes and continued gobbling.

Blimey! Was that what it was like to be rich? I had suffered under the rule of porriage, potatoes and salted herrings back home. Whatever was laid on the dining table was my Elysium. I noticed how Mrs Ambrose didn't do so much as to touch her food and felt a spark of indignance. How could she not treasure such delicacies?

"Ma'am?" I asked tentatively.

She looked up, surprised, from the tiny stain on the table she kept looking at. "Yes?"

"If you aren't going to eat that," I gestured to her full plate. "May I have it?"

Mr Ambrose's algid glare bore into the side of my head, promising wrath if I dare lay a finger on his mother's meal.

"Of course, honey. You have a good appetite don't you?"

I grinned and took her plate. "Thank you Ma'am."

She turned to Karim. "Would you like more, honey?"

I choked on my sausage. Did she just address the intimidating Mohammedan as 'honey'? There was nothing remotely sweet about that sullen man.