Enola Holmes- The Fox In The Henhouse

Chapter 15

I attempt to descend the stairs gracefully, a difficult task with crutches and two guards looming over you. The house is eerily quiet, with the sound of my steps creaking down the grand wooden staircase echoing off every surface. As I descend the last step, I exchange looks with my captor Lord Nigh. I feel a great deal of satisfaction, as he too is unable to disguise his bewilderment at my transformation.

I have spent a great deal of the past three weeks, remembering and rehearsing all of the etiquette rules taught to me by Tewksbury. I will spare time by not going into the great amount of detail one could when explaining these rules; instead I shall point out the five that will be the focal points of this evening.

Rule 1- Wear the appropriate attire.

We are both dressed in apparel that is the height of fashion for our respective genders. My dress has an hourglass figure- a waist as small as I can bear, large bulging fabric at the shoulders and tight sleeves to show one's thin arms. On the bust were bows, ruffles and embellishments, with a flowing skirt that sweeps the floor, layers of petticoats underneath to enhance the bell shape.

And he- shiny black boots, black trousers and a black evening jacket with twin tails. If I weren't in such a perilous situation... well one could hardly be blamed for laughing at the stark comparison of expectations and metaphor for gender roles it represented.

'My Lord.' I do a slight curtsy, and he bows his head in response.

Rule 2- Ladies will be escorted to the dining table.

Every woman should be escorted to the table by a man; given that there are only two of us this is simplified somewhat. The host should accompany the most honored woman of the evening, and as he sits at the head of the table she sits to his right. Luckily on Christmas eve this meant I was to be escorted by Tewksbury.

Lord Nigh walks in tandem with me, and while initially I'm thankfully that the crutches prevent him from taking my arm, I'm soon horrified by the fact that he puts his arm across my back and rests his hand on my shoulder. In the name of politeness, I don't punch him in the face.

He leads me into the dinning room, a large hall with an elongated dining table in the middle. Each place has been set, and in the middle candles cover the surface in a gloomy orange hue. He pulls out a chair for me, and we take our seats. 'I understand you have two sons, will they not be joining us?' I ask, remembering that I'm not supposed to know about Albert or know who George is.

'One son, and no; he is preoccupied.' He replies coarsely, eager not to discuss the matter.

Before I can press him on this, a bowl of delicious smelling Mulligatawny soup is placed in front of me.

Rule 3- One should take ample time in eating.

This rule is the most complicated, for it comes with many subsections. I begin by selecting what I hope is the correct spoon and start to eat. Considering how little food I've had over the past month, the temptation is to devour this within seconds. That's what he'd be expecting. Indeed, in my peripheral vision I see him studying me. Instead, I delicately sip my soup, being careful not to slurp. It's very rude to take too big of a mouthful at a dinner party, and it's believed eating slowly results in better health, better wealth and a longer life. You should also be able to maintain conversation throughout.

Once our empty plates have been taken away I decide to try again and press him for details. 'I could have sworn you had two sons. George and Alfred?'

'Albert...' He responds through gritted teeth.

I smile, pretending to be oblivious. 'Albert! That's right, my apologies.' Before I have a chance to ask anymore questions he gestures to one of the guards and a servant brings in a large piece of rump on a platter, followed by steamed vegetables and gravy. The servant quickly departs, not surprising given the fact that he thinks I'm mentally insane, and only Lord Nigh, the guard and I remain. Silently we fill our plates, and begin to eat.