“Do you believe in such silliness?” I asked my father at the end of the tale.
He turned a gloomy gaze on me. Nodding, in his low voice he told me, “I have heard such tales before. Never doubt, Daughter, either bad luck or good.”
He called me daughter, as he always did—my name rarely touched his lips—but it was few occasions when I heard him speak so seriously, gave me advice of any sort.
Mr. Birch stood and everyone at the table followed. My father and I hurried to do the same. “Ten minutes, ladies and gentlemen.”
It was a call to order. I would quickly come to learn the privileged lived an odd sort of free, even when it came to their hunger. Staff ate dinner at six, the family at seven. If there was a dinner party, service was precisely at eight.
My father patted me on my shoulder as
