Chapter 87
<87> Whitefield (4)
"Yes, very much so. You have an excellent chef."
He smiled gently at Laura's praise.
"Philip will be honored to know that he has satisfied a Lady from London."
"It may be presumptuous of me to say, but if I were Mr. Dalton, I would increase the chef's salary every year. The wealthy families around here are probably looking for an opportunity to poach Philip."
"Unless you offer him a considerable sum, you won't be able to get Philip out of Whitefield. He used to work in the kitchen of Viscount Richardson's estate. He commanded twelve cooks with his fingertips and received a salary no less than that of a French chef. But there was a reason for the good treatment. The owner there was a social butterfly who enjoyed twelve Balls a month and held Formal dinner parties 365 days a year. The poor fellow, who had to prepare thirty-course meals without a single day off, kicked away the owner who was clinging to his trouser leg, begging to give him 500 pounds a year, and came to the kitchen of Whitefield."
"Well, Mr. Dalton isn't one to torment his servants with frequent Balls and Formal dinners."
"Philip said in the interview that he had heard that the owner of Whitefield was like Miss Havisham (a ghostly figure confined to her mansion in the novel Great Expectations) and decided to work here."
Laura chuckled.
"Miss Havisham, what a harsh comparison. I believe Mr. Dalton has a good reputation in Yorkshire."
"That's probably what people who have been insulted by me to their faces have spread around. I don't care."
"So, is Philip satisfied with his job?"
"I haven't asked, but the fellow who looked like dry firewood when I first saw him has become plump as a pampered hamster in the five years since he came here. It must be a very comfortable life, only having to take care of meals for one unsociable bachelor owner and twenty-seven servants."
Olivia interjected.
"By the way, Uncle, is Philip really not thinking of moving? If he came to our mansion, Father would give him twice the salary he gets here. Father is completely enamored with Philip's barbecue skills."
"He won't move. He recently bought a farm in Whitefield and is growing herbs. He intends to live here until he dies."
The meal was over. They decided to have dessert with tea and moved to another location.
Mr. Dalton led them to a spacious tea table on the first-floor terrace, directly adjacent to the garden. Fresh rose bushes stood right in front of the stone railing. The scent of grass from the green leaves and the sweet fragrance of roses mingled with the warm air, creating a languid and romantic atmosphere. It was the perfect space for tea.
As they sat down, a servant in uniform approached the table, pushing a gleaming silver cart. Utensils and food were carried one by one in his white-gloved hands.
Plates with frill-trimmed edges, white napkins, a three-tiered dessert tray shaped like a birdcage, a golden cake stand, and a porcelain teapot painted with lilacs. Silverware.
The aroma of desserts wafted around the table. Raspberry mille-feuille, English macarons, and buttermilk scones huddled together on the dessert tray. A thick walnut coffee cake was placed on the cake stand.
After bowing, the servant stepped back, and Mr. Dalton skillfully lifted the teapot and poured tea for Laura and Olivia in turn. Then, he poured a suitable amount of milk into Laura's cup.
Laura smiled slightly. She had a weak stomach and always drank black tea with milk, and he seemed to remember that.
He then added lemon to Olivia's teacup and used a knife to cut cake onto the two Ladies' plates. A flawless reception, unlike Miss Havisham.
Laura, who had been admiring the cake, finally opened her mouth.
"So, please continue the story you were telling earlier, Mr. Dalton."
"What were we talking about?"
Mr. Dalton shrugged, feigning ignorance.
"Why you don't like Austen's novels."
"Ah, I was praying throughout the meal that Miss Pendleton would forget about Austen, but the heavens have forsaken me."
"The heavens have given me a good memory. Now, tell me. What aspects of the heroines in Austen's novels do you find lacking, Mr. Dalton?"
"Miss Pendleton, I implore you. Please withdraw your request for me to speak frankly about Austen. I cannot refuse your request."
"If my request is troubling you, I should certainly withdraw it. But I think what I'm asking is a topic that's interesting enough to make our afternoon enjoyable. Please tell me what makes you want to run away from this topic."
"Firstly, because a mistake I made has caused me shame. I may not possess virtues such as goodness or delicacy, but I am not so insensitive as to trample on other people's tastes to their faces. Such an attitude is characteristic of the unthinking people I have always despised. But I thoughtlessly committed such an act, to none other than my special friend, Miss Pendleton. Frankly, I still blush when I think about what happened earlier. I was careless. I will probably be embarrassed for a while whenever I hear the name Austen, as it will remind me of today's events."
Mr. Dalton moistened his lips with lemon-infused black tea.
"Secondly, because I don't want to upset Miss Pendleton. To those who enjoy novels, the protagonists of their favorite works are like friends. Elizabeth Bennet, Emma Woodhouse, the Dashwood sisters, Fanny Price, Catherine Morland, Anne Elliot, these characters have enjoyed the privilege of receiving Miss Pendleton's affection for many years. For me to comment on them would be as unpleasant to Miss Pendleton as if I were to speak ill of Miss Hyde or Mrs. Morton, whom I left behind in London."
Laura, who had listened to his words carefully, smiled gently.
"It's a pity that the mistake earlier left such a great sense of shame in Mr. Dalton's heart. It must be because the very virtue that Mr. Dalton said he did not possess is hidden within his heart. And even if I say it's okay, I know you'll be embarrassed for a while as you recall the incident. The purer the heart, the longer and deeper the pain compared to those who are not. But Mr. Dalton, I cannot bear to see my precious friend suffer because of me. Would you allow me to say a few words so that I can feel lighter about Mr. Dalton's mistake?"
He looked at Laura and smiled. It was a playful smile, befitting friends.
"I have no choice but to allow whatever Miss Pendleton desires."
"Thank you. Well, firstly, what happened earlier was really nothing to me. In fact, I think it was the most interesting event that happened during today's visit. Mr. Dalton is an impeccable and perfect gentleman and never makes mistakes easily. I am delighted to have experienced Mr. Dalton's mistake, and especially happy that you made a mistake to me."
"Why?"
"Because for as long as our friendship lasts, I will be able to remind you of today's events from time to time and tease you. If Mr. Dalton is distressed every time you recall this incident, I will lose a valuable joke. I should avoid the topic of Austen as much as possible in front of Mr. Dalton. I believe that even the wittiest joke is just sadistic violence if it causes pain to the other person. But if we discuss Austen for an hour or two on this beautiful terrace this afternoon, the incident will be overshadowed by the memories of a pleasant afternoon and remain a fleeting happening."
"But Miss Pendleton, are you really alright with it? Your taste was disregarded in such a rude tone?"
"I believe I have grown enough to separate my taste from my own ego. And I would like to believe that I know that even if I like the characters in the novel, a friend with flesh and blood is more precious. Why would I be offended if my real friend, Mr. Dalton, said a few unkind words about characters created from the pen of a Lady 100 years ago? Rather, I will be grateful for the good fortune of having a gentleman friend to talk about Austen's novels with."
Mr. Dalton then turned his gaze to Olivia.
"Have you ever seen such a persuasive Lady?"
Olivia, who had been listening to the conversation between the two Ladies and gentlemen with a dazed expression, shook her head.
"You won't find one even if you search all of England, Uncle."
Mr. Dalton spread his hands and raised them to his shoulders as if surrendering.
"I surrender. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. Miss Pendleton's thoughtful heart has a power more frightening than a blade. I have faith that if I follow your words, everything will be alright."
Laura's cheeks flushed slightly at his praise.
Ian, who had been wearing a mischievous smile befitting friends, quickly lowered his gaze to his teacup. Seeing Laura's flushed face made his own face turn red as well.
He composed himself for a moment while drinking tea, then put on the mask of a young gentleman whose heart was filled only with friendship and goodwill.
"Then, it's time for me to say why I don't like Austen's novels."
"Absolutely truthfully."
Laura added.
"Yes, absolutely truthfully."
Laura and Olivia exchanged expectant glances. He crossed his legs and folded his arms.
"The protagonists in Austen's novels are all fools. There are no proper human beings. There aren't even ten admirable characters in the six novels, and their presence is woefully small. Austen's eye is a microscope that only magnifies the fools of the world. And that's something I have in common with Austen. I am also someone who sees the ugly side of human beings very well. But the difference is that Austen has the stomach to laugh it off, and I don't. I can't stand fools. I detest idiots. The aspects of the characters that Austen satirizes with witty skill are all so pathetic that I frown rather than laugh."
He shook his head.
"Still, I could have tolerated it if it was limited to the surrounding characters. But Austen's novels are full of fools, not only the supporting characters but also the protagonists. Emma Woodhouse and Elizabeth Bennet are idiots who think they are smart, Catherine Morland is a moron who can't distinguish between novels and reality, and Marianne Dashwood is a drama queen who mistakes herself for a tragic heroine and ruins her sister's reputation. Every time the protagonists did something stupid, I wanted to throw the book into the fireplace."
