The Explorer's Apprentice

32:And so...the Dangerous Revolution Begins....

Eleanor Brown

The men disperse, fleeing the table like a swarm of black wasps, drawn to the dark hive of the smoking room with the promise of cheap alcohol in expensive bottles. The women left behind at the dining table, delicate little flowers of the elite,crowd in closer together, eyes sparkling with the poisons of gossip.

There’s a small cookie tin lying in Eleanor’s lap. She squeezes its metal edges with white knuckles. She’s not ready for this.

To distract herself, the young Brown girl keeps her eyes firmly locked on the faces of the people at the table. It’s a game, almost, to watch the miniscule body languageand try to determine how the person really feels—contrary to whatever they are saying.

Mrs. Randolph speaks eloquently about her charity work, but her eyes say she doesn’t mean aword of it.

Molly gushes about Mrs. Edgar’s new diamond necklace, but her hands say she’d rather eat her own left elbow than wear it.

Mrs. Bukater speaks highly of her lovely daughter Rose, but…

Eleanor watches the exchange between Jack and Rose with curiosity. Once he is gone, Rose reads his little note, unaware of prying eyes. The girl’s gray eyes light up with delight. As soon as she can get a moment, Rose excuses herself from the table and hurries away, blushing uncontrollably. Interesting, Eleanor thinks, mildly confused. I thought she’s engaged to that Cal character. Must have been mistaken. Thank goodness. She’s much better off withJack.

It’s quite funny, now that she thinks about it. Imagine! Gettin’ married to Cal! What a horrible creature. And such small ears, he has…

She keeps glancing at the great grandfather clock in the center of the dining hall. Made of brass and cherry wood, with bells like a bellowing giant, it meticulously counts down the seconds until she can leave. Only 43 minutes to go… I can get through this…

Molly lays a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, dragging her out of the soup of her thoughts. “—and look, I believe Eleanor has brought a little somethin’ for all of us.”

No. No I haven’t. Go away!

The table has gone silent. Eight fluffy women are watching her expectantly. Her aunt smiles encouragingly. With slow, stiff movements, Eleanor lifts the cookie tin from her lap. She stands up and places it in the middle of the table, where it makesa louder bang! than she anticipates. “I,um… I made madeleines.”

There is a long,uncomfortable pause. Eleanor has been dreading this, and her palms begin to sweat. I knew it. I knew they’d never try it. I knew they wouldn’t stand to eat free cookies from a battered Christmas tin. They’re too good for that. Oh,but if it were wrapped up and a bow and cost a thousand pounds, then they’dwant my cookies! The thought is bitter, but secretly she is relieved. Better no one eat it, than someone eat it and find her cooking horrible.

She starts to take the tin back, starts to mutter an apology.

But Mrs.Randolph, always a lover of sweets, is the first to reach in a tentative hand. Eleanor freezes. Put it back! Put it back right now! Don’t you dare taste my rubbish cookie!

“Oh, my…” says Mrs. Randolph. Eleanor holds her breath. Even the woman’s penciled-on expression cannot hide her surprise. “These are good.”

Inspired, the other women slowly reach ringed fingers into Eleanor’s proffered cookie tin.They eye the pale pastry with alarm, as if it might suddenly burst into song. But then, after small nibbles, they settle into content murmurs of approval. Eleanor grins.