More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,64
like a later addition to the collection, or it might have been one left over from a complete set of smaller plates.”
“Nothing else?” Jay was disappointed. “Duncan Thayer got one more.”
I couldn’t tell whether that was just a simple statement of fact or a goad. “One of the cups had a repaired handle.”
“Duncan didn’t get that,” Jay said, “but he did notice that one of the plates was a different pattern.”
“Right, most of them were a pastoral scene—cows, pastures, shepherdesses, whathaveyou—and there was one of a Gothic architecture scene. Later in period. I said there was a later one.”
“But you only mentioned the pattern after I mentioned that Duncan saw it,” Jay said, shaking his head. He turned to Chris. “Sorry, man. Pay up.”
“Hang on a second,” Chris said, smiling. “Emma, why didn’t you mention the pattern?”
“Because that style of ware, well, it belonged to a middle-class family, right? If a piece was broken or lost, they just replaced it. In those days, it didn’t matter that it was a different pattern, it mattered that it was blue.”
“See, Jay? You pay up. She saw the difference and added one factoid to the pile.”
“Man.” Jay looked like he was about to protest, caught my eye, and reached for his wallet. “I was set up. It just ain’t fair.”
I stuck out my tongue at him. Serves him right for betting on…against me.
“It would be more fair if you started betting on the sure things, and left the flashy long-shots alone,” Chris said as he pocketed his money. “It’s like taking candy from a baby.” He smiled at me. “I believe I owe you a drink, m’dear.”
“I’ll take you up on that later. I just want my lunch now.”
It was strange to see so many of my friends together again, I thought, as I dug into my boxed lunch. Usually we scattered to the four corners of any conference after the first night.
“Before you got here, we were talking about the latest ‘live like the old days’ reality television,” Lissa said. She bit into her sandwich with gusto.
It was then that I understood why they were all still together. Taking bets and eating and talking about television kept you from thinking about death and gunshots. It had to do with the same reasons that conversations were muted in the hallways, and other people were moving around in small herds too. Everyone was looking for comfort, for answers, and if they couldn’t get them, then they’d make do with physical closeness.
“What I can’t get is that people think that they’re actually going to live like people in the seventeenth century,” Carla said. “Like they’re suddenly going to be possessed of the historical spirit and fall into ‘thee’s’ and ‘thou’s’ and not notice any difference. No cards either, Jay. No basketball, no Vegas. Wouldn’t that be a pisser?”
“They don’t think, that’s the problem.” Jay ignored Carla. “They just want to be on television.”
“Whatever for?” I asked. “I can’t imagine anything less appealing.”
“People think they’re famous if they’re on television.”
“Um, yum, erm!” Lissa was waving her hand, chewing furiously.
“Lissa, calm the hell down,” Gennette said. She was a willowy dark-skinned woman with close-cropped hair and big brown eyes. “You’re going to choke, and then I’ll laugh.”
Lissa finally swallowed. “That will be the day! You’re too darn serious as it is. I was going to say those guys on TV think they’ll find a simpler life!”
Gennette made a face. “Give me a break. I mean, even without the bland diet, the back-breaking work, the religious restrictions—”
“They’re surprised at having to go to the bathroom outside, or in a bucket,” Chris said, shaking his head. “Talk about forgetting the essentials!”
“Not everyone is into inflicting the past on themselves like you and Nell are,” Carla said. “Reenacting? I don’t get it.”
“I know, and Nell knows, and you all know, that we’re not actually living eighteenth-century military life, any more than those guys on television,” Chris said. “Dental care, diet, disease—our immune systems probably couldn’t handle a fraction of the parasites that they did two hundred years ago.”
“Excuse me! Eating, here,” Carla said disgustedly.
I looked at my shrimp salad sandwich doubtfully. The bitten ends of the little shrimp were just too suggestive. Ah well, it was just words. I took another big bite. Not bad, for bugs.
“You know what I mean,” Chris said. “The physical differences aside, let’s not forget the fact that culturally speaking, we’re from different worlds. Same language, maybe, but different outlooks altogether.”