"Then you say it more clearly. If you want him to know how you feel, then you need to tell him properly. Maybe even away from the kitchens."
"He did mention in a few of his letters that he enjoyed going to the theatre on his nights off," I muse.
Veronica lets out a heavy sigh. "You have no sense of scale. I wasn't suggesting you take him to the theatre."
"But I could. Don't we have a royal box?"
"You can't take Nate to the royal box."
"Whyever not?" I ask. "It's sitting there empty for most of the performances."
"You'll be reported in the papers," she says. "And Mama will find out. You'll never get out of conversations about accident tea then."
"Oh. I suppose that's not good." I let out a sigh. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"If it's what you want to do, then we can get a private box," she says.
I nod. "That would be good. I think he has a night off in a few days."
She laughs. "I should have known that you would agree immediately."
"It is a good idea," I assure her. "And then we can speak of things we need to."
"And I believe you should," Veronica responds.
The door opens before either of us can say more, and Mama steps inside. I quickly stuff the tear-stained handkerchief into my pocket even as I rise to dip into a curtsy. I look at Veronica, hoping that she's going to take the lead, because I'm not in a state to talk to her right now.
Mama clears her throat. "We should talk."
"If this is about last night's dinner, I don't think that this is the right time, Mama," Veronica says.
"It is not. I would hope that both of you know that you should have conducted yourselves with more decorum last night."
"Yes, Mama," I murmur, though Veronica stays silent.
Mama makes her way over to the table and takes a seat at Artie's empty place setting, not giving a single glance to the destroyed croissant on my plate, or the fact that Veronica's seat is empty and she's currently in the one that Solana occupies when she joins us for breakfast.
She pours herself a cup of tea. "I used to love having breakfast in here when I first married your father," she says, looking out of the large windows and smiling. "When I felt homesick, he'd tell me to look out of the window and imagine the mountains were the ones beyond the castle I grew up in."
"But they're not those mountains," I say.
Veronica shakes her head at me, indicating that it's not the right thing to say.
Mama just smiles. "No, they're not. But the sentiment brought me some comfort. Mountains are constant. They've been here since long before any of us were born, and will remain long after we've died."
"Is that what you've come to talk to us about?" I ask. "Mountains?"
"No, of course not," Mama responds. "Kathryn is unwell."
"But I made her quiche."
Mama blinks a few times. "What?"
"Kathryn said she wasn't feeling well last night, and I said I'd make her quiche so she could eat quiche and soup today to feel better," I say.
"That's very kind of you, Evelyn," Mama says. "I'm sure she'll appreciate that when she wakes up. But the doctor has just been, and she's sicker than we thought."
"Will she be all right?" Veronica asks.
