“Yes…” Neville hesitated. “It is in the storm pantry outside of the house, sir.”
“I’d really delight in the granular salt if you would be so kind.”
“Of course, sir.” Neville, who took his job quite seriously, did a champion job of hiding his annoyance at such a request. Knowing Mrs. Peabody would be heartbroken to learn her meal had required salt in order to be enjoyed, Neville decided to go the long way around the house to the pantry, instead of through the kitchen. Bowing curtly, Neville exited the dining hall, leaving John and Mortimer alone once more.
“Mortimer, my nephew.” John began, over the sound of metal clanking against porcelain. “I know the company is a dreadful bore… so I have a proposition for you.”
From the other end of the table came an uninspired, “huffump.”
“In
