Chapter 8: The Best Seat

The best guest chair at the front of the row had the worst cushion.

Rupert discovered this after sitting down with great confidence.

Its stuffing shifted beneath him and rose in a lump beside his thigh.

Elaine chose the next chair, tested it, and immediately demanded an exchange.

Pippa stood beside me holding the bread dish.

"Do they have to sit?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"They just want the best one."

Rosamund stopped beneath her portrait and looked at the row.

The old woman seemed tired rather than amused.

I wanted to know who'd kept bringing chairs nobody needed.

Then I saw the thin young ghost in the dining room doorway.

He was holding a broken wooden handle in both hands.

His coat hung open despite the cold.

I'd thought the chair arriving behind him had been a demand for honor.

It might have been an offer he couldn't bear to accept again.

"Would you like somewhere else to stand?" I asked.

He looked at the hall's waiting furniture.

Then he nodded toward the front window.

I moved the umbrella stand aside so he could see the drive.

He came forward carefully, keeping the broken handle against his chest.

"Thank you," he said.

It was the first time he'd spoken.

My brother leaned forward from the best chair.

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