Everyone had panicked when Simon had said some rich bloke would come for dinner. But telling father that he could hardly have resisted the man’s invitation for dinner, had kept Simon out of trouble when he returned late that evening. And had he explained that he had invited the man not to be rude.
 
The two-room cottage had been cleaned thoroughly, even though they actually didn’t have time for it. The girls had prepared a meal with fresher vegetables, and richer foods than they usually ate, even though they didn’t actually have money for it. They all wore their Sunday clothes. They had borrowed a chair from the neighbors. And still it would probably be a poor sight.
 
The building and yard still looked miserable, though there were children on bare feet playing outside who didn’t seem to mind, and an elderly woman was sitting in a doorway, knitting, and seemed quite content.
 
There was the smell of fish everywhere.

He was not certain what to expect. The last time he had seen a poor person up close, she had been sentenced for garroting. Terrible crime. Why have so many children if she could not feed them?

It was distinctly uncomfortable to walk through the neighborhood. The children were dirty and had no shoes. He met the elderly woman’s glance with what he hoped was a smile, but felt more like a grimace.

The elderly woman was not going to rob him... in theory.

He had a shallow but long case in his jacket pocket – large enough to leave an indent. In hand, he had a brandy from one of the upscale boutique shops, unopened. His gaze skittered over the table, landing instantly on the mismatched chair with a quizzical look.

The smell of fish had burst out the door like a tidal wave as soon as it was opened, but Zechariah was coming to acclimate himself to that.

“... Hello,” he said, with a distinctly uncomfortable smile, hand shaking from clutching the brandy bottle so hard.

There were too many people in the small, two room cottage. Ben instantly rose when Zech entered. Simon had just been changing his shirt and was buttoning up - too late, Zech. A boy of about nine was laying the table, helped - not really helped - by his four year old brother. Two girls were by the stove, one of them with the same reddish-brown hair as Simon and a round face. She already wore her hair up, but she looked barely older than a child, fourteen or fifteen. A younger girl with blonde hair in braids blushed as Zech walked in. Another red-headed girl, somewhat younger was washing plates.

"Mr. Meijer. It is an honour, ser." Ben said. Simon looked as pleased as he looked uncomfortable, with an indeterminate blush on his face.
"Do sit down." he said, his voice a pitch higher than normal.
The little boy looked at Zech shamelessly with wide eyes as if he had never seen a man like that in their home. He hadn't.

Unaware of his lost chance at 3 seconds of skin, Zechariah looked over the room (and indeed, not much more than) with an apprehensive smile.

Christopher talked often often about the nightmares of class mixing in public, despite both of their tendencies to do so after dark. For the first time, he contemplated the words as they were.

It was a different world. But university boys were … well, they smelled better and said prettier words. But they were flighty.

Simon had never moved – not once. He rather fancied that a sign. That Simon was steadfast and reliable, and not to be taken by flights of fancy.

“Thank you,” he said with a flustered smile, holding the brandy out to Benjamin. “I was glad for the invitation!”

He smiled smittenly at Simon and sat down, though looked mildly alarmed when the chair swayed precariously under his weight.

Steadfast and reliable. He would get through this for a man who was steadfast and reliable.

Simon beamed when Zech handed the wine to father. Father gave Zech a forced smile and put the wine on the table. "That is so kind, Mr. Meijer. Thank you." The children looked uncomfortable. Simon, on the other hand, looked as happy as a child on his birthday. Father was vehemently opposed to drinking.

The girls brought the food to the table - it was cod - and everyone sat down. Soon all the members of the family folded their hands and closed their eyes and father said a prayer: something about gratitude over the food and their guest. But Simon opened his eyes two seconds after he had closed them to look across the table to Zech, to see if his eyes were opened. Because family prayer was a perfect moment to eyefuck.

He was nervous. So, so incredibly nervous. While he said his prayers at home with only God and the servants as witness, with his friends there was rarely an expectation.

Here he was, seated at the table of a family who was if not religious, at least spiritual. He respected that. He closed his eyes, grateful to not have to pray for that sad stack of vegetables and none the wiser to Simon's attempted eye-fucking.

Disappointed, Simon closed his eyes again. When father was done praying, he started filling plates, giving Zech the largest portion - the smell of fish was much stronger now. In the other hand, apart from the natural fish taste, the food would be tasteless.

"How do you like Whitby, Mr. Meijer?" Simon's father asked.

If Rose would have paid more attention to Mr. Meijer, she might have recognized him later on. But she paid more attention to his plate than to his face. To her, he was just another rich snob, and one eating their food at that.

Zechariah’s nose crinkled, but his eyes drifted past Rose and straight to Simon.

“I think... it, is beautiful.” His eyes finally made their way to Benjamin. “A beautiful place to settle down. Are you from here, too?”

Simon's eyes met Zech's (because they had been staring all the time) and he smirked lightly as he finally got the attention he wanted. Then when Zech looked away at last, he took the bottle of wine, looked at the cork and put it back down. His father, meanwhile, turned to Simon suspiciously, while listening to Zech. Simon got up, muttered something about a corkscrew and left the cottage. His father seemed about to say something but then turned back to Zech with a reassuring smile as if nothing was going on.

"Oh yes, born and raised 'ere, as are all of these." He gestured at the children, who seemed even more tense now, than they had been before - except for the youngest boy, who, when his older brother looked up, nicked a piece of fish off his plate. "You are not from England originally, are you, ser?" Ben asked.

William looked down at his plate, confused.