Promptly at 5:30 on the first official day of the students tenure at Begley House I invited all of them into the dining room. Margaret had already set the covers and those returning from the previous year took their former places. The others looked at me for reassurance and then each took an empty place.
"Please feel free to sit where you like. There is no proscribed seating." Once all were seated I noticed one seat was not taken. Who was missing? Then I knew. It was the new housekeeper. Had I not told her about dinner? I certainly had intended to. Just as I started for the kitchen to bring out the first course and ask cook if she knew where the housekeeper was, she appeared in the doorway wearing her uniform and carrying the tray meant for me.
Wordlessly, she served each student, ladling soup into each bowl, from their left, working her way silently around the table.
I was speechless. Having served the first course, she carefully removed her apron and the cap, hung each on the hook next to the door and sat down at the empty place. Where had she learned how to serve? Certainly not from me. She may have gotten some instructions from Cook, although I strongly doubted it, but she brought the panache from her own character, and the exact procedure to follow from some very recent and very thorough research. I couldn't have done better myself. I have never even tried to do it the way she did it. I very likely never will. But it certainly had an effect.
I was by no means the only one speechless. I looked from face to face as the soup was consumed. It was the quietest soup course I have ever personally witnessed in my life. After a few minutes, I noticed Margaret looking at me. Obviously, she wanted a signal. After a few seconds, I understood. I was to signal the next course. I nodded slightly. She rose, walked over to the door, put on the apron and the cap, picked up all the soup bowls, and went once more into the kitchen. Total silence reigned in the room, myself included. It was really quite strange.
The second course proceeded as had the first, around the room, plate by plate. Once again seated before the chicken with vegetable and rice, the returning tenants were willing to speak polite nonsense to each other, avoiding the newcomers and especially avoiding the strange changeling at the end of the table on my left.
Cook had made a special meal for this first dinner. I hadn't expected this and was a little afraid that this would set the standard for all the meals and that Cook would be unable to accomplish this feat on a daily basis, but I know from experience that there is nothing to be gained by bringing this to Cook's attention. My control over things relating to Begley House stopped abruptly at the kitchen door.
The dinner proceeded as envisioned by the cook. And to Cook's credit, the meal produced a salutary effect on the clients. Returning guests and newcomers alike were quite taken with the meal as well as the service.
The result was quiet discourse more fitting to Buckingham Palace than the local socialist hangout. This wouldn't last, I knew, but it made for a very good first impression. It even affected me. I found myself sitting up straighter and holding my soup spoon more nearly horizontal than usual.