A Fine Cup of Tea

Charles prepared afternoon tea for the Dunston Historical Society ladies as he did every Wednesday. As he put the pot on to boil, he thought about how this Wednesday seemed a little off. In all his fifteen years as Lady Dunston’s personal servant something seemed amiss. He set the biscuits out on the tray and put the Heavenly Gyokuro leaves in the strainer over the pot. He recalled how Lady Dunston had gushed over the purchase of the tea that morning.

Everything had seemed the same mundane routine when they made their weekly trip to Ryan’s Irish Bakery. The stately clock in the Dunston town square tower tolled its usual ten bells, not beholden to any of the residents, neither to the founding Dunston nobility nor the Irish immigrants who later settled there. The clock simply did its duty by marking time.

Charles remembered how the poor townspeople were huddling in the town square as they always did on Wednesdays. The commoners had stood on the plaza, appearing to be in deep conversation and ignoring the appearance of the Dunston Bentley purring up curbside to the bakery.  

When Charles alit from the silver sedan at the stroke of ten as he did each week, he tried to pretend they weren’t there. He had scurried to the rear passenger door. Like a magician flourishing his cape, he swept the door open to reveal the contents in all her glory, Lady Catherine Dunston, the town matriarch. A gloved hand appeared, followed by lily-white legs in pumps, always matched to the dress that followed. Coiffed, preened, and polished, she emerged like a flower opening itself to the world, her nose tipped so high her hat clung desperately to its precarious perch on her head.   

“Good day, Lady Dunston,” curtseying ladies and hat-doffing men had murmured in their usual display of seeming courtesy. Charles knew it was a smokescreen for the scorn they held for his mistress. Catherine Dunston, along with her governing family, had sucked the lifeblood out of the residents through excessive taxes. That day Catherine displayed her silent contempt for the poor Irish residents and merchants in the square. Charles did his best to keep his composure and his sentiments to himself by staring straight ahead avoiding the glares of his peers. He needed his job.

On this day, however, Charles recalled a definite change in the routine. He traced the morning events and conversation in his mind as he prepared the tea. He remembered the door of Ryan’s Irish Bakery seeming to open automatically in homage to Lady Dunston. It was held by Mr. Ryan, which was unusual. Ordinarily he gave only a businesslike deference to her. Today, he had given a sweeping bow to Lady Dunston, his bald head as polished as the noblewoman’s features. “Top o' the mornin’ to ye, Mum.”

“Mister Ryan, I am not your ‘Mum.’ And must I always remind you to use proper English when addressing me? Your people have been here long enough to learn to speak in a gentile manner with the respect due me. Yet, you insist on reverting to that provincial brogue. If you hadn’t the best scones and tea in town, I would not trouble myself to patronize you.”

“Ah, Lady Dunston,” Ryan wiped his hands on his apron and smiled. “As the lone bakery in Dunston since the others were forced to close, I have the only scones and tea in town.”

He bowed to her again. “My greatest desire is to grace your tea table with the finest of both, be they ever a touch o’ humble Irish. You’ll not find any scones this side o’ heaven that taste as well as mine.”

“As good as, Mr. Ryan,” she sniffed.

“Well, begorra, thank ye for the compliment.”

“Incorrigible! Just give me six raisin, six plain and a loaf of brown bread.” She sighed and turned on her heel, fanning her face with her hand. “Pay him, Charles, I need some fresh air.”

“Are ye forgettin’ the tea to go with them, your Ladyship? I have a special green called Heavenly Gyokuro, the finest imported from Japan; it’s said to make your teeth and mouth strong. Twould make a fine cup.”

Catherine paused and turned back. She knew the two Historical Society ladies coming for tea that afternoon had a taste for green as did she. “All right. Six ounces; make sure it is your absolute best and don’t skimp.” She frowned, pointed her finger at Ryan, then disappeared out the door.

Charles remembered how quickly Ryan packaged the order and handed it to him. He had winked, “Be sure the tea is steeped briskly three to five minutes for full flavor and effect. It’s a fine blend with leaves that’s sure ta put a smile on the face of imbibers. Wouldn’t doubt if St. Patrick himself might’ve sipped some.” Ryan smiled.  

Charles wondered about Ryan’s effusiveness as he poured the hot water into the strainer and set the timer to be sure it wouldn’t steep too long. At exactly 4:00 p.m., Charles served the tea and scones to Lady Catherine and the two Dunston Historical Society ladies in the mansion library. Victoria Pennington sipped her tea and nibbled on a raisin scone, while Elisabeth Smythe stirred a lump of sugar into her cup.

Charles placed the service on the sideboard and stood by, waiting to replenish if needed.

“Delicious, my dear, simply delicious,” chortled Victoria. 

“I’ve not tasted better myself, Elisabeth chimed. “This tea is simply exquisite.” 

“I take pride in serving only the best; it’s called Heavenly Gyokuro, Japan’s finest.” Catherine lowered her cup. “It’s said to make the teeth and mouth strong.” She flashed a broad smile.

Victoria gasped and started coughing. Elisabeth’s eyes widened, her hand shook and she almost dropped her cup. Charles covered his mouth as the revelation of what made the day different was clear. He smothered an urge to laugh.

Catherine batted her eyes and looked from one to the other. “Is. . . something wrong?”

Both women covered their mouths with their napkins, put their cups down and stood. They mumbled something about having to take a quick leave and went tittering down the hallway. Catherine followed behind and Charles hurried to open the door for them.

Catherine reached out and took Victoria’s arm. “Please, tell me. What’s the matter? Was something wrong with the tea?”

Victoria put a finger on her mouth and pointed to the hall mirror as she scurried out the door.

Charles closed the door and watched as Catherine stared at the face in the mirror. Her lips were no longer the color of Pink Rose, her favorite lip paint. Instead, they bore a tint of green. When she opened her mouth, she screamed. Her teeth and tongue were the color of tree moss. “Damn Ryan! He put something in the tea!”

The following Wednesday when Charles pulled up to the bakery in the Bentley. the clock in the square signaled ten as always and the townspeople were gathered to watch the proceedings. Charles emerged from the car but he did not open the back door. He stared straight ahead as he entered the bakery. He saw the reflection in the window of the townspeople smiling at one another and he could hear their snickering. He knew they had heard about the happenings at the Dunston Historical Society meeting. Some people made catcalls about Lady Dunston’s comeuppance while others simply laughed.

Mr. Ryan turned and greeted him straight-faced. “Good morning, Charles.” He looked over Charles shoulder as if he were surprised no one else was there.

 “So, will the Lady Dunston not be gracin’ me with her presence today?”

“Not today. Perhaps not ever again.” He blinked.

“Oh, for shame! Shall I bag up some more of the Heavenly Gyokuro for her ladyship, with a little extra coloring?” He doubled over, convulsing with laughter.

“No, thank you,” Charles tried not to smile, “she wants only the Silver Needle white today, please.”