Red grinned. “Thank you, sir. We did.”
Red’s manner showed a change of spirit, and MacNeil eyed him sharply before he asked his captives to sit for a moment by the fire. “Would you like a glass of sherry, gentlemen?”
Red said, “Begging your pardon, sir, but our stomachs are so empty that it might not set too well.”
Tim chuckled to himself and the Scotsman smiled. “Then we’ll go right in. Luke will serve wine with the meal.”
The table was set with a white cloth and cut glass. Silverware gleamed in the candlelight. The vegetables were served by a middle-aged colored woman who wore a crisp white apron and a little starched cap with frills on top.
MacNeil carved the chicken, a fine fat bird.
“I noticed a rosewood piano at the end of your sitting room,” Tim said. “Do you play, sir?”
“Not a note,” their host said. “My daughter plays. I took her to Greenville to visit a cousin. I’ll be happy to fetch her back again. It was her son who saw you and gave the alarm.” MacNeil smiled faintly. “He’s dying to see you again. We’ll put you on exhibition after dinner, if you don’t mind.”
Red said, “Not at all.”
Their host was generous with helpings of chicken, and the colored woman passed the gravy boat and vegetables several times.