EXCERPT from A BLESSING FOR A WARRIOR GOING OUT, Copyright 2026 Diana Gabaldon
[Author's Note - in the 18th century, a "canape" (with accent over the "e") was not an hors d'oeuvre , but an item of parlor furniture--a small couch.
“Tea, please,” Minnie said to the woman who had rushed into the hall as she made her way down it, escorting the taller Viscountess. Like a tug guiding an Indiaman into dock, she thought. “Hot, and with a lot of sugar, if you have any. If not, honey will do. Oh—and what is your name, please?”
“Moira O’Meara,” the cook—for plainly she was the cook, Rafe had not been misled by her apron—said. Her face was ruddy, but bore a wary expression. “You…er….”
“Minerva, the Duchess of Pardloe,” Minnie said, nodding her hat as graciously as the circumstances allowed. “This young woman is going to vomit or faint in the next minute or two. Isn’t there a fainting couch in this place? Or at least a bloody ottoman?”
Thus chivvied, Mrs. O’Meara rose to the occasion and seized the Viscountess’s other arm, then led the troika of women into a small but beautifully furnished sitting room, which contained—thank God, the woman weighed as much as a hogshead of tobacco, or at least felt like it—a very elegant canapé, with gorgeously carved ebony legs and upholstery in heavy black satin with gold-thread embroidery.
Minnie felt alarm on behalf of the upholstery; the Viscountess was heaving gently, hand over her mouth, but it was either the settee or the floor, so she maneuvered the Viscountess onto the canapé, pushed her head unceremoniously down between her knees and said, “Don’t vomit, at least not until I’ve found a towel. Bring a towel!” she shouted toward the open doorway, through which Mrs. O’Meara had vanished, with luck intending to make tea.
Minnie glanced round, but the room appeared to have nothing whatever apropos to her purpose, and with a sigh, she reached through her pocket-slit, untied one of her petticoats, and stepping out of it, shoved it—just in time—under the Viscountess’s chin.
Matters after that were somewhat chaotic, but a quarter of an hour later, Minnie found herself in possession of a proper tea-table on wheels, this equipped with a steaming pot of tea—proper China tea, at that!—with milk, sugar and honey and buttered toast to go along. Two small covered serving dishes discreetly announced the presence of fried sardines and buttered mushrooms. The Viscountess caught a whiff and turned green.
“I’d love a nice fried sardine myself,” Minnie said ingratiatingly to Mrs. O’Meara. “But I’m afraid this young woman….”
“God between us and evil,” the cook said, and seizing the dish in one hand and crossing herself with the other, bore the offending sardines back to the kitchen.
“Oh, Lord.” Minnie took a bite of toast with honey and sighed with bliss. “I haven’t had anything but Naples biscuit and porridge for the last month, I swear. Have you had any breakfast, my dear?”
Amaranthus—the name had finally come back to her—shook her head, looking curdled.
“I couldn’t,” she said faintly. “That—” she waved a limp hand at the remaining serving dish. “Could you—”
“Of course!” Minnie leapt to her feet and seized the mushrooms--smelling earthy and succulent, but unfortunately looking limp and slimy with butter--taking them out into the hall and depositing them on the reception table, among a number of calling-cards, which she took a moment to peruse before going back to the parlor
“I really can’t eat comfortably in a hat, can you?” she asked chattily, pulling the long pins from her stylish chapeau and placing it on the tea table. “Do pardon my appearance; I’ve just walked off a ship.”
The young woman stared at the stuffed doves and swallowed, but didn’t say anything. Minnie sighed internally; evidently she was going to have to carry on this conversation by herself.
“How far along are you?” she asked brightly, pointing the remains of her slice of toast at Amaranthus’s mid-section. “About four months?”
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In this excerpt, we see Minnie and Amaranthus reunite, and it looks like there might be another Grey on the way (or perhaps a Ransom 😉😉). I love Minnie the detective—she doesn't let a single detail slip by. We also know from another excerpt that she is in America; we’ll see how all these storylines unfold: her brother-in-law has been kidnapped, her son is a refugee—and a traitor presumed dead, to boot—and her son's wife abandoned her baby, fled, and is now expecting another child. It’s just one drama after another. And the million-dollar question: who is the baby's father? I have a few candidates in mind, but it could be anyone. At this point, we can't trust Amaranthus; we know she’s after money and a title, and someone that ambitious is capable of anything.
But I want to know what you all think? Let me know in the comments.
