The silver spoon clattered loudly on the polished floor, the sound sharp and jarring in the otherwise cheerful dining room. All conversation stopped. Catherine turned to Delia, her brow furrowed with immediate concern. Amber was on her feet in an instant, moving behind Delia's chair to gently rub her back in slow, soothing circles.
"Oh, my stomach…" Delia murmured, her own voice sounding distant to her ears. One hand was pressed tightly against her mouth, the other clutched her abdomen.
The rich, savory aroma of the chicken pie that was at the center of the table, which had smelled so wonderful just moments before, now seemed to be the source of her misery. Another wave of nausea washed over her.
"Oh my goodness!" Catherine exclaimed, her eyes wide with a sudden, dawning suspicion. She looked from Delia's pale face to Amber. "Delia, are you…?"
