…when the prisoner knows the name of the French dish served for dinner and the refined and cultured British officer does not. This was a good addition to the scene. In the book, LJG is surprised that Jamie can read, let alone that he knows French.
“You are interested in French novels?” he blurted, not realizing until too late how incredulous the question sounded.
Fraser glanced up, startled, and snapped the book shut. Very deliberately, he returned it to its shelf.
“I can read, Major,” he said. He had shaved; a slight flush burned high on his cheekbones.
“I—yes, of course I did not mean—I merely—” Grey’s own cheeks were more flushed than Fraser’s. The fact was that he had subconsciously assumed that the other did not read, his evident education notwithstanding, merely because of his Highland accent and shabby dress.
While his coat might be shabby, Fraser’s manners were not. He ignored Grey’s flustered apology, and turned to the bookshelf.
“I have been telling the men the story, but it has been some time since I read it; I thought I would refresh my memory as to the sequence of the ending.”
“I see.” Just in time, Grey stopped himself from saying “They understand it?”
Fraser evidently read the unspoken question in his face, for he said dryly, “All Scottish children are taught their letters, Major. Still, we have a great tradition of storytelling in the Highlands.”
“Ah. Yes. I see.”
The entry of his servant with dinner saved him from further awkwardness, and the supper passed uneventfully, though there was little conversation, and that little, limited to the affairs of the prison.