Simon honestly hadn't been paying a huge amount of attention to his ever increasing hunger over the last few days, instead obsessively exploring every inch of the house. Overturning rooms and tables and books and chests in his hunt for some fresh truth somehow contained, perhaps in the walls themselves. True, from time to time a certain gnawing hunger would creep into his consciousness, but Simon had never permitted it to overcome his baser impulses of curiosity and reason. Or so he believed at least.
The truth was that over the past three days Simon had been sleeping less and less, and was slowly descending into a state of sheer paranoia, the only true saving grace of which being that he was too hungry and tired to be at all focused in this state of mind. Overhearing the ruckus in the hallway, Simon carefully pushed open the door of the room he'd been in the process of destroying, and peered out, with an expression of uncharacteristic neutrality. He followed along with the conversation for a minute, before (completely ignoring the matter at hand) breaking into a victorious grin, and pointing an accusatory finger at Mrs Stoker "You're not English!" He declared, as though this were now some great new revelation that could not have been uncovered without his aid!