‘Must you call me Madam? You make me sound at least fifty-five!’
Mother is fifty-six.
‘I was just wondering if you and your party had decided upon any entertainment for your sojourn, Madam.’ There was an unmistakable emphasis on the Madam this time.
Mother and Mirabelle stared vacantly at one another. I suspect the entertainment they’d had in mind was rather more bottle-shaped.
‘Oh, Angel, is this appropriate at the breakfast table?’ We all waited for the inevitable announcement that Angel had in some way looked at Aunt Charlotte rudely with devilish devices in mind. We stared at the sombre face of the old butler and even Aunt Charlotte seemed to shy away from any lewd suggestions.
Angel cleared his throat. ‘Might I suggest an evening of confluence with the spirits?’
‘We brought our own.’
‘I’m sorry, Madam?’
‘Gin.’ Mother drummed her fingers in frustration.
Angel attempted a smile. It looked rather terrifying. ‘No, Madam, you have misunderstood my meaning. A medium, that is to say a psychic, lives close by and some of our guests like to take advantage of the atmosphere here at Ambergris Towers.’
Mother did her puzzled-but-not-in-any-way-misunderstanding face.
‘It’s rather Gothic don’t you think, Madam?’ And he motioned upwards.
We looked up in unison.
‘You’d have to ask my daughter about that sort of rubbish.’
‘Hmmm . . .’ Aunt Charlotte mused, ‘there are a few gargoyles up there.’
‘And down here,’ I said quietly, but Mother still heard.
‘Eavesdroppers, Madam.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘They are eavesdroppers, Madam. It is where the phrase originates, I believe, people listening, watching from up in the eaves.’
‘How appropriate,’ Mother said, rolling her eyes.
Angel continued as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘There is an elderly lady in the village, who specializes in the darker arts.’
‘Darker arts, Angel?’ Aunt Charlotte bellowed. ‘What is this, Harry Potter?’
‘Who?’
We looked at Angel in bewilderment.
He continued unperturbed. ‘She does a little fortune telling, tarot reading, matters of that nature. Many of the guests adore it. I can inform Mrs Angel if you have a preference for this.’
‘Well, I’d like to know when we’re going to start discussing the book,’ Bridget said sourly.
‘Not now, Bridget,’ Mother sighed.
‘Oh, I think it would be wonderful to invite the spirits in!’ Less held up her arms and the intricate system of bangles and charms stacked from her wrist to her elbow slid down, creating the very unflattering impression of a shower hose.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Less.’ Aunt Charlotte regularly said this to Less. It still didn’t stop her being ridiculous.
Less widened her mineral black eyes before carefully and coldly adding, ‘I’m a very spiritual person. I just can’t help it. It’s the way I am.’
‘Shall I enquire if she is available for this evening, Madam?’
‘Oh let’s! Please, Pandora? Oh, say we can?’ Less often adopted this annoying demeanour of a small Enid Blyton child — the kind that you hoped would fall down a well.
Mother sighed. ‘Let’s just let her have it.’
‘I would if I had my twelve bore,’ Aunt Charlotte muttered.
‘Ha!’
‘Shut up, Ursula.’ Mother looked at me with withering eyes.
‘Why me? It was her who said—’
‘Very well, Angel,’ Mother continued, ‘let the old witch come and tell us our futures.’
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘But they’d better be bloody rosy. I’m not paying to be told that I face a life of misery and despair. I can see that for myself.’
I have never seen Mother genuinely miserable and certainly she never despairs. She has always been fully in control of her destiny.
‘She has very reasonable rates I believe, Madam.’
‘Cross my palm with silver and all that!’ Aunt Charlotte snorted.
‘I believe it’s twenty pounds an hour, Madam. Payable in notes of any denomination. Silver will not be necessary. Should I go ahead with the booking for this evening, Madam? Might I suggest the library after supper?’
Mother watched him with the keen intent of a rat. ‘You have a lot of suggestions for a butler, don’t you, Angel?’
‘Madam, I am here to be of the utmost assistance.’
‘I can see that. And what about your charming wife, Angel? Are we to be graced with her presence at any point during our visit?’
‘Yes, Madam. In fact, I believe she was intending to conduct a tour of the house and grounds this morning after breakfast.’
‘Already done it, chum,’ Mirabelle grunted.
Angel looked at her with finely honed contempt. ‘Perhaps she may offer a few more of the House’s treasures for your contemplation, Madam.’ Each Madam was a new barb.
‘So, when are we going to discuss the book?’ Bridget said, with a slow insistence.
‘Later, Bridget,’ Mother snapped. ‘We’ll be there in a moment, thank you Angel.’
‘Thank you, Madam.’ He left with a slow, deliberate step that put one in mind of an animated corpse.
As he was leaving, a question escaped from me before I’d even looked for Mother’s approval. ‘Angel, were you playing the piano last night?’
Angel didn’t turn to look at me, but very coolly answered, ‘The piano has not been touched for some time to my knowledge, Miss. I shall speak to Mrs Angel about giving it a thorough dusting today.’ It somehow felt like a rebuke.
‘Perhaps while you’re at it you could do something about the clock,’ Mother said. She pointed with her knife. ‘It can’t always be ten past twelve. Tell me, Angel, does anything work in this ruin?’
All eyes were on the large old radio and the clock’s dead hands.
I got up and moved to the door.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘The library, Mother.’
‘The library, Mother,’ she mimicked. ‘Whatever for?’ For a book club, books were remarkably low on their list of priorities.
‘To listen to the news,’ I said. ‘I do it every morning.’
‘What? I’ve never seen you do that.’ Mother’s irritation crackled like a well-stoked brazier. I resisted the temptation to say she never noticed anything I did. ‘Another affectation you’ve adopted, Ursula?’
‘Will that be all, Madam?’ Angel said slowly.
‘Yes, yes, go.’ Mother flicked her wrist.
I couldn’t tell if it was me being dismissed or Angel.
‘So worrying for you, dear, like you say — all these affectations.’ Mirabelle’s voice was, as usual, smooth as poison pouring into my mother’s ear. ‘And where will it all end? She can’t be a precocious child forever!’
‘Why ever not, Mirabelle?’ I said. ‘You’ve certainly never stopped being a bully.’
It was almost imperceptible, but as I passed Angel I noticed a minute swelling at the base of his face. It was the only sign that he was clenching his jaw so tight it might shatter at any moment.