Mum's the Word (4 page)

It was one of those scenes sculpted by Venus, the two of us alone, as one! But as happens when the door springs open and a third party intrudes, we ended up looking a prize pair of twerps. To give her credit, Dorcas did knock; her omission was in waiting for
“Entre!”

“Frightfully sorry barging in like this!” Red hair bristling out from its confining barrettes, she tugged at the whistle around her neck. Fortunately she didn't blast it, as was her habit when someone (herself included) needed to be galvanized into action. Her hazel eyes zeroed in on Ben, who was still on his knees. “Caught you bang in the middle of morning exercises, have I? Oh, I say … didn't mean …”
Middle age had not cured Dorcas of blushing fierily when the occasion arose. I rescued her.

“Ben was playing peekaboo with Tobias.”

Man and beast, who don't much care for each other, each curled a lip.

Dorcas strode forward. “Jolly ho! But what isn't quite so jolly is that you have visitors.”

“Anyone we know or might want to know?” Ben stood up.

“Not,” I said aghast, “one of my relations?” Frankly the last thing I needed in my expectant state was to take a good hard look at my genes. Best of the bunch Freddy had put it in a nutshell when saying that were he to murder his mother, his father's response would be, “Damn it all, boy, I trust you're going to cough up for the funeral, springing it on me like this!”

“Not one of them,” said Dorcas. “It's the Misses Tramwell.”

“But that's marvelous! I wonder if Primrose mentioned in her letter—which I never did get to finish—that they would pay us a visit?” My happy anticipation did not bounce back at me off Ben's face. He likes the Tramwells but he likes getting to Abigail's by 10 A.M. on Saturday mornings better.

I dabbed a toe out of bed to test the
mal de mer
, so to speak. “No need, my Lord Faint Heart, to cut out by way of the window. Hyacinth and Primrose wouldn't dream of subjecting you to girl talk.” I broke off, startled by the expression on Dorcas' face. Make that her nose, which twitches when she is agitated.

“Hate to cast a rub, Ellie, but the ladies aren't feeling girlish. Said they had come on a matter of life or death.”

“Oh, Ben!” My hands gripped the bedpost. “We should have guessed! They would never have come this early in the day unless something were wrong.”

His arms encircled me. “A matter of life or death! What a cliché!”

“Only where strangers are involved,” I whispered against his manly chest.

“Dearest Ellie,” the sisters rose from the drawing room sofa as one. “Oh, how dreadfully frail and drawn you look.”

My spirits lifted. The potpourri of fading summer wafted in through the open windows. What pleasure to be fussed over! Taking one of my arms apiece, they lowered me onto the ivory brocade sofa as though I were eminently rare and imminently breakable. I had forgotten how fond I was of them. Primrose with her silvery curls, crumpled flower face, and limpid blue eyes; Hyacinth, taller and sallow, with her black cone of hair and hooded eyes. Surely the likeliest reason for their presence, and for the message relayed through Dorcas, was that they wished to discuss an urgent case with me. Not long ago I had assisted Flowers Detection when a local women's group had taken the law into their white-gloved hands and made murder a community project. Another reason I was against organizations. Who knew what the Mangé Society got up to in its spare time? As my Uncle Maurice is wont to say, “Causes breed fanatics.”

“Sweet child, I trust you did not come downstairs by yourself.” Primrose arranged a pillow behind my head before fetching the familiar smelling salts bottle from her handbag.

The primly tailored effect of her wool suit was canceled out by its Donald Duck buttons, which went very nicely, however, with her oversized Mickey Mouse watch. As for the satin bows tucked among her curls, they seemed a bit much
until one took a good look at her sister. Hyacinth was attired in harem trousers and a baggy-sleeved scarlet blouse. Brass birdcage earrings hung against her neck. Whenever she moved, the tiny canaries inside warbled.

Involuntarily my eyes veered to the portrait of Abigail, Uncle Merlin's mother, which hangs in pride of place above our mantel. Her plain, forthright face and kind eyes would have made the room home even had it not contained a stick of furniture. Did I detect a suggestion of a wink as she smiled down at me now?

“Really, you mustn't fuss over me,” I scolded the sisters. They sat down on either side of me, each clasping one of my hands. “Ben is preparing to go to the restaurant but will pop in to say hello before leaving. He wouldn't miss seeing you for the world. And Dorcas promised to bring in coffee after we've had time for a chat.”

“Ben continues to attend his place of business?” Hyacinth's brow creased. “One would think he could find someone to take over so as to allow him to be with you during these trying days.”

“Men!” I spread my hands.

Hyacinth repeated the epithet—getting even more mileage out of it. “I am proud to say our paternal parent never indulged in employment during those times when our mother was expecting.”

“He never did so when she was not.” Primrose set the smelling salts down. “The demands made by his club were extremely onerous, and when we were young, it was not the accepted practice for either parent to work unless vulgarly pressed.” She clasped my hand. “I believe your father maintains some of those old values.”

“Certainly. He resides still in a grass hut on the tropical island of Kiwikki, living on mulled coconut milk and organizing the local beauty pageant—Miss Blue Lagoon.”

Primrose murmured, “Tut-tut,” but I noticed a gleam in her pansy eyes. Did she harbour a heart-shaped fantasy of my father—decked out as a combination of Errol Flynn and Tarzan—swinging in through the open window on a rope some day when she might happen to be visiting?

“Remember, Hyacinth, when Father moved the family into a tent on the lawn for a fortnight in order that we learn
how the masses live? Oh, the chagrin of the servants at fetching meals back and forth!”

“Very true.” Hyacinth inclined her head and the canaries in the birdcage earrings began to trill. “But let us not fritter away the hour in reminiscing. We must explain our visit.”

Primrose, nervously crocheting her fingers, twittered an interruption. “Yes, yes, so we must, but perhaps it would be best to wait until the estimable Dorcas fetches in the coffee. Dear Father used to say that there were no dry topics, just dry throats. Admittedly he was deploring the absense of port …” She plucked at her pearls. “Ellie, my dear, is that tapestry footstool new? Such a dear, sweet room this is! We have been pondering the possibility of a similar ivory silk wall covering for the Novice's Suite, sometimes known as the Bridal Bedchamber, at Cloisters.”

Hyacinth frowned. “Primrose, these stalling tactics serve only to make our mission more painful.” She gripped my hands, her painted fingernails glowing like hot coals. “Dear friend, we have intruded at this unseemly hour, unannounced, because we have grave concerns for your well-being.”

I had been feeling a little faint but her words brought me round like a dash of cold water. What could the sisters believe threatened my halcyon existence? Light dawned! Pregnancy, even at its most normal, was assuredly a matter of life or death to the Misses Tramwell. Sitting vigorously upright, I bit back a smile at the thought of their coming post haste to insist that I stay in bed the full nine months.

“Please, you mustn't worry about me. Other than the mandatory morning sickness, I am fine, truly!”

Hyacinth
tut
ted. “Do understand, Ellie, that Prim and I are not averse to your having this child. Indeed, we received the news of the anticipated joyous event with pleasure. We are both singularly fond of babies.”

“And only the tiniest degree afraid of them,” contributed Primrose with her pastel smile.

Hyacinth's brow darkened. “Doubtless, Ellie, a child will add much to the felicity of your life with Bentley—once you emerge from the early travails of broken nights, broken bones, and broken romances. We did telephone our local midwife—the sage Nurse Krumpet—who assured us that childbirth
need no longer be the primitive ordeal of the past. Antiquated as I am, nothing will convince me that birth is fit television entertainment or that the labouring mother's smiles are not dubbed in, however.” She drew breath.

“My dear Hy”—Primrose fussed with the bows in her hair—“are you not taking the scenic route in getting to the point?”

Hyacinth nodded. “I, trust, my dear, you are a believer in the Psychic Force?”

“I'm sort of agnostic on the subject.”

Her black eyes held me, and the canaries ceased tweeting in the birdcage earrings. “Yesterday Primrose and I were at the breakfast table in the morning parlour. I was showing her the matinee coat I am knitting for a certain baby when Chantal entered with the toast rack.”

“Our maid,” Primrose chimed in. “A superior girl of gypsy extraction.”

Hyacinth quelled her with a look. “During Chantal's hours off she is progressing toward an advanced university degree. The employment conditions at Cloisters being ideal in that her subject is monastic herbalism. That nerve remedy Primrose sent you was one Chantal came across while cleaning out a cupboard which hadn't been touched in several hundred years.”

Primrose tapped on her Mickey Mouse watch. “Indeed, yes, and we do trust, Ellie, you will find it as salutary as did Anne Boleyn and dear Sir Walter Raleigh in their hour of need.”

Hyacinth closed her eyes. “To proceed apace—as fate willed, I dislodged my ball of white three ply and Chantal retrieved it from the floor.”

“Always so willing,” fluted Primrose.

“Chantal is a gifted clairvoyant,” said Hyacinth.

“Dear child,” said Primrose, “you may accuse us of reading too many romantic novels, but Hy and I both witnessed Chantal freeze in the act of handing back that ball of wool. Her eyes became black ponds, pardon me, pools of horror. Her dark hair formed a mantle about her blanched cheeks. Her fingers crushed the wool. And when at last she spoke, her voice did seem to emanate from every crevice in the room, save her struggling lips. Chantal's words, dear
Ellie, were these.” To cushion the blow, Primrose rearranged the one behind my head.

“ ‘I see a house with many turrets, surrounded by water.' ”

“The moat at Merlin's Court! What could be clearer!” Hyacinth supplied.

Her sister's papery hands clutched at the pearls around her neck until they chattered like teeth. Her voice became ghostlike. “ ‘I am now inside the house of turrets. The walls are red. And red means anger. The air I breathe is thick with jealousy and fear. An explosion is building, throbbing until—
poof!
A huge cloud masses in turgid blackness above the rooftop. It threatens to destroy the hopes and dreams of all who dwell within. Beware the black cloud!' ”

Primrose fell silent. Tobias Cat entered the room like a walking bad omen then turned tail. In the gapped doorway stood Ben. Hand clapped to his brow, he effected a palsied stagger. I was doing a palsied slither off the sofa. Hyacinth repositioned me. Her satin blouse glistened blood red. Did either of these delightful women realize what they were doing to me? My hands moved protectively over the baby.

Primrose was off again. “Poor Chantal's breath now fluttered like the wings of a tired bird. ‘That house is built of fire and brimstone and swathed in shadow … Trouble in the North Tower … No place out but up … Writing not on the wall … Pen nastier than the sword … Mrs. Haskell must find the truth within herself.' ”

Primrose passed the smelling salts under my nose as well as her own. “My dear Ellie, Chantal's voice faded to a shiver which had Hyacinth and myself reaching for our shawls. Well may you look shocked. Administering Flowers Detection as we do, we are known for our nerves of steel.”

My head felt like a gun about to go off. “Merlin's Court is a house with a past, but it certainly does not seethe with unrest these days.” I raised my voice. “Sometimes Ben and Jonas annoy me, but men will be boys. As for Dorcas, she doesn't have a jealous bone in her body.”

The shrill sound of a distant teakettle was in fact Dorcas nervously blowing her whistle. She and Jonas had joined Ben in peeking through the doorway.

Tobias Cat wasn't helping my nerves either by circling the sofa.

“I am sure, my dear,” Primrose consoled, “that no one presently in residence could be the primal source of danger. One day I suspect there will come a knock at the door …”

My left leg jumped convulsively and down came my foot on Tobias' tail. He leaped three feet in the air and hailed me with meowing curses. “Did Chantal say anything else?” I whispered.