“Good God in Heaven above,” she yelped, looking down on me, she must have been nearly six foot tall. “What kind of a game you playing, sneaking up on a body like that, you’ll have me stone dead on the floor you will.”
“I’m so sorry, I did call out, you didn’t hear.”
“Course I heard.” She snapped, “Was concentrating is all. Anyway, what time do you call this and what’s that you’ve got on?” Disconcerted, I glanced down at my jeans and sneakers.
“White shirt, black skirt or trousers, didn’t they tell you?” She said sharply. “Might do you a piece of good, m’girl if you listened a bit more yourself, ‘stead of creeping around frightening folk out their wits. Here…” She thrust a key into my hand. “Cupboard next the larder, find something to fit, then get yourself back here and get these tables done, we’ve only five in tonight, but we need to set the others too, make it look busier. What’re you gawping at now? Get skates on.” I swallowed any comment, I really didn’t have the strength for what were obviously going to be complicated explanations as to who I was or wasn’t, but I did still have the ruddy tea tray to deliver. She’d turned back to the dresser and didn’t hear me ask again. I had to touch her shoulder to make her look at me.
“Well, what is it now?” She tossed her head indignantly, making the hair wings swing back then forward again.
“The library?” I asked.
“Third on the left, what you want that for anyhow?”
“Tea.” I indicated the tray sitting on the threshold.
“Who’s asked you for that then?”
“Etty.”
“Miss Etty – mind your manners if you please. Well best get on with it hadn’t you.”
Third door on the left; tea-laden, ton-weighing tray; another ornate door handle; still no hands. Enough was enough, patience was running on empty and this wasn’t the Savoy, so I gave the door a couple of hefty kicks. There was a pause in the murmur of voices coming from the room and I was about to re-plant foot on wood, when it opened and a tall, skinny chap with a pair of glasses perched where his hair should be, arched an eyebrow at my drawn back leg.
“Murder to kick down, aren’t they?” He said. “A lot of people just opt for using the handle.” Great, a wise guy, just what I needed right now.
“Hands full.” I said shortly, nodding downwards.
“Well there’s a relief, sounded like we were being raided.” He stood aside to let me enter.
The room revealed, was indeed the library. Darkly draped maroon curtains obscured much of what was left of the fading November light and an unenthusiastic fire was stuttering nervously in the grate, trying and failing to raise the temperature. Similarly sized and proportioned to the other rooms I’d seen, three of the four walls were book-lined, producing that unique smell, the heady amalgam of leather, ink, binding glue and age-foxed paper. There was a magnificent, ornate gilt, heavy-on-the-cherubs mirror which presided over the fireplace, a black, full-sized grand piano in one corner of the room and a harp in another. And seated rigidly on a small sofa, at right angles to the feeble fire was Etty, her expression chillier than the tea I was bringing. She waved an aristocratic hand.
“Milk and sugar for Mr Heywood, black no sugar for me. Thank you.”
“Right, I’ll be Mother then shall I?” I muttered, taking a certain amount of grim satisfaction in seeing the tea emerge in that turgid, non-steaming way that bodes no good at all and, as I placed a plate of custard creams on the bow-legged coffee table in front of the sofa, spotted with pleasure the almost imperceptible grimace of her guest as he took a sip. Etty herself was drinking her tea with every evidence of enjoyment, but I caught her chill eye momentarily and any small smugness evaporated. I certainly didn’t like the woman and her high-handed ways, especially as she’d so obviously tarred me with the same brush of uselessness as my Mother, but there was something about her – an implacability that demanded grudging respect. She inclined her head in thanks and dismissal and restraining myself from bobbing a satirical curtsey, I shut the library door quietly behind me.
Making my way kitchen-ward, tea duties discharged, a guilty thought suddenly assailed me – poor old Ink was still shut in the car. It was, of course, just possible Ophelia might have already retrieved her, but as I hadn’t observed any airborne pink pigs, I deemed that unlikely, and hastened out the front door to make amends. Serve me right if she’d made a mess. Ink however had behaved like a perfect lady and, other than a reproachful glare as she jumped heavily out on to the gravel, didn’t seem to be bearing any grudges, although she didn’t hang about, but made with alacrity for a convenient flowerbed.
While I waited, I strolled up and down a little, crossing my arms across my chest as the evening chill closed in. Close up, the down-at-mouth mermaid still looked as miserable as the trickle her urn was producing, and the water had a dankly unpleasant smell to it. It was very peaceful though, not even the remotest grumble of traffic – lovely spot, delightful building, shame it had been allowed to run down in the way it had.
I noticed there was a slightly more modern, single-storey annexe, set back a little and stretching to the right of the main house. It too looked in need of a bit of re-pointing and painting and in one of the lighted windows, I could see a white coated figure moving around busily – no mistaking the shape of bossy Bella. What was it she’d said – a mud soak and some kind of irrigation? I shivered in the spiteful little wind that was ruffling Ink’s magnificent plumed tail as she came trotting over in answer to my call, although I put her cooperation down to hunger, rather than either obedience or affection. She answered to only one mistress and it wasn’t me, but I started inside, confident that in expectation of a bowl-full of something tasty, she’d follow. I was startled when she suddenly hissed, an unexpectedly loud and hostile sound. The only other time I’d heard her do that was when Adam accidentally caught her tail in a door. I turned to see what had alarmed her. It was a wolf.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I blinked hard and looked again. Yes indeedy, I was no David Attenborough, but there could be no mistaking the coarse silver-gray fur, high ridged back, easy lope and golden eyes, black pupils slitted in the fading sunlight. It was a bloody big, real-life wolf and it was heading, in a business-like way, out of a thicket of trees to the side of the circular driveway, moving fluidly and disconcertingly swiftly across the gravel towards us.
“It’s a wolf.” I muttered out loud, as if pronouncement might make sense of the situation – it didn’t. At my feet, Ink didn’t seem to be in much doubt either, every inch of fur was standing at right angles to her body. Good try, but my guess was, it might take more than a very fat cat to put the wind up a wolf.
Bending I swiftly scooped her, still hissing, into my arms, backing hurriedly through the open front doors and trying to push them closed behind me. But they were both fastened firmly back against the wall and, fingers made clumsy by mounting panic, I couldn’t find the catch to free even one of them. Concluding it might not be in my long-term interest to hang around, I turned and headed down the hall at speed, hearing with mounting horror, the unmistakable click and patter of claw and pad on parquet, as the animal entered the front door and started briskly down the hall after me.
In my initial panic, I was dashing for the stairs until it flashed through my mind, that as a deterrent for a determined predator, that might not work, why wouldn’t he just take them in his stride? No, what was required was definitely something in the barrier category. I needed to head for the double swing doors at the far end of the hall. They’d take me back to the kitchen, where there must be a phone, although I wasn’t clear at that point whether I’d be screaming hysterically for police, RSPCA or just for the hell of it.
It was pure bad timing that Etty and guest should choose just the moment I was speeding towards them, to emerge from the library. To avoid a head-on collision, I tried to stop. Un
fortunately, the rug I happened to be hurrying across, didn’t. It slid smoothly along the polished parquet at a rate that had a certain inexorability about it. Etty’s guest reacted instantly and commendably calmly, looping an arm around her waist and whipping her back out of my path.
“Wolf!” I shrieked as Ink and I glided past, “…don’t worry, phoning for help.” After all, I’d have hated anyone to think I wasn’t in control of the situation. And then, probably because I wasn’t paying the attention I should have been, the rug and I took a slight swerve and reached the stairs. This time the rug stopped and I didn’t. My foot, toe-crushingly hit the bottom step and I measured my length with a thwump that knocked Ink out of my arms and air out of my lungs.
For a short while, I lost touch with priorities and could only contemplate with interest, the densely patterned but faded royal blue carpet under my nose, at the same time as trying not to inhale more dust than was healthy. Then reality rushed back and I gasped, choked on a chunk of blue fluff and flopped clumsily over on my back in full expectation of hot foetid breath on my face and rabid fangs at my throat.
“I assume,” said Etty, “No one’s told you about Rostropovich?” Looking up, I met the amused eye of Mr milk and sugar Heywood.
“Rostropovich?” I echoed weakly.
“…is quite harmless.” Etty said. “I’m sorry if he frightened you. Mimi’s supposed to keep him well out of everyone’s way.” I sat up cautiously. A headache with big potential was starting to make its presence felt, just above my right eye and the bits of me that had hit the stairs were aching.
“Are you hurt? You went down with quite a thump.” Heywood was straight-faced but only, I felt, with an effort.
“Fine.” I lied firmly, the way you do when you’ve made too much of a prat of yourself to do anything else. Rostrobloodypovich meanwhile had planted himself right next to me, far too close for comfort, tongue lolling in an eager way, head to one side. I stood up cautiously. I’m usually quite good with animals, God knows I had history with a lion, but that was under more controlled circumstances and this creature, close up, looked no less wild and wolfish than from a distance, apart from which you just don’t expect wolves in Stratford-on-Avon. A disturbing sort of rattle was issuing from his throat and as I moved, so did he, pushing forward to rub his huge head against my reluctant leg. I backed up a couple of steps,
“Sit.” Snapped Etty and I very nearly, despite myself, did. “You see,” she turned to me. “He’s totally tame and very well-trained. He’s not even pure-bred, he looks more wolf than he really is.”
“Why’s he making that noise?” I asked, she sniffed,
“He thinks he’s purring. Your Uncle bought him home when he was just a cub, goodness only knows why, and he was adopted by one of our cats who’d just had a litter and gone into maternal overdrive. Stupid animal’s grown up under the impression he’s a cat.” She turned to the Heywood man,
“I really must apologise for all this ridiculous furore, what must you think of us? May I introduce my Great-Granddaughter, Serenissima who’s kindly helping out for a few days.” I was still digesting the mention of another relative, an Uncle no less and had absently put out a polite hand when the ‘few days’ hit me. I glared at her, where on earth had she got that from? I’d committed to cooking some flipping ducks, that was all. Once I had them done and dusted, I was heading out of this mad house faster than a bat out of hell.
“Should I fetch your cat for you?” Heywood had retrieved my hand from where I’d left it hanging in mid-air, shaken it and given it back. Ink had settled further up the stairs and was washing her nether regions enthusiastically. I eyed them both with equal disfavour she, recovered totally from her earlier fright, he with glasses still perched idiotically on his head.
“Thank you, no. She’ll come when I call. Ink,” I patted the side of my leg encouragingly. Ink paused, looked at me thoughtfully for a beat or two then went back to what she was doing.
“Ink,” I snapped, “Come along now.”
“I don’t think she wants to.” He observed helpfully.
“Well, of course she doesn’t want to, poor sweet baby, she’s scared half to death. I can’t believe you let that wild animal roam around like this.” From the first floor landing my Mother, changed now into flowing black trousers and beaded kaftan, came swooping gracefully down. She bent, gathered a stoical Ink to her bosom and bestowed on Heywood one of her, I’m-distressed-but-going-to-be-very-brave-about-it smiles. “I don’t believe we’ve met?” She said.
“Actually we have, but it was years ago. How are you Ophelia? Shouldn’t think you’d remember me, last time I saw you I was about six. Mark, Mark Heywood. Simon Heywood’s son, I used to come here sometimes with my Father. You were always very sweet to me, gave me an ice-lolly once.” He grinned, “Favours like that, you don’t forget in a hurry.” I could see she didn’t have the vaguest recollection but she flashed another smile, this time going the full hundred and fifty watts.
“Why of course I remember, fantastic to see you again. That’s what’s so lovely about coming home, seeing all the old faces.” He returned her smile pleasantly, although I was gratified to note, not as drop-dead, star-struck as many I’d seen. He turned politely to Etty.
“I didn’t know Ophelia was going to be visiting.”
“Neither,” said Etty, each word an icicle with the end snapped off. “Did I. She sprang it on us. Delightful surprise.” Any sub-text was winging its acid way above his head as he stooped to retrieve his bag, set down hastily when collision needed to be averted.
“I’ll be off then Mrs Goodkind. Pleasure to meet you Serenissima.” I bared my teeth in what he could choose to take as a smile. It wasn’t that I had anything against him personally, but you’re never at ease with someone who’s just seen what an idiot you can make of yourself. “Delighted to see you again Ophelia.” My Mother bent her head graciously, I suppose one thing you could say about her was that she rarely thought anyone not worthy of the full Ophelia charm. Etty and guest headed, talking quietly, to the front door and I turned to glare at Ophelia, I had more than a bone to pick with her – in fact with a cupboard full of skeletons, it was difficult to know exactly where to start.
“Naughty boy, I couldn’t think where you’d got to?” Mimi had suddenly appeared beside the wolf. I wanted to think she’d walked along the corridor from the kitchen, but feared that wasn’t the case at all. I swiftly stopped thinking about it and noted that nobody had yet pointed out, she still had her jumper on every which way but right.
“Come along now, or we’ll both be in the dog-house.” Grabbing a collar, nearly obscured in thick neck fur, she tugged it decisively. The animal rose amiably enough to its feet, pushing against her affectionately and she staggered. Next to her tiny frame it looked even more massive and its powerful jaws could have crushed any part of her without undue effort. Pure bred or crossed with something else, it still looked like a wolf to me. I moved a step further up.
“Oh my!” Mimi paused suddenly, her gaze sweeping over Ophelia and me, still on the stairs and Etty returning down the hall, silver bird-headed cane striking the floor with each decisive step, “Isn’t this just too wonderful? Look at us. Four generations of Goodkind women. What an occasion eh? What an occasion.” If she expected a round of hurrahs she was disappointed, perhaps we each had our own thoughts on the matter. Certainly, given the crazy events of the last few hours, I was thinking I might be wending my way home sooner rather than later and screw the ducks – after all, what did I owe these people? I’d grown up believing I had no family and having now met them, couldn’t help feeling I was better off that way.
“Serenissima.”
“Sandra.” I corrected Etty automatically. She ignored me and continued, “I suppose after your little encounter with Rostropovich you won’t be feeling up to dealing with dinner, I know your Mother always used to ge
t very stressed by any little… upsets.” I instantly drew myself up.
“I am not my Mother.”
“No, but… ”
“I’ve said I’ll do dinner and do it I will.” She nodded briefly and turned away, not before I’d caught a green-granite glimmer of satisfaction. I could have kicked myself. Gracious, but she was good. She was very, very good.
“Just one minute.” I said, my tone as cool as hers and as peremptory, she paused without turning.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to make something clear.”
“I’m listening.”
“Once I’ve sorted this meal for you, I’ll be leaving, going back to London.” Ophelia opened her mouth to say something, but I raised a hand – I can do imperious too, “Ophelia, if you’re coming with me, please be ready to leave within the next hour or so.”
“I didn’t somehow think you’d be the enquiring type.” Etty murmured, but I wasn’t as green as I was cabbage looking. I wasn’t going to rise to that, I wasn’t going to let her paint me again into whichever corner she chose.
“Well you were spot on then weren’t you?” I agreed, and with a brisk inclination of my head to include all three of them, and a cautious but dignified circuit round the wolf, I headed back below stairs.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Friend Gladys had disappeared, but the ducks hadn’t budged. I surveyed the gloomy kitchen. Daylight was fading and the light switch, sticky with something that smelt like Marmite, produced only feeble illumination from a hanging centre fixture which, given the room’s general state of cleanliness, was probably no bad thing. I was damned though if I was going to deal with the ducks under cover of darkness. I rummaged around and came up with half a dozen candles which I banked together on a tin lid, filched from an almost finished box of Sainsbury’s Continental Choice, and they instantly imparted a kinder glow to the room. Whatever minimal warmth they provided was also more than welcome, whilst the main parts of the house were chilly, once you got back to the staff areas, it was perishing. I debated going to get an extra jumper from the car, but decided even that had too much of an air of permanence about it.
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