“Djinns are nasty, foreign things,” his mother assured him. She flicked me a glance. “If you want a faery, I am sure you will find one. But not today, darling,” she added. His face puckered and she reached into her pocket for a small tin. “Now, have a few humbugs and go along with Nanny. If you are a very good boy, Nanny will take you out on the moor after luncheon when it will be dry, and then you can find your faery. All right, my darling?”
To my surprise, he capitulated, but only after extracting another pocketful of humbugs from his mother and a penknife from his father.
He surveyed the tiny blade with feverish pleasure. “I shall poke it in theeye,” he murmured again as his nanny led him from the room. The girl child followed, sucking her forefinger once more, and the babies, stolid as lumps of lard, were borne away by the nursemaids.
“Children are an unparalleled joy,” Mrs.Hathaway remarked to me. “Of course, being an unmarried woman who works for her living, you are denied such comforts, but you mustn’t let that make you bitter,” she urged.
Stoker smothered a laugh, choking into his eggs until Charles Hathaway clapped him firmly on the back.
“Quite all right there?”
“Yes, perfectly, thank you,” Stoker assured him.
Mrs.Hathaway signaled a maid to remove her breakfast things and turned to us with an expectant air. “We are very glad you’ve come to assess the collection,” she said, pitching her voice to a confiding tone. “There is so much work to be done on the house, and frankly, the greatest part of it is clearing away the old rubbish that is practically stacked to the rafters. We have had four bonfires already, and carted away a dozen loads of dreary old furniture and fittings.”
Stoker’s expression was pained. “Well, the specimens are not rubbish to Lord Rosemorran.”
Charles Hathaway laughed. “Then he’s a better man than I, he is. There are all manner of things in the collection, furry and fangy and completely unhygienic, as Mary says,” he added with an admiring nod to his wife. “She doesn’t want them about because of the children, you see. She thinks they will take fright from some of the more outlandish creatures.”
“But they would be perfect for inclusion in Lord Rosemorran’s collection,” Mary Hathaway put in smoothly. “Perhaps with a nice little plaque to say where they were found.”
“I am certain something could be arranged,” Stoker told her.
I turned to Charles Hathaway. “I have had the pleasure of meeting your sister, Euphemia,” I told him. “Are there any other members of the family?” It was not the subtlest of inquiries, but then Charles Hathaway was not a subtle man. He would not be offended by a little impolite curiosity, I decided. His sort would happily tell his life story to a stranger on the street. Jonathan had been much the same, I remembered with a pang. Ever ready with a smile and an invitation. Hisfriend Harry Spenlove had been the quieter of the two at first, hanging back a little, while Jonathan had been an open book.
Charles Hathaway’s brow furrowed. “Well, there is my grandmother, Lady Hathaway. My grandfather, Sir Geoffrey, was knighted for his discovery of a comet,” he said proudly. “But Granna’s health is poor and she may not make an appearance today. She has a companion, an Indian girl called Anjali. Do ask her if you need anything. She’s a useful soul,” he told us. “Mostly reads aloud to Granna and sews and listens to Granna’s endless stories about life in India before the mutiny,” he added with another braying laugh. I did not join in. I felt my lips thin at his casual way of speaking of his grandmother’s companion. He went on, blithely unaware of my discomfiture.
“And then there is the man we call Jonathan,” he said.
“You call him Jonathan?” Stoker asked easily. “Is that not his name?”
“That is precisely the question,” Mary replied tartly.
Charles spoke up. “You see, Jonathan Hathaway was my elder brother. He took up exploring—a bit of lepidoptery, a little mountaineering here and there. Just gentlemen’s hobbies, you understand. He was lost in the course of his travels in the Sunda Strait. The eruption of Krakatoa, a nasty business,” he said with a visible shudder. “We assumed, naturally, that he was dead.”
“Naturally,” I murmured.
“But there never was a positive identification, no body to bury, no effects recovered. It was as if he had simply vanished,” Charles said unhappily. “It was a dark time for us all. Granfer lost much of his enthusiasm for attending to his responsibilities, including taking a proper interest in this old pile,” he said with a fond look about the room. He went on. “I inherited the house and its contents except for Granna’s personal possessions.”
“And the house was in an absolute state,” Mary put in, flapping her hands. “Practically falling down, as you can see for yourselves. Justmaking it habitable has been a trial, and we’ve months of work left. Only our suite and the nurseries have been refitted with modern amenities. The entirety of the house requires attention, and the flocks have dwindled to almost nothing, outbuildings crumbling, cottages in need of repair. Charles has made a priority of the flocks, which is why you will no doubt find your rooms a trifle outdated,” she added, color flaring in her cheeks.
“Now, Mary,” he protested, but I had no desire to witness an example of marital discord.
“Mine is most comfortable and as clean as if the queen herself were coming to stay,” I assured her.
She seemed mollified by this. “Mrs.Desmond is a treasure. I do not think she is entirely happy about all the changes, but then it isn’t for her to object, is it? And it will make far less work for the staff once all of the rooms are completely modernized. Of course, Lady Hathaway does not wish hers to be modernized at all,” she added with a confiding look. “And Euphemia would not notice if she bedded down in the piggery. She cares only for her astronomical instruments, and I am at my wits’ end with her. It is such an unladylike undertaking to tax one’s mind with science,” she said.
I arched a brow and she went on. “Of course, it is different for you. You are some years her senior. But we might still make a bride of Euphemia if only we could curb her wilder habits. She is very young and terribly headstrong, you know. Like a moorland pony. But we have broken those to the saddle and I daresay we can break Euphemia as well,” she added with a fond smile at her husband.
If anything of family loyalty or fondness for his sister gave Charles pause at the idea of bringing his sister to heel, it was obviously overruled by uxoriousness. He merely returned her smile and then beamed at us.
“Mary is quite the manageress,” he said with apparent pride. “Butthen we need a bit of managing, don’t we, my love?” He gave her a fond look and I pushed my plate away.
Something volcanic rumbled within me, and Stoker must have sensed it. He hurried to speak before I could vent my outrage at Mary Hathaway and her dismissive attitudes.
“You were telling us about Jonathan Hathaway’s death,” Stoker put in. “You have our condolences.”
“Jonathan Hathaway is not dead,” pronounced a sharp voice from the doorway. Situated as it was under the gallery, the door was in shadow, and we had not noticed the figure approach. She came forwards, her footsteps shuffling a little as she walked with the aid of a cane. It was a mahogany piece, highly polished and featuring the carved silver head of a ram. She was dressed entirely in black, the bombazine muting any gleam from the morning light streaming through the clerestory windows. The only touch of color was the white of her hair and the brooch at her throat. A chatelaine, like the housekeeper’s but of rather more elegant design, hung from her belt. She was old, her face resembling a windfall apple, withered and wrinkled, the mouth set in an aggressive line, the chin lifted, and she regarded us with all the imperiousness of an empress.
