‘Aunt Aggie said she bought us both a ring light and some microphones for the sitting room. Come and have a look,’ said Hetty.
Stella rubbed her temples and sighed. ‘Oh, bugger it, why not? I need distracting, anyway. Are there any sausages left?’
Elliot smirked. ‘Didn’t think that was your bag, Stells.’
‘Sod off. I love you. I’m not doing this on an empty stomach.’
Chapter 44
1818
Etta aimed for the terrace, desperate for some fresh air and perspective. Sadly, it was not to be.
‘Miss Bainbridge! What a delightful and immensely accurate brooch!’
She stopped dead at the acerbic tones of the walking vinaigrette Maria Marley, accompanied of course by the loathsome Smythe.
‘Not now, Maria.’
Miss Marley stepped back, face full of mock surprise. ‘Oh no,Hetty, don’t tell me now’s a bad time? Are we not, indeed, tofinallywish you happy?’
Etta had had enough, and then some. She wheeled away from the terrace doors and stared her adversaries right in the face.
‘And what about you, the gruesome twosome? I think you’reperfectfor one another. Both obnoxious, sour-faced bitches who don’t know a tiger from a …’ Etta trailed off. ‘Um, a thing that isn’t a tiger.’
Miss Marley and Smythe were looking at one anotheras though struck by some kind of unfortunately non-deadly lightning bolt.
Etta sighed. ‘Oh god, that’s it, isn’t it? Don’t tell me. Even Maria Marley and her pompous little sidekick get some kind of ridiculous happy ending.’
Smythe had taken Miss Marley’s hand in his, as they looked at each other like two amorous honey badgers deciding whether to fight over or share a tasty meal of raw rattlesnake meat.
‘Ugh, enjoy. Don’t bother sending an e-vite to Chez Bainbridge. It’s too much to hope you’d elope, isn’t it?’
Maria Marley’s voice came in a whisper. ‘You can buy me something cheap from the rag merchant, Hetty, if you can afford it.’
Etta rolled her eyes as she walked off. ‘Pistols or swords?’ she growled to herself.
She retreated to a corner, plate full of chocolate eclairs and heart dripping with misery. She was more than fed up, and she couldn’t even leave yet – her mother was deep in conversation with one of her usual gang of confidantes.
‘Why the sour face, young lady? Eaten something you don’t like the taste of?’
She looked up in surprise. A frail, but stern-looking man was making his way over to her, his face twitching in disgust as he glared at her. She dropped a half-eaten pastry back onto her plate. Suddenly, she’d had enough.
‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m no longer accepting applications to the Etta Bainbridge fan club. It’s been disbanded, due to me being a deranged lunatic out to ruin everyone’s lives.’
The man was so stunned he dropped his cane. Etta automatically bent down to pick it up, absently placing it into his surprisingly firm hand as she continued.
‘If you’re looking for tips on how to be an outrageously horrific bitch, you’ll need to submit your application to Clarissa Best instead. She’s overtaken even Maria Marley in the Gorgon stakes.’
The older man snapped to attention, all confusion replaced by anger almost equal to Etta’s.
‘Best? Best, you say? Agatha Best’s daughter?’
‘That’s the one. Although she’d be better named Agatha Dirt-Worst, I’d say.’
Etta watched the man shudder in distaste, noting she was clearly not alone in that opinion.
‘What’s the old harridan’s brat been up to? The apple never falls far from the tree.’
