The Vulture of Sommerset Page 3

  Rosemary rolled her eyes. ‘Good lord,’ she muttered, mopping up her soup with a piece of bread, ‘what a load of horse poop!’

  This caused Adele to giggle which in turn caused Isabella to kick her under the table. Then Isabella began to laugh madly. ‘Oh Aunt Rosemary, what a funny, funny old lady you are,’ she said, slapping the table for good measure. ‘Always making the most delightful little jokes. Isn’t she hilarious, Duchess?’

  The duchess looked rather bewildered, as did Rosemary.

  ‘Hilarious, am I?’

  ‘Really, Isabella, I am surprised at you!’ declared Lady Charlotte brightly. ‘I never would have guessed you were so old-fashioned.’

  ‘Old-fashioned?’ Isabella was blinking rapidly. ‘Whatever do you mean, Lady Charlotte?’

  ‘Only that I hardly know a soul who shops in Paris anymore. All of my friends have their gowns made by pygmies in southern Peru. My dear friend Lady Catherine Thackeray was the first to discover their work during a shooting holiday there. She wore one of their gowns to the Summer Ball last year. Everybody said it was the most beautiful dress they had ever seen, didn’t they, Mother?’

  The duchess nodded regally. ‘They did indeed.’

  Lady Charlotte smiled triumphantly. ‘How courageous you are,’ she said, pointing to Isabella’s cream-coloured gown, ‘to care so little about being fashionable. Not that your dress isn’t perfectly nice. Why, I’m sure you’d be the envy of every girl in Grimethorpe.’

  If you looked closely enough you might have spotted the steam rising from beneath Isabella’s silky black hair. The girl’s first impulse was to lunge at Lady Charlotte’s monumental nose and give it a firm punch. Only thoughts of the Summer Ball held her back.

  ‘I don’t know much about fashion,’ said Adele quickly, ‘but I think Isabella’s dress is very beautiful.’

  ‘As do I!’ declared Rosemary.

  Isabella said nothing at first. Then she rose stiffly from her chair. ‘If you will excuse me, everyone, I really must go and freshen up.’

  And with that she dashed from the oval dining room, followed closely by a four-metre crocodile.

  ‘Crabb, it’s me.’

  Milo Winterbottom looked remarkably small sitting behind his uncle’s enormous antique desk. It was often said that apart from the mass of wavy black hair – which had grown to reach his shoulders during the past year – the boy did not really look much like a Winterbottom at all. While they were famous for their dark eyes and brooding looks, the boy possessed his mother’s pale skin and her gentle green eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, speaking quietly into the telephone, ‘I’ve thought about everything you said. I know the risks and I still want to go ahead. No, I’m not rushing things. If we’re going to do this then it must be now.’ Milo rubbed his eyes, hoping to relieve the pain which swelled behind them. ‘Look, Crabb, I know you did this kind of work for my uncle – that’s why I chose you. No-one can know what we are doing. I need someone who will see this through to the end, no matter what. So, are you in?’

  Milo waited, listening, his forehead a knot of concentration.

  ‘Thank you, Crabb,’ he said, the relief flooding his pale face. ‘Yes, I have the money; I will bring it tonight.’ Milo looked down at his watch. ‘Nine o’clock is fine. Yes, the usual place. And remember, Sommerset is full of prying eyes, so be careful. No-one must see you. Goodbye, Crabb.’

  Hanging up the telephone, the boy covered his face and wept.

  FROGS

  ‘Pygmies! Who ever heard of pygmies making evening gowns?’ Isabella let out an exasperated growl, kicking at the flagstones bordering the bed of white and yellow roses. ‘And how dare that hideous trout call me old-fashioned! Cousin, be brutally honest with me, am I fashionable?’

  Adele nodded earnestly. ‘Yes, very.’

  After the humiliating encounter in the dining room, Isabella had sought refuge in the rose garden surrounded by thousands of fragrant blooms. At the far end of the flowerbeds Thorn swam about in the sunken pond, his wet scales reflecting the moonlight.

  ‘You mustn’t worry so much about what other people think, Isabella. Perhaps Lady Charlotte is just jealous because your dress is much prettier than hers. People often say nasty things when they are jealous.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Isabella’s spirits seemed to lift but just as quickly the scowl returned to her face. ‘It is very nice of you to say that, Cousin, but clothes are not really your speciality, are they? No offence, dear, but you dress like a twelve-year-old librarian.’

  ‘Oh . . . do I?’

  ‘And what if Lady Charlotte is right?’ said Isabella, staring down at her dress with growing suspicion. ‘I am an heiress; I cannot be seen in unfashionable gowns. No, it will not do. Any day now I am expecting a new shipment of dresses from Paris, but I shall cancel the order. If Peru is the new Paris, and pygmies are the new Dior, then who am I to argue?’

  ‘But Isabella, I don’t think you should –’

  The sound of Mrs Hammer’s heavy footsteps on the stone path made both girls turn around. They saw the old housekeeper racing down the terrace steps, panting madly, her cheeks puffed out like a blowfish.

  ‘It’s Cook! It’s Cook!’ she was shrieking. ‘He’s gone!’

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ snapped Isabella. ‘Gone where?’

  ‘One of the serving maids caught him fast asleep over the roast lamb and she poked him with a hot fork just like you told us to. Well, he was most upset, wasn’t he? Says it’s no wonder Sommerset has gone through ten cooks in as many months if you poke them like cattle. Then he was gone, just like that.’ Mrs Hammer began fanning her face with her apron. ‘Oh it’s a right mess, it is!’

  ‘But the dinner party isn’t over!’ bellowed Isabella, her face crumpling. ‘What about the main course? Oh, the duchess will never invite me to the Summer Ball now!’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ said Adele rather sensibly. ‘Let’s go back inside and figure out exactly what needs to be done. I’m quite sure we can finish preparing the main course without Cook’s help. It will be all right, Isabella – but we must hurry!’

  With no time to waste, Mrs Hammer and the girls raced back between the rows of moon-dappled roses and across the pavilion towards Sommerset House, and as they did Isabella’s panic only grew. The main meal was the duchess’s favourite dish – roast lamb with white beans and frogs’ legs (she was especially fond of frogs’ legs). Isabella was certain that if Her Grace left Sommerset with the sweet taste of frog in her mouth then she was sure to land an invitation to the Summer Ball. Now the sleepy one-eyed cook had ruined everything!

  ‘My life is over!’ cried Isabella when they reached the kitchen and saw first-hand the disastrous state of the main course – the white beans were overcooked, the lamb was cold and as for the frogs, well, not only were their legs still attached to their bodies; they were still very much alive!

  While Isabella sobbed and pummelled a watermelon with a meat cleaver in the corner, Adele took control, giving everyone a job to do. Mrs Hammer was charged with rescuing the lamb, Levi was given the task of cooking a fresh batch of white beans and Hannah Spoon was handed the most difficult job of all – killing the frogs and cooking their legs. Hannah was selected because she had grown up on a farm and would therefore presumably have had some experience killing perfectly innocent creatures for food. Despite protesting that she’d grown up on a turnip farm and had actually never killed an animal in her life, the poor girl was given a bowl of frogs and a knife and sent outside.

  Very quickly the kitchen came back to life, buzzing with frantic activity, and as it did Isabella felt the first ripple of hope wash over her. Perhaps the main course could be rescued after all.

  ‘You two young ladies best get back to the dining room,’ urged Mrs Hammer, basting the lamb with fresh olive oil and garlic, ‘before your guests come looking for you.’

  Leaving behind the bustling kitchen, Isabella and Adele raced through a maze of
long corridors and darkened rooms until at last they were back in the grand oval dining room.

  ‘Is there some sort of trouble in the kitchen?’ asked the duchess, pouncing as soon as the girls came through the door. ‘You have been gone quite a while and I thought I heard shouting.’

  ‘Shouting? Not at all, Duchess,’ replied Isabella, taking her seat at the table. ‘Adele and I were just checking on Cook’s progress and everything is wonderful. The lamb smells heavenly.’

  The duchess licked her tiny lips. ‘And the frogs’ legs?’

  ‘Utterly delicious,’ said Isabella. ‘It was all I could do not to gobble them up on the spot!’

  ‘How delightful!’ declared the duchess. ‘I do enjoy a good frog’s leg.’

  ‘Well, who doesn’t?’ cried Isabella with far too much enthusiasm. ‘There’s no tastier leg in all the world!’

  ‘Tasty indeed,’ mumbled Rosemary, looking doubtfully at her nieces. ‘Forgive me, girls, but I smell a rat. What is going on?’

  While Adele and Isabella were reassuring their aunt that all was well in the kitchen, Thorn wandered back through the grand arch, still dripping from his moonlight bath. He moved slowly across the dining room, his grey belly low to the ground, his thick claws rapping the wooden floor. Lady Charlotte watched the great beast with a mixture of fascination and fear as Thorn disappeared under the long dining table. She lifted the tablecloth and spied the reptile coming to rest at the foot of Isabella’s chair.

  ‘Charlotte,’ said the duchess sharply, ‘isn’t there something you wished to say to Isabella?’

  Lady Charlotte lifted her head and groaned dramatically. ‘Isabella,’ she said flatly, ‘Mother thinks that I may have offended you earlier.’ Then a satisfied glint sparked in her eyes. ‘And as usual Mother is quite right. It was awful of me to mention your unfashionable clothes and how very poor you were growing up. I do hope you are not too upset.’

  ‘Upset?’ Isabella waved the suggestion away. ‘I can’t even remember what it is you said, dear. You must understand, as a Winterbottom people are always chattering in my ear about this or that. It’s the price my cousins and I must pay for being the wealthiest children on the planet.’ She took a sip of water and sighed. ‘Sometimes I wish the whole world wasn’t so fascinated with me. I wish I were just . . . ordinary. Like you, dear.’

  A sour look (rather like she had just swallowed a lemon) consumed Lady Charlotte’s pink face, and for the first time that evening Isabella felt like her old self again.

  ‘There is a third cousin, is there not?’ asked the duchess, nodding towards Adele and Isabella. ‘Where, may I ask, is the boy?’

  There was an uncomfortable silence before Rosemary said, ‘Our Milo’s feeling a bit under the weather tonight. Tired out from too much gardening, I expect.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said the duchess carefully. ‘I recall reading in the newspaper that Milo is a rather reclusive child, rarely seen beyond the gates of Sommerset.’ She sniffed, looking down her nose at the Winterbottoms. ‘That cannot be healthy for a young boy.’

  ‘Milo is not reclusive, he is shy,’ said Adele defensively. ‘He prefers the company of flowers to people and what’s so wrong with that? The newspapers . . . to them he is just a headline: The World’s Richest Orphan.’ She felt a deep sadness wrap itself around her. ‘Milo is a good boy.’

  ‘Good as gold,’ whispered Aunt Rosemary, leaning over and resting a hand on Adele’s shoulder.

  ‘From what I read, his parents had a most tragic end,’ said the duchess, clearly not done with the subject of Milo Winterbottom.

  ‘Killed by a volcano,’ said Isabella helpfully. ‘My dear cousin witnessed the whole thing. When the volcano erupted Uncle Julius and Aunt Helena surfed a gigantic wave of lava across the deep blue sea.’

  ‘Extraordinary!’ said the duchess with a gasp.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ said Lady Charlotte, scowling. ‘Surfing a gigantic wave of lava? What a stupid way to die.’

  ‘Charlotte!’ said the duchess sternly.

  It was plain for all to see that Lady Charlotte resented the attention her mother was paying to that bleak chapter of Winterbottom family history. Naturally Isabella was thrilled! She took a noisy sip of lemon-flavoured iced tea and sighed. ‘The poor boy has been in a dark mood for months now. He eats like a sparrow and never has more than two words to say. Adele is terribly worried – aren’t you, Cousin? I’m sure it’s nothing too serious.’ She shrugged. ‘Milo is an orphan; it’s only natural that he would go about the place looking glum.’

  ‘Oh, look!’ shouted Rosemary, clapping her hands. ‘Here comes the main course at last!’ With everybody’s eyes drawn to the parade of under-butlers and serving maids entering the oval dining room carrying gleaming trays topped with ornate silver lids, Rosemary leaned over and whispered into her elder niece’s ear, ‘You had no business talking about Milo like that. It’s disrespectful and unbecoming of a Winterbottom. Now be a good girl and put a sock in it.’

  ‘How dare you!’ said Isabella, looking suitably offended. ‘I was simply making conversation.’

  ‘Horse poop!’ snapped Rosemary. ‘You were showing off to impress the duchess. It seems winning yourself an invitation to her silly Winter Ball means more to you than your own cousin.’

  ‘It’s a Summer Ball!’ hissed Isabella, her mouth reduced to a pinch. ‘And I was not showing off, you mean old carbuncle!’

  Very often you will hear people speak of great disasters or tragedies as occurring quickly and without warning. And so it was in the grand oval dining room on the night of Isabella Winterbottom’s most important dinner party.

  It happened like this –

  Under the watchful eye of Mrs Hammer, each dinner guest had placed before them a covered silver tray containing the main course. Beside each guest stood an under-butler wearing black tails and white gloves, each with a hand poised over the lid’s ornate tulip-shaped handle, waiting for Mrs Hammer to give the word.

  The duchess smiled approvingly at Isabella. The table looked magnificent – the eighteenth-century silverware, the rare Egyptian punchbowl, the glassware washed with orange and blue light from the dozens of candles, the vases bursting with yellow tulips. Everything was as it should be for such a grand occasion.

  With a brisk nod of her head Mrs Hammer gave the signal and the under-butlers moved in unison, lifting the silver lids. Isabella closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Please let this meal be utterly, deliciously perfect.

  The guests gazed down at their plates, taking in the roasted lamb, tender and steaming, the artfully arranged white beans, smooth and plump, and the frog . . . croaking rather aggressively . . . green skin slick and wet . . . back legs shifting from side to side, muscles tensed . . . poised . . .

  Lady Charlotte let out a deafening scream and jumped back, knocking her chair to the ground. ‘Frog!’ she bellowed, pointing at the slimy green creature with the red tongue sitting on a bed of beans. ‘It’s alive!’

  The duchess’s frog was both the largest of the group and the first to leap. Just as Her Grace began to screech the frog lunged with tremendous gusto, landing on her priceless pink diamond. It then proceeded to climb rapidly up her plump neck in the general direction of her face. In a perfectly reasonable reaction the duchess shot into the air and began slapping furiously at the frog. Tragically, every time she tried to hit the slimy creature it leaped agilely to another area of her face.

  Soon all of the frogs had bounded to freedom, navigating the many hazards on the Sommerset dining table. Rosemary and Isabella rushed to help the duchess while Adele hurried around the long table to calm Lady Charlotte, who was shrieking like a train whistle. Meanwhile the under-butlers and maids raced about the room with ornate silver lids, trying to catch the fugitive frogs.

  Just as Isabella and Rosemary reached the duchess the hysterical woman pointed madly at the frog which had now taken residence over her left eye and roared, ‘Get a shotgun and shoot the thing! It’s tr
ying to eat my face!’

  Very calmly Rosemary reached out, cupped the frog in her hand and pulled it from the duchess’s face. ‘Much easier than shooting it, don’t you think, Duchess?’

  Unfortunately, due to the flailing of her arms and the insane look in her eyes, Thorn had already mistaken the duchess for a wild animal. With swift and brutal efficiency the beast’s enormous mouth engulfed the lower half of the duchess’s gown and, in an attempt to bring her to the ground, he pulled back with all of his strength. Her Grace, the Duchess of Casale, suddenly found herself spinning through the air. From across the room Lady Charlotte saw her mother rotating like a chicken on a spit and leaped bravely across the table. ‘I’m coming, Mother!’

  Poor Lady Charlotte didn’t realise before it was too late that lunging at her spinning mother was a miserable idea. One of the duchess’s legs clipped her and the girl was airborne before she knew what had hit her – flung across the table and landing head first in the Egyptian punchbowl.

  Meanwhile her mother came to an abrupt stop, hitting the ground with a thump and rolling across the floor, taking the Persian rug with her. Before Thorn had a chance to finish her off, Isabella called him to heel and the beast crawled back under the table and promptly fell asleep.

  It will not surprise you to learn that the duchess and her daughter left the dinner party early. In fact they raced for the door the moment Lady Charlotte clambered off the table, her crown of auburn hair drooping awkwardly to one side, having soaked up several litres of fruit punch.

  ‘Ghastly, horrible, stupid people!’ the young girl shrieked, stomping towards the front door. ‘You’ll pay for this, Isabella Winterbottom!’