Chapter Eleven
What have I gotten myself into? I’m used to parenting a moderately challenging but basically well-behaved child, not the spawn of Satan. I can’t reason with Oscar and Amanda, and if I lock them in their room, they’ll probably chew their way out.
‘Well, I’m sure you got some nice presents from Father Christmas.’ Although they deserve a lump of coal. ‘Why don’t you play with those?’
‘I’m bored!’
‘Me too.’
‘Great, then you can come upstairs with me and clean the bathrooms. Shall I get you some rubber gloves?’
They run together into the parlour.
Sometimes reverse psychology does work.
I go into Prunella’s room first. It’s a tip. There are towels strewn all over the bed and the duvet has been pulled on to the floor. I wonder if that’s where she makes Hugo sleep, in a little nest at the foot of the bed.
One end of the rug is covered in talcum powder and there are ring marks on the side tables where they haven’t bothered to use the coasters. It’s probably good that they usually go away for expensive holidays. At least then the hotel owners can use some of the money to fix what they’ve ruined during their stay.
I tidy up as best as I can, take a deep breath and move on to Rupert’s room. Lord only knows what I’ll find there.
But it doesn’t even look like he’s staying in the room. The bed is perfectly made. There isn’t one personal item in sight. Does he levitate over the mattress, or sleep in the wardrobe, perhaps hanging upside down from the clothes rail?
The only clue that he’s been there is that the bed is much neater than I managed to make it yesterday. Hats off to Rupert. He wins my vote for guest of the year.
The duvets are also pulled over the mattresses in the twins’ room.
They may have the manners of the girls at St Trinian’s, but at least the twins tried to make their beds, as slapdash as it is.
Smiling to myself, I whip back the first duvet to straighten it.
I smell bed-wetters.
This is literally a cover-up.
Mabel went through a short phase after my parents died, where nightly accidents became an issue, but, luckily, she stopped as suddenly as she started, and we haven’t had to worry about it since.
I should be furious about Aunt Kate’s wee-stained mattresses, but my heart goes out to the twins. They didn’t do it on purpose.
Unlike the cat.
I find their sodden pyjamas balled up under one of the beds. I can wash and dry them and get them back to their room in time for bed. But the mattresses need cleaning.
After a lot of scrubbing, I’m just drying the second mattress with my hairdryer when I hear everyone coming back. They sound like they’re in high spirits.
‘Did you all have a good time?’ I ask, watching Danny’s expression for signs of a struggle.
‘It was very nice,’ he says. ‘Look what Mabel found.’
She holds out a long feather. ‘It’s a peasant feather!’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say. ‘I think you mean pheasant.’
She looks at Danny for confirmation. ‘Pheasant,’ she says. ‘And we saw a live one too in the field.’
‘I’m glad you had fun, but I’m glad you’re back too. I missed you.’ I hug her close.
‘I’ll just put lunch on,’ Danny says.
‘And how about some of that cocktail too?’ Hugo asks. ‘After all, it is a holiday, and nearly past noon. How were the children?’
‘Oh, they were fine. I hardly even noticed them here,’ I say.
‘Where are they?’
I look around. That’s a good question.
‘They’re off playing,’ I say. ‘Would you like a cup of tea to warm up? The parlour is toasty with the fire going.’
Once I get the adults safely into the parlour, I go looking for the children that I seem to have misplaced.
‘Oscar, Amanda!’ I whisper.
I check upstairs, behind all the curtains and under the beds.
‘Are you playing hide and seek?’
I look in each cabinet and closet.
‘Where are you, you little brats?!’
I get back downstairs to the kitchen just in time to see Danny cutting up the last bit of beef.
‘What are you doing?!’
There’s a huge mound of cubed beef on the chopping board.
‘Just getting the meat ready for the stew. What are you doing?’
‘I’m trying to find those flippin’ children. Do you realise you’ve just cut up a Chateaubriand?’
‘Are you speaking English?’
‘It’s supposed to be cooked whole and sliced at the table for everyone. Not used for stewing beef.’
That meat cost me nearly sixty quid. I glare at him. ‘You don’t really know how to cook, do you?’
‘I thought that would have been obvious from yesterday.’
‘Then why accept a job cooking?’ I say, flinging open each of the cabinets, just in case there’s a child wedged in there.
‘You know why,’ he mutters. ‘And you would have done exactly the same thing.’
He’s right. Of course he’s right. If Mabel lived on the other side of the world, I’d do anything to see her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s not like I could cook any of these ingredients either. I’ve just eaten out at nice restaurants in London, so I thought a few fancy meals would impress Rupert. I am really sorry.’
Suddenly it’s really important for him to say that it’s okay, that he forgives me.
‘Lottie, I live on fry-ups and takeaways. If it’s not Chinese, Indian or fish and chips, I haven’t had much experience with it. So, I’m sorry. I should have told you I couldn’t really cook.’
‘Do you really know how to make a stew, or was this another salmon-in-salmon Danny special?’
He flinches. ‘I think Mum used to put a bunch of meat and veg into a pot of water and boil it for a few hours. That should work, right?’
‘Like I would know! While I go look for the twins, see if you can get a recipe off the internet.’
The twins aren’t in the fridge either.
I’m starting to panic.
When I get back to the parlour, everyone is in the same position as yesterday. How quickly we find our routines, even when we’re away.
‘It is a lovely day,’ I say, walking to each of the windows and pulling back the curtains.
No twins fall out.
‘Would anyone like another board game? We’ve got lots here.’
I fling open the cabinet at the side of the bookshelves. No children.
‘Hugo, see if the twins are hungry,’ says Prunella. ‘If they are, the cook can make them lunch early.’
Hugo rises, draining his glass. ‘Lottie, are the twins in the conservatory?’
‘Um, they must be.’
I hurry after him.
Of course, they’ll be in the conservatory. It’s the sunniest room in the house and it’s probably where Mingus is trying to snatch some peace and quiet. Besides, it seems to be his life goal to leave his fur on all the soft furnishings. He wouldn’t want to miss out the sofas there.
I’m right about Mingus, at least. He’s curled up on the back of one of the sofas.
‘Hmm, where are they?’ Hugh says. ‘Lottie?’
I look all around, as if he’s overlooked his own children.
‘I’m afraid I don’t exactly know.’
His eyes widen. ‘You don’t know? You don’t know where my children are? They could be anywhere in the house?’ His voice rises. ‘Anywhere in the wood, for that matter? Or playing beside the road? Prunella!’ he bellows.
Rupert marches into the conservatory a minute later. ‘Must you shout, Hugo? What is it?’
‘She’s lost the children.’
Rupert looks confused. ‘Lost them?’
‘I haven’t exactly lost them, Rupert. I just don’t have them to hand right this second. I think they’re hiding. They’ve got to be here somewhere, right?’
That sends them both off shouting for Oscar and Amanda. They stomp through all the rooms I’ve just looked in. By the time we all get back to the parlour, I’m nearly as panicked as they are.
But Prunella hasn’t left the sofa. ‘They must be here somewhere, Hugo. You know how they like to hide.’
‘Prunella, you’re worse than a cat when it comes to those children. Could you please at least try to care that they’re missing? God, they might have been snatched. Were all the doors locked?’ he asks me.
‘I… I don’t—’
Mabel has been watching this exchange with interest.
‘They’re probably in the dungeon,’ she says.
‘What dungeon, sugarpea?’
‘Downstairs. I don’t like it down there. I saw a spider.’
Her words send us all scrambling for the back stairs. We can hear the twins as soon as I open the door.
‘Where’s the light?’ Hugo asks. ‘I’m coming, darlings, I’m coming!’
Amanda and Oscar rush through the coal cellar door as soon as I open it. Their faces are black with ancient coal dust, except for teary streaks down their cheeks.
‘We got locked in!’ Amanda says, hugging her dad.
‘It’s pitch black in there, and cold,’ adds Oscar. ‘I thought the cat might be hiding in there.’
Rupert flicks the old-fashioned iron door latch up and down. ‘You really should padlock this,’ he says. ‘It latches shut whenever the door is pulled closed.’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think the children would go in there. I’ll have Danny put a lock on it so it doesn’t happen again. Oscar, Amanda, why don’t we go upstairs by the fire so you can warm up? I’ll draw your baths.’
The idea of bathing is clearly more upsetting than being locked in the coal cellar. Amanda’s lip quivers.
‘If you give me their clothes when they’ve changed,’ I say to Hugo, ‘I’ll wash and dry them for you. Again, I really am sorry.’
I can feel Aunt Kate’s rating slipping further from my grasp.