Free Death of an English Muffin by Victoria Hamilton Page B

vulnerable.
Nasty
woman! I’d have to get rid of her somehow.

Chapter Six

    F OR THE NEXT couple days I listened to various people butcher opera as they tried out the acoustics in the great hall. I also solved the mystery of Cleta’s missing knickers, salted sugar, and various other indignities that had been visited upon her. It was actually a joint operation by Juniper and Lizzie, who despised the woman for her behavior, especially toward Hannah, who had become kind of a saint to Lizzie. Hannah had provided Lizzie with books she actually enjoyed reading, specifically
Uglies
by Scott Westerfeld. My young friend had devoured the whole series and it had led to her binge-reading other young adult series and raising her English grade at school by several points over the winter.
    But I made Juniper, who did most of the laundry, return the knickers to Miss Sanson’s room and threatened Lizzie that if she ever did anything like salting the sugar again, I’d make her apologize publicly to Miss Sanson, a fate worse than death. The tricks and machinations stopped.
    I ran from place to place, as usual, delivering muffins,and I put up with Cleta, who complained about Autumn Vale, the castle, and everyone in it. Finally, I had a stern talk with her. She said how sorry she was to have caused so much
bother
, but her tone was snarky, and I assumed she was unrepentant. She did behave better when it was just her and her friends, who were jaded and capable of ignoring her. Except she appeared to take delight in bullying Patsy Schwartz. I wasn’t sure why.
    Lush was tearful and apologetic when I spoke with her about her friend. Cleta’s awfulness was not her fault, but when I tried once more to broach the subject of Cleta leaving summarily, I was met at the pass and turned around. The Englishwoman was, for the time being, staying. I couldn’t face Lush’s tears. It didn’t make a scrap of sense to me why my kicking Cleta out upset Lush so badly, except Lush seemed to be the only one immune to Cleta’s cruelty.
    *   *   *
    The day of the opera performance arrived. It was mid-May, a day faintly perfumed by the few blossoms on the lilac bushes I had planted around the castle in fall of last year. Gordy and Zeke had followed Pish’s orders as to what to put where in the great hall, so it was draped, the lighting was set, and the chairs were in place facing the staircase. Finally the performers arrived. The parlor had become a makeshift dressing room for hair, makeup, and costuming, some of which I took care of.
    Janice was wearing a wig and elaborate headpiece for her Queen of the Night part; she had attended enough costume parties that she was competent to put it on herself. Though I am not a makeup artist, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, so I finished her dramatic look: black eyeliner and green shadow, very red full lips. The effect was perfect and she looked appropriately majestic. Pish has done amateur theatrics his whole life and was able to help many morewith hair, makeup, and wardrobe, including Stoddart, who needed spirit gum and a fake beard for his role.
    Lizzie looked miserable, Alcina excited, and Hannah serene—an illusion, I would have bet. Shilo clung to Jack, and Sonora Silva was off on her own, trilling and cooing a few of the notes from her part as the lovely Pamina. The whole castle was a pandemonium of energy, nerves and action, shouts about missing costume pieces, the occasional fit of weeping and a few raised voices.
    Set decoration in the great hall was sparse, to say the least, effects mostly created by draperies and a giant hanging sun, as well as a matching quarter moon. After consulting with Barbara and Lush, who both had an interest in theater, Pish had made the sun and moon out in the garage on the property using chicken wire and papier-mâché. The draperies served as representations of the elements, so orange and red for fire, blue and green for water, and so on. Hannah’s mother had whipped