wonder if we've any sherry? He likes it dry, I seem to remember.'
'There's some of the Tio Pepe left that Isobel gave us,' Agnes reminded her, relieved to see how much happier Dorothy seemed now that Eileen was forgotten.
'Perfect,' replied Dorothy, folding up the map. 'What should we do without our friends?'
A few days after Violet's visit to the vicarage, Charles Henstock made his way down the High Street to call upon the Misses Lovelock, and Bertha in particular. His heart was heavy. This was one of those duties which had to be undertaken, but it filled him with foreboding. However, he had promised Violet that he would have a word with her sister, and so it must be done.
Violet opened the door to him; her expression of joy and relief as she greeted him was more than compensation for the good rector's endeavours.
'Ada is shopping,' said Violet, 'and Bertha is in bed, not too well. I will lead the way.'
Charles followed Violet's bony legs upstairs and along a dark landing to a bedroom overlooking Lulling High Street.
'I've brought you a visitor, Bertha,' said Violet.
'Well, what a nice surprise,' replied Bertha, removing a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. 'How kind of you to call, Charles.'
She extended a fragile hand. It felt almost like a bird's claw as Charles held it in his own plump one.
'Would you like coffee?' enquired Violet.
'Not for me,' said Bertha.
'Not for me, many thanks,' smiled Charles.
He was aware of Violet's agitation by the unusual flush which now suffused her face and neck, but he could not help admiring the aplomb with which she was carrying out her duties as hostess.
'Then I shall leave you to talk,' she said. 'If you will excuse me, I will go back to my kitchen affairs.'
She closed the door, and Charles had a chance to look about the room as Bertha busily folded up the newspaper she had been perusing. It certainly was uncomfortably crowded, and Charles recognized one or two pieces of furniture which had once had their place in the drawing-room downstairs.
A glass-fronted china cabinet was squashed between the dressing-table and wardrobe. It appeared to be crammed with exquisite porcelain, and on top stood a heavy silver rose-bowl which Charles knew had once been presented to the sisters' father.
More silver pieces were lodged on top of the mahogany wardrobe: Charles could see mugs, salvers, wine coasters, jugs and at least three silver teapots. A little Sheraton sofa table, another exile from the drawing-room, stood by Bertha's bed, and this too carried a host of miniature silverware. Charles recognized a dolls' teaset, a miniature coach-and-four, and a windmill.
There was certainly something very odd happening in this house, and Charles felt a shiver of apprehension. Here, he knew, was madness—madness of a mild kind, no doubt, but something strange, sad and ominous.
'And how is dear Dimity?' enquired Bertha.
'Very well, thank you, and sends her love.'
Bertha inclined her head graciously. She seemed to be completely in charge of herself, but Charles noticed that the bony hands which smoothed her bed-covers were quivering.
He decided to broach his painful duty. 'I see you have had some things transferred from downstairs.'
'I like to have pretty things around me.'
'But don't your sisters miss them?'
Bertha looked at him sharply. 'They are not their property. And in any case, they can see them when they come up here.'
Charles decided on another approach.
'But don't you find they get in the way? It must be quite difficult to move around with so much in here.'
'I can manage,' she snapped.
Silence fell. A car hooted in the street below, a baby wailed, and a dog barked. The life of Lulling continued as usual outside in the fresh air, and Charles became aware of the stuffiness of this cluttered bedroom.
'I want the things here,' said Bertha at last. 'Ada and Violet don't appreciate them, and never have. I've taken them into my care, and I intend to see Justin Venables about
'There's some of the Tio Pepe left that Isobel gave us,' Agnes reminded her, relieved to see how much happier Dorothy seemed now that Eileen was forgotten.
'Perfect,' replied Dorothy, folding up the map. 'What should we do without our friends?'
A few days after Violet's visit to the vicarage, Charles Henstock made his way down the High Street to call upon the Misses Lovelock, and Bertha in particular. His heart was heavy. This was one of those duties which had to be undertaken, but it filled him with foreboding. However, he had promised Violet that he would have a word with her sister, and so it must be done.
Violet opened the door to him; her expression of joy and relief as she greeted him was more than compensation for the good rector's endeavours.
'Ada is shopping,' said Violet, 'and Bertha is in bed, not too well. I will lead the way.'
Charles followed Violet's bony legs upstairs and along a dark landing to a bedroom overlooking Lulling High Street.
'I've brought you a visitor, Bertha,' said Violet.
'Well, what a nice surprise,' replied Bertha, removing a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. 'How kind of you to call, Charles.'
She extended a fragile hand. It felt almost like a bird's claw as Charles held it in his own plump one.
'Would you like coffee?' enquired Violet.
'Not for me,' said Bertha.
'Not for me, many thanks,' smiled Charles.
He was aware of Violet's agitation by the unusual flush which now suffused her face and neck, but he could not help admiring the aplomb with which she was carrying out her duties as hostess.
'Then I shall leave you to talk,' she said. 'If you will excuse me, I will go back to my kitchen affairs.'
She closed the door, and Charles had a chance to look about the room as Bertha busily folded up the newspaper she had been perusing. It certainly was uncomfortably crowded, and Charles recognized one or two pieces of furniture which had once had their place in the drawing-room downstairs.
A glass-fronted china cabinet was squashed between the dressing-table and wardrobe. It appeared to be crammed with exquisite porcelain, and on top stood a heavy silver rose-bowl which Charles knew had once been presented to the sisters' father.
More silver pieces were lodged on top of the mahogany wardrobe: Charles could see mugs, salvers, wine coasters, jugs and at least three silver teapots. A little Sheraton sofa table, another exile from the drawing-room, stood by Bertha's bed, and this too carried a host of miniature silverware. Charles recognized a dolls' teaset, a miniature coach-and-four, and a windmill.
There was certainly something very odd happening in this house, and Charles felt a shiver of apprehension. Here, he knew, was madness—madness of a mild kind, no doubt, but something strange, sad and ominous.
'And how is dear Dimity?' enquired Bertha.
'Very well, thank you, and sends her love.'
Bertha inclined her head graciously. She seemed to be completely in charge of herself, but Charles noticed that the bony hands which smoothed her bed-covers were quivering.
He decided to broach his painful duty. 'I see you have had some things transferred from downstairs.'
'I like to have pretty things around me.'
'But don't your sisters miss them?'
Bertha looked at him sharply. 'They are not their property. And in any case, they can see them when they come up here.'
Charles decided on another approach.
'But don't you find they get in the way? It must be quite difficult to move around with so much in here.'
'I can manage,' she snapped.
Silence fell. A car hooted in the street below, a baby wailed, and a dog barked. The life of Lulling continued as usual outside in the fresh air, and Charles became aware of the stuffiness of this cluttered bedroom.
'I want the things here,' said Bertha at last. 'Ada and Violet don't appreciate them, and never have. I've taken them into my care, and I intend to see Justin Venables about
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