Free Auntie Mayhem by Mary Daheim

sometimes things get a bit out of hand. Drink, you know. And other things.”
    â€œWhat’s the premise?” Renie inquired, no doubt to make amends for her earlier attitude. “Besides get high, I mean.”
    Claire was looking very serious. “The entire festival has an Elizabethan theme. There’s always a short play, usually based on an historical incident. They give readings, too, from writers of the period—Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Sir Philip Sidney. And music and food and fortune telling and games. It’s all based on the last half of the sixteenth century. Oh, the men dress up as women, and vice versa.”
    Judith arched her eyebrows. “A cross-dressing festival? How…interesting.”
    â€œNot really,” Claire said without enthusiasm. “Sir Lionel—the original builder—was caught wearing Queen Elizabeth’s wig and one of her court dresses, farthingale and all. The Queen was furious. She dismissed Sir Lionel and sent him packing. Back here where the house was a-building. It seemed he’d never be able to complete the project. But Elizabeth died a short time later. King James I came to the throne. He found Sir Lionel very amusing. So the King reinstated him at court. Of course James had some rather extraordinary ideas about…amusements.”
    The King’s alternative lifestyle was forgotten as Claire opened the door at the far end of the gallery. “This is our hideaway,” she said, a trifle embarrassed. “Especially when the twins visit Auntie.”
    The homely room struck a familiar chord. While some of the furniture was old and possibly valuable, the rest included a two-piece sectional sofa, a recliner, a coffee table, and a stack of TV trays. The carpeting was a serviceable wall-to-wall shag, and the only art featured dinosaurs drawn by the twins. The large-screen television, the elaborate stereo setup, and the VCR all had been imported from Japan. The room was just like home.
    â€œYou can’t have children—especially boys—playing Power Rangers in the drawing room,” Claire explained. “The back stairs from the kitchen and the servants’ hall come up through the nursery wing and end here. It’s very convenient.”
    Reflecting on the layout, Judith nodded. “We have our living quarters on the third floor. You could convert all of this and use the gallery as a combination living and dining room without spoiling it too much.”
    Claire seemed dubious. “It’s a great deal of space. I doubt that Charles and I would actually live here. He prefers London, if only because—” At a sound from the far end of the gallery, she gave a start, then turned quickly.
    It was Dora, teetering outside Aunt Pet’s suite. “Oh, Mrs. Charles!” the maid cried, her thin voice echoing off the artworks. “Please! I’m all undone!”
    Claire hurried to intercept the elderly servant. Renie grabbed Judith’s arm. “I don’t smell smoke. Do you suppose she misplaced her matches?”
    Disengaging herself, Judith gave Renie a withering look, then hurried after Claire. Reluctantly, Renie followed, too.
    â€œWhat is it, Dora?” Claire inquired. “Has Auntie had a spell?”
    But Dora shook her head, the wisps of gray hair falling limply around her wrinkled face. “It’s angry she is, and all because Cook’s out of biscuits.”
    Claire frowned. “Auntie’s not supposed to eat biscuits. Dr. Ramsey has forbidden sweets.”
    Dora’s faded brown eyes widened. “As if I didn’t know, Mrs. Charles! But your aunt will have her way. If it’s biscuits she wants, it’s biscuits she’ll have, mark my words! Why, she says I must be off to the village to fetch the sort with sugar sprinkles!”
    The shapeless gray dress that hung on Dora’s frail frame seemed to be held up by a starched white apron. The maid’s tiny