Free House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

Charmain would be forced to go. And there would be an end to peace and freedom.
    Charmain jumped to her feet and smiled terrifically, so broadly and welcomingly that she thought she might have sprained her face. “Oh, hallo !” she said. “I didn’t hear the door.”
    “You never do,” said Aunt Sempronia.
    Mrs. Baker peered at Charmain, full of anxiety. “Are you all right, my love? Quite all right? Why haven’t you put your hair up properly?”
    “I like it like this,” Charmain said, shuffling across so that she was between the two ladies and the kitchen door. “Don’t you think it suits me, Aunt Sempronia?”
    Aunt Sempronia leaned on her parasol and looked at her judiciously. “Yes,” she said. “It does. It makes you look younger and plumper. Is that how you want to look?”
    “Yes, it is,” Charmain said defiantly.
    Mrs. Baker sighed. “Darling, I wish you wouldn’t talk in that bold way. People don’t like it, you know. But I’m very glad to see you looking so well. I lay awake half the night listening to the rain and hoping that the roof on this house didn’t leak.”
    “It doesn’t leak,” Charmain said.
    “Or fearing that you might have left a window open,” added her mother.
    Charmain shuddered. “No, I shut the window,” she said, and immediately felt sure that Peter was at that moment opening the window onto the lubbock’s meadow. “You really have nothing to worry about, Mother,” she lied.
    “Well, to tell the truth, I was a little worried,” Mrs. Baker said. “Your first time away from the nest, you know. I spoke to your father about it. He said you might not be managing to feed yourself properly.” She held up the bulging embroidered bag she was carrying. “He packed you some more food in this. I’ll just go and put it in the kitchen for you, shall I?” she asked, and pushed past Charmain toward the inner door.
    No! Help! Charmain thought. She took hold of the embroidered bag in what she hoped was a most gentle, civilized way, rather than the grab for it that she would have liked to make, and said, “You needn’t bother, Mother. I’ll take it in a moment and fetch the other one for you—”
    “Oh why? It’s no trouble, my love,” her mother protested, hanging on to the bag.
    “—because I’ve got a surprise for you first,” Charmain said hurriedly. “You go and sit down. That sofa’s very comfortable, Mother.” And it has its back to this door. “ Do take a seat, Aunt Sempronia—”
    “But it won’t take me a moment,” Mrs. Baker said. “If I leave it on the kitchen table where you can find it—”
    Charmain waved her free hand. Her other hand was hanging on to the bag for dear life. “Great-Uncle William!” she cried out. “Morning coffee! Please!”
    To her enormous relief, Great-Uncle William’s kind voice replied, “Tap the trolley in the corner, my dear, and say ‘Morning Coffee.’”
    Mrs. Baker gasped with amazement and looked round to see where the voice was coming from. Aunt Sempronia looked interested, looked quizzical, and went over to give the trolley a smart rap with her parasol. “Morning Coffee?” she said.
    Instantly the room filled with a warm smell of coffee. A tall silver coffee pot stood on the trolley, steaming, together with tiny gilded cups, a gilded cream jug, a silver sugar boat, and a plate of little sugary cakes. Mrs. Baker was so astonished that she let go of the embroidered bag. Charmain put it quickly behind the nearest armchair.
    “Very elegant magic,” Aunt Sempronia said. “Berenice, come and sit down here and let Charmain wheel the trolley over beside this sofa.”
    Mrs. Baker obeyed, looking dazed, and to Charmain’s acute relief, the visit started to turn into an elegant, respectable coffee morning. Aunt Sempronia poured coffee, while Charmain handed round the sugary cakes. Charmain was standing facing the kitchen door, holding the plate out to Aunt Sempronia, when the door swung open and Waif ’shuge