“Have you ever seen a ghost?” I ask him.
“No, little girl, I haven’t.” He peers down at me. “But I’ve witnessed some horrible things in my life. Musical Theatre! Frightened the buggery out of me.”
The twins stare at me with their inquisitive eyes, a thin smirk spreading across their lips, like a line in the sand drawn with a stick.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello,” they reply together.
Mr Hazard waggles a finger at Goliath, “I tell you, anyone breaking into song for no god damn good reason should be shot!”
“That’s a little harsh, Rufus,” Mrs Pigwittle chirps.
“It’s not harsh enough, I tell you. I’d flog them before I shot them!”
I stare at the gentleman with the bright yellow hair. He has ink-black eyes.
“My name is John Loveheart,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Mr Loveheart. My name is Mirror and this is Goliath, my guardian.”
“Indeed,” he replies.
Mr Hazard interjects. “Loveheart. What’s your opinion on Musical Theatre?”
“I believe your idea about flogging is an excellent one.”
“Good man. Glad to see there is someone of a sound mind in the room.”
“Are you a spiritualist?” Goliath asks.
Mr Loveheart replies, “No, not at all, but my employer is interested in such matters. Or should I say, he is interested in people with peculiar talents.”
“And who is your employer, if I may ask?”
“A man I’m sure you’ll meet very soon.”
The twins say in unison, “He’s a very bad man, a very bad man.”
Mr Loveheart’s eyes suddenly fix upon me. “And what sort of creature are you, little lady?”
The twins reply, “He thinks you are very interesting.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say. He looks like something from a fairy tale. A prince of some sort. But something has happened to him, something wrong.
A spicy tomato soup is served with bread and butter. I sit opposite the stony faced twins, who slurp their soup in delicate, cat-like licks. Mr Hazard points out a shamanic cloak hanging from the wall, with feathers and bells, which is next to a skin drum painted with a red snake upon it. They are beautiful things. I think it is sad that they are hanging on a wall. Mr Hazard, who is keen to impress the young ladies, blathers on at some length about his recent tour of the Americas, and the variety of poisons used on arrow tips to paralyze enemies.
Mr Hazard’s eyes are clearly wandering towards the two young ladies, who are both barely of marriage age.
“Fine pair those two,” he mutters under his breath. Florence Pigwittle turns her attention towards Goliath. “I read your letter, Mr Honey-Flower, with great interest. And I will endeavour to see if I can help your ward in any way that I can. The spirit world may have a message for her.”
Goliath nods with appreciation.
The twins chirp together, “Oh, Mr Hazard, you can’t make up your mind which one of us you prefer.”
Mr Hazard smiles, a little embarrassed, and goes on to explain about his meeting with a medicine woman who regularly drank blood and who had tried to eat him.
“Rufus, I beg you, you are putting me right off the tomato soup!” Mrs Pigwittle tuts.
“My apologies, but I feel I must finish this story. I escaped from that woman’s clutches by wielding the stuffed human foot she kept as a weapon.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Rufus!” the hostess gasps.
Dinner is roasted duck, potatoes, cabbage and beetroots. I lick my fingers of delicious duck fat. Our host tells us ghost stories during the main course while we gobble down the duck. There have been sightings of no less than three ghosts in the house. Mrs Pigwittle’s dear mother, Prunella Pigwittle, her cat, Mr Fudge, and a disgruntled servant who had accidentally fallen off the roof.
Mr Loveheart’s eyes wander while the stories are told, over the shamanic cloak and then onto me. Eyes like black holes. Eyes of a blackbird. On the other side of the table Mr Hazard is still trying his best to impress the young mind-reading twins with a tale of how he narrowly escaped an enormous crocodile by hiding in a swamp for two days.
Mr Loveheart suddenly speaks. “Let’s play a little game.” His voice is like tiny bells. A delicate warning.
Florence twitters, “Oh, I love games.”
“Let’s test the twins,” Mr Loveheart continues, “let them tell us all our favourite food.”
Heads nod and Mrs Pigwittle claps her hands excitedly. “Come on girls, we will all think of our favourite foods and see if you can guess.”
Clarissa and Sophia stare at the hostess. “Marzipan squares.”
“Yes, yes,” she cries.
Their eyes dance to Mr Hazard. “Roast beef, bloody.”
Mr Hazard bows his head in appreciation. They look upon Goliath. “Apple pie and custard.”
Goliath looks nervous. They turn towards me, faces like a pair of birds, eyes small and sharp. “Chocolate bonbons.” I clap my hands. And then they turn all the way round to look at Mr Loveheart. “Jam tarts.”