We stay with her for an hour and she tells us about her life as a Shakespearean actress in London. Her most memorable role was as Queen Titania playing opposite a drunk Oberon who fell off the stage and was carried back on by the fairies. Improvisation, she says, is the key to great acting.
We wave goodbye and make our way along the long winding path to the Beetle Estate, the bees swarming over a great heap of crimson roses that grow in a mass by the lakeside. Boo Boo tries to pull some out and cuts her hands on the thorns, examining the blood curiously and then licking it. There is a rustling from the bushes, the roses waggle about and Mr Loveheart appears, grinning, thankfully not holding a head. He is dressed this time in peacock blue. His hair is sticking up on end rather messily.
“Hello again. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Mr Loveheart,” he says.
“My name is Pedrock and this is my sister Boo Boo.”
Boo Boo steps forward and shakes his hand. “You are the funny man with the head.”
“Yes, I am,” and he bows very low, winking at my sister. Then we hear a shotgun go off and men shouting, “COME BACK HERE, YOU LUNATIC!”
“If you’ll excuse me, some locals are trying to shoot me,” and he scampers off back into the bushes.
“Goodbye. Nice to have met you,” I call out.
“I like him,” says Boo Boo.
The Beetle residence is a grand, cream-coloured house with a very tidy lawn that stretches to the rim of the lake. It is serene, if a little characterless. The manservant escorts us to the garden where Lady Beetle sits under a large, pink, lacy parasol, writing what appear to be invitations. The manservant introduces us and Lady Beetle looks up from under her parasol, inspecting us. She has dark little eyes and is quite pretty. She hands me an envelope.
“Please give this to your Uncle. We’re having a little party next Saturday. It saves me the trouble of posting it.”
Guardian the dog cocks a leg at the back of her chair. Mercifully she doesn’t see him.
“Thank you,” I respond, keeping a firm eye on Guardian.
She seems a little inconvenienced at our presence and sighs rather affectedly. “I am rather busy today, children, and my son Horatio has been sent to Cambridge to visit my sister. He will be back for the party and I am sure you will meet him then.” She turns her eyes away from us and continues writing her invitations. “I am sure,” she says without glancing at us, “that you can see yourselves out.”
And so we do.
The walk to the Professor’s house is through deep woods, the light from the sun almost blanketed by the thickness of the trees which cover our heads. The air is cool and eerie. Guardian chases a rabbit through the undergrowth, wagging his tail happily. Boo Boo picks forget-me-nots and makes a chain and puts them wonky in her hair. Finally, we come upon the house, which is a crumbling medieval keep with a tower, surrounded by a moat with a little wooden bridge.
“The wizard lives here,” says Boo Boo. She points a finger at the tower.
We cross the bridge and walk into a courtyard where a gentleman with white hair and gloves stands. He is pacing up and down, smoking a pipe. Seeing us, he stops suddenly and moves towards us. “Can I help you?”
Guardian growls softly and places himself in front of Boo Boo.
“Are you the Professor?” I ask.
“No, I am an associate of his. My name is Icarus Hookeye. And your dog doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“Oh. I think you are having dinner with my Uncle tonight.”
“Grubweed? Yes, I have some business with him.” He eyes me coolly.
“We have come to introduce ourselves to the Professor.”
“It won’t be possible to see him today. As you can see, I have been waiting for some time.”
He sounds irritated.
I don’t know what else to say to him so we leave and he watches us go. As we cross the bridge Boo Boo points again at the tower and I see the face of a man peering down at us from the upper most window, partially obscured by shadow.
The forest vegetation is thick about our ankles, suffocating the sunlight. Custard yellow toadstools ripen amidst a mass of furry, greenish moss. Creepy crawlies spy on us from the knots in trees, those hidden and secret spaces. Watching us, antennas twitching.
We are under insect surveillance.
Icarus Hookeye comes for dinner
When Icarus Hookeye arrives the moon has risen and is hanging like a mirror in the black velvet of the night sky. Uncle Philip greets him with a firm handshake and escorts him into the dining room where Mrs Treacle’s rabbit pies sit steaming alongside heaps of buttered mash potatoes and a shredded cabbage.
“First dinner, and then business,” says Uncle Grubweed. He spoons an excessively generous portion of mash onto his plate while Sally the maid pours red wine into the gentlemen’s glasses.
“And where is Mrs Grubweed?” enquires Mr Hookeye.
“She is feeling a little frail this evening and keeping her father company upstairs. It is no particular loss, she is a woman of very few words.”
That’s an understatement, I think.
Cornelius is kicking the leg of Prunella’s chair.