We are all dressed up in our best clothes. I had to borrow something from Cornelius and it’s too big, so Mrs Treacle had to sew it. Boo Boo has a little black dress which Prunella used to wear, and Mrs Treacle has added a red ribbon to her hair. Boo Boo and I are to arrive a little later than everyone else as we will be attending with Reverend Plum, who is late as he missed his train.
We sit on the steps of the house with Guardian, whose soft paws rest on my lap, nuzzling me with his nose. Boo Boo keeps scratching her back, says it itches. The policemen are going to the party too. They still haven’t found out who killed Mr Hookeye.
“Boo Boo,” I look at her, “who is Mr Angelcakes?”
She stops scratching and looks at her feet. “I am not allowed to say,” she replies.
“Why not?” But she doesn’t answer and I hear the pony and trap clattering along the path, carrying Reverend Plum, who is waving at us. We gingerly step aboard and Guardian lies by Boo Boo’s feet, his eyeballs staring lovingly up at her as though she’s a delicious chicken leg.
Reverend Plum asks, “How have you been, children? Has anything exciting happened?”
I was tempted for a moment not to answer him.
“Doctor Hookeye got his head cut off in the kitchen and the police from Scotland Yard are here, and they found Boo Boo with the murder weapon and Uncle Grubweed has gone missing, presumed also murdered. We are both well, thank you. How was your trip?”
The Reverend Plum goes into a funny trance for the rest of the journey.
The garden party sits beneath an achingly hot sun. It looks to me like a fried egg sizzling in a pan. A great long table with blackberry-coloured sheets holds plates of wonderful roast pork sandwiches, plum and cream cakes, jellies, overripe peaches and fat strawberries, meat pies and pickles. There is champagne, cider, pink wine and apple juice to drink.
The feast is hovered over by heavy bees, occasionally flicked away by an exasperated manservant. Lady Beetle is wearing a long, pale blue dress and she stands with her son, also in pale blue, in the centre of the gardens. They are chatting to a gentleman I haven’t seen before, a man with stripy trousers. I can see Prunella and Estelle eating jelly, sitting under a tree with their mother, carefully watching Horatio as a blackbird would watch a worm. Looking forward to eating him. Two princesses squabbling over a prince.
Mrs Charm, wearing a huge sun hat with lavender sprigs, is sitting at a table talking with Mr Loveheart, who today is wearing bright orange. So bright is the orange that he is nearly outshining the sun. It almost hurts my eyes to look at him. Red hearts are dotted about his waistcoat and a large slice of cake sits in his hands. Mr Wormhole, lurking in the shadows, is eating a cream cake very happily and chatting to Detective White and Constable Walnut.
Boo Boo and I approach Mrs Beetle as Reverend Plum has wandered off in the direction of the policemen.
“Thank you for inviting us to your party, Lady Beetle,” I say.
She looks at me, rather bored. The older man next to her smiles. He has very odd eyes. They are ancient and full of ghosts. It is like looking into a dead thing.
“Hello,” he says,.“My name is Professor Hummingbird,” and he shakes my hand.
“I am sorry that your friend was decapitated in our kitchen,” I reply, and Mrs Beetle looks mortified.
The Professor smiles, “It’s not your fault. I am sure they will catch the culprit.” He turns his attention towards Boo Boo, who is trying to scratch her back and is red eyed. “Are you alright, little girl?”
“My back hurts,” she says.
“Let me take a look at it.” She turns round and he unbuttons the back of her dress. “It might be a bee sting,” he says, and then opens the back. His hands start to shake. On her back is an inky huge black butterfly with red eyes.
“How did you get this on your back?” He can barely withhold his excitement.
“Mr Angelcakes did it.”
The Professor, containing his emotions, re-buttons her dress and walks off towards Reverend Plum. Boo Boo runs off to play with Guardian. What is happening to her? What can I do to stop it?
Horatio Beetle then steps forward and shakes my hand. The prince in pale blue has black hair and eyes like dark water. “You must be Pedrock. I’ve been away in Cambridge most of the summer. There’s nothing to do much round here anyway. Boring little place.” He yawns. “I think your uncle had some fantasy to marry me off eventually to one of his fat daughters.” And he laughs and I notice a beauty spot below his nose. It occurs to me that he’s marked. I suppose he is really very handsome, much like a prince in a fairy story, but I wouldn’t want my sister to marry him. “My mother tells me you and your sister are poor little orphans. You look like pig-farming peasants! Oink oink! Keep your piggy fingers out of my cakes,” and he laughs. What a shitbag he is.
A scotch egg soars through the air. Smacks him in the face. “Ouch!” he screams, followed by a wail of “MOTHER!”
I look for the person responsible and see naughty Mr Loveheart waving at me, the sunlight bouncing off him, vying for attention. How bright he is. What sort of magic is he?
I step away from Horatio, move out of his orbit.