thin; the cleverness of Aunt Vera’s dressmaker had contrived to make Dodo elegant rather than angular.
She was still Dodo, though. Addie heard her “haw-haw” laugh all the way up from the balcony and saw Aunt Vera stiffen beneath her layers of diamonds and lace.
At precisely the stroke of eight, Aunt Vera nodded to Badger, who closed the great doors. This served as a signal to the musicians, who struck a slightly ragged fanfare, and the guests settled into an expectant hush. Addie had a slight advantage over the guests; she had seen this all performed in rehearsal. She knew what was to come next.
At least, she thought she knew.
A footman appeared next to Uncle Charles, with crystal glasses on a silver tray. Downstairs, in the hall, identically garbed footmen were circulating with identical trays, handing champagne out to the guests in preparation for the toast, in preparation for the moment when Dodo, dull, horsey Dodo, so unexpectedly brushed into beauty, would be officially launched into the World.
Uncle Charles raised his glass and the room fell silent. Once on the public stage, Uncle Charles, who ceded so much in private life to Aunt Vera, had what could only be called a presence. Next to him, Aunt Vera looked small and fussy.
“I should like to thank you for joining us here today,” he said, and it was as if he were personally speaking to each person in the room.
Next to Addie, Bea slipped Binky out of her pocket. She had that look on her face again, the one that meant deviltry was afoot.
Addie gave her a warning look. “Don’t,” she whispered.
Bea looked at her with limpid, innocent eyes. “Don’t what? Binkers just wants a better view, don’t you, Binks?”
“—to raise a toast—” Uncle Charles was saying.
“Oh, bother! She’s made a mess.” Bea shook her hand and Binky went flying.
“—to my daughter—”
“Bea—no!” Binky hit the ground running. “Binky!”
“—Diana—”
“Binky,” Addie hissed, but it was already too late. Binky was off like a shot, charging straight for the stairs. “Binky, no!”
It was unclear who saw her first. By the time Uncle Charles instructed his guests to raise their glasses, the first shriek had already occurred, then another. Glass shattered as champagne glasses dropped to the ground, one after the other. Ladies rushed for chairs, for the stairs, for any higher ground they could find. At a gesture from Aunt Vera, the musicians struck up “Rule, Britannia!” of all things, but their distracted plucking, rather than masking the disaster, only added to the general cacophony.
Someone had to get Binky back. Addie didn’t look to see if Bea followed. She set off after the mouse, dodging startled party guests, tracking her progress by the sound of shrieks and shattering champagne glasses.
“Binky!” she called, interspersed with “So sorry!” and “Pardon me!”
Perhaps it was stupid; it probably was; but Binky was her mouse and she couldn’t let her be squished.
“I assume this is what you’re looking for?”
She skidded to a halt as a hand stretched out before her, a bit of black sleeve, a white cuff with a carnelian cuff link. There was an oval signet ring, a heavy thing of very yellow gold, deeply carved. Above it poked out a familiar small, pink nose.
Addie looked up and saw a male face, lips creased with amusement beneath a narrow mustache. His eyes were a curious mix of green and brown, like moss and peat mixed together. Winded, she gaped stupidly up at him.
“Yours, I presume?” he said, and held out Binky to her.
SIX
New York, 1999
“So it was love at first mouse?” said Clemmie.
Granny Addie didn’t answer. She had slipped into the easy sleep of old age, her lids purple and swollen, her mouth slightly ajar.
Carefully, making sure not to bump the bed, Clemmie leaned over her, making sure that her breathing was regular, her color still good. Clemmie’s mother said this happened more and more these days,
She was still Dodo, though. Addie heard her “haw-haw” laugh all the way up from the balcony and saw Aunt Vera stiffen beneath her layers of diamonds and lace.
At precisely the stroke of eight, Aunt Vera nodded to Badger, who closed the great doors. This served as a signal to the musicians, who struck a slightly ragged fanfare, and the guests settled into an expectant hush. Addie had a slight advantage over the guests; she had seen this all performed in rehearsal. She knew what was to come next.
At least, she thought she knew.
A footman appeared next to Uncle Charles, with crystal glasses on a silver tray. Downstairs, in the hall, identically garbed footmen were circulating with identical trays, handing champagne out to the guests in preparation for the toast, in preparation for the moment when Dodo, dull, horsey Dodo, so unexpectedly brushed into beauty, would be officially launched into the World.
Uncle Charles raised his glass and the room fell silent. Once on the public stage, Uncle Charles, who ceded so much in private life to Aunt Vera, had what could only be called a presence. Next to him, Aunt Vera looked small and fussy.
“I should like to thank you for joining us here today,” he said, and it was as if he were personally speaking to each person in the room.
Next to Addie, Bea slipped Binky out of her pocket. She had that look on her face again, the one that meant deviltry was afoot.
Addie gave her a warning look. “Don’t,” she whispered.
Bea looked at her with limpid, innocent eyes. “Don’t what? Binkers just wants a better view, don’t you, Binks?”
“—to raise a toast—” Uncle Charles was saying.
“Oh, bother! She’s made a mess.” Bea shook her hand and Binky went flying.
“—to my daughter—”
“Bea—no!” Binky hit the ground running. “Binky!”
“—Diana—”
“Binky,” Addie hissed, but it was already too late. Binky was off like a shot, charging straight for the stairs. “Binky, no!”
It was unclear who saw her first. By the time Uncle Charles instructed his guests to raise their glasses, the first shriek had already occurred, then another. Glass shattered as champagne glasses dropped to the ground, one after the other. Ladies rushed for chairs, for the stairs, for any higher ground they could find. At a gesture from Aunt Vera, the musicians struck up “Rule, Britannia!” of all things, but their distracted plucking, rather than masking the disaster, only added to the general cacophony.
Someone had to get Binky back. Addie didn’t look to see if Bea followed. She set off after the mouse, dodging startled party guests, tracking her progress by the sound of shrieks and shattering champagne glasses.
“Binky!” she called, interspersed with “So sorry!” and “Pardon me!”
Perhaps it was stupid; it probably was; but Binky was her mouse and she couldn’t let her be squished.
“I assume this is what you’re looking for?”
She skidded to a halt as a hand stretched out before her, a bit of black sleeve, a white cuff with a carnelian cuff link. There was an oval signet ring, a heavy thing of very yellow gold, deeply carved. Above it poked out a familiar small, pink nose.
Addie looked up and saw a male face, lips creased with amusement beneath a narrow mustache. His eyes were a curious mix of green and brown, like moss and peat mixed together. Winded, she gaped stupidly up at him.
“Yours, I presume?” he said, and held out Binky to her.
SIX
New York, 1999
“So it was love at first mouse?” said Clemmie.
Granny Addie didn’t answer. She had slipped into the easy sleep of old age, her lids purple and swollen, her mouth slightly ajar.
Carefully, making sure not to bump the bed, Clemmie leaned over her, making sure that her breathing was regular, her color still good. Clemmie’s mother said this happened more and more these days,
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