“Thank you all for coming,” said Fauna, pouring tea with one hand and replacing a peg with the other. She had a faint frown on her face; it made her look like her sister. “How are we today?”
She surveyed the circle of relatives. There was Aunt Schadenfreude, lounging comfortably with a battered paperback and something green smeared all over her face; Cook, sleeves rolled to the elbows and her cropped hair streaked with motor oil; Phenomena, making notes in her journal; Maelstrom, squashed into his too-small chair with one of Fauna’s tiny Japanese teacups cradled in his hand; and finally, Shenanigan, coaxing some feeling back into her toes. The eldest of the Swift children was not present. Felicity was abroad, staying in Paris for a few weeks with Flora and Daisy. She phoned, when she remembered, and peppered her conversation with little French phrases to show she was sophisticated now.
The only other resident of Swift House was John the Cat, and he was not present either, as he wasn’t very good at riddles.
“This had better be quick,” snapped Aunt Schadenfreude. “I was just getting to a good part of this very silly book.”
The book in question had an image of a woman on the cover, swooning in the arms of a muscular werewolf. Schadenfreude had really dedicated herself to retirement. Cook had even bought her a pair of fluffy slippers, which Aunt Schadenfreude had insulted viciously and worn every day since.
“Noted,” said Fauna. “Cook? Maelstrom? You’re well? Good. Girls?”
“We’re fine,” Phenomena and Shenanigan chorused.
“Not missing Felicity?”
“Nah,” said Shenanigan.
“I forgot she was even gone,” said Phenomena.
“Who’s Felicity?” added Shenanigan.
“It’s all right to miss her, you know,” said Fauna. “You’ve been together your whole lives. It’s a big change.”
“I
know it’s all right.” Shenanigan sighed. “But I really don’t.”
“She’s probably having the time of her life,” added Phenomena. “Conjugating verbs at people and buying silk scarves.”
Fauna’s smile was sad. “You can be glad she’s living her life without you, and happy you’re living yours, and still miss her,” she insisted. She blinked hard. “Since she’s in Paris, and very far away, and your best friend.”
“She’s not my best friend,” Shenanigan muttered as Cook handed Fauna a handkerchief. “She’s not even my best sister.”
This made Cook tut, but Shenanigan and Felicity had ended their long grudge a few months ago. They still insulted each other, but now Felicity smiled when she called Shenanigan a pest, and Shenanigan removed spiders from Felicity’s room rather than putting them there.
“Anyway”—Fauna blew her nose—“Felicity is actually the reason I called you all here.” She plucked a letter from the line above her head and smoothed it over her knee. “Your sister has sent us a letter, and—well, before I read it, let me just say that I don’t think we need to be concerned.”
“Always reassuring to hear,” muttered Aunt Schadenfreude.
“It’s just that I know you’re going to react badly,” said Fauna, “and I really think there’s no need. Um. I’ll just read it.”
Felicity had learned to write from romance novels set in the 1800s, the kind where people fall into a near-fatal fever at any minor inconvenience. To Shenanigan, her letters all sounded as if they were about to announce either her imminent marriage or imminent death. This one read:
To my beloved family, from whom I am separated so cruelly (and also Shenanigan), I write to you from a café on the Champs-Élysées, with a pot of coffee to my left and an Opéra cake to my right, and a perfect view of Paris’s most fashionable citizens between them. Daisy was kind enough to purchase this “petite gâterie” (that’s “little treat”) for me, and I think it cost as much as my last pair of shoes. She and Flora are currently in a “parfumerie” (that’s “perfume shop”) across the street, and if I squint, I can see them in the window, spritzing. An event occurred yesterday that will be of great interest to you. Whilst I was visiting La Garde-robe (a fashion museum) I was approached by one of our cousins! Her name is Pomme, and I found her charming and most agreeable, and she has invited me to stay with our French relations, the Martinets, at their hotel. I was quite surprised, as I didn’t even know we had French relations, let alone ones with a special surname and a hotel of their very own! I have decided to take Pomme up on her offer, and shall be parting company with Flora and Daisy forthwith. Of course, I know it is common for young women of my age to Go Into Town with their aunts, but I do believe my chaperones could do with some unchaperoned time themselves (please imagine I am giving you a meaningful look, Fauna). I will be heading to the Hôtel Martinet tonight, and have enclosed the new return address for your letters. “À bientôt” (that’s “see you soon,” basically), Felicity It seemed like a perfectly normal letter to Shenanigan, but Aunt Schadenfreude nodded grimly.
“Well, that’s it, then,” she said in a brisk tone. “Felicity’s as good as dead.”
Copyright © 2024 by Beth Lincoln; Illustrated by Claire Powell. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
