he?’
‘A bit,’ agreed Charlie who was rather in awe of his peculiar uncle. He put on a spurt as Uncle Paton had already arrived at the steps of number nine.
Benjamin fell behind. ‘Something’s up with your family,’ he called to Charlie. ‘I hope you can still come to my birthday.’
‘Nothing can stop me,’ said Charlie, reaching his uncle.
‘No dogs,’ said Uncle Paton, as Benjamin and Runner Bean came leaping up to them.
‘Aw, please,’ said Benjamin.
‘Not today. This is family business,’ Paton said sternly. ‘Go home.’
‘OK. Bye, then, Charlie.’ Benjamin trailed away, followed by Runner Bean, his ears and tail well down. A real hangdog.
Uncle Paton ushered Charlie into the kitchen and then disappeared upstairs.
Charlie found his mother and two grandmothers sitting at the kitchen table. Maisie looked very put out, but a secret smile played on Grandma Bone’s thin lips. Charlie’s mother was nervously stirring a cup of tea. Charlie couldn’t imagine why. His mother didn’t take sugar.
‘Sit down, Charlie,’ said Grandma Bone, as if she were about to put on a show entirely for his benefit.
‘Don’t let the Yewbeams get at you!’ Maisie whispered. She took Charlie’s hand and patted it.
‘What’s going on?’ said Charlie.
‘The Yewbeam aunts are coming,’ said his mother.
‘Why?’ asked Charlie.
The Yewbeam aunts were Grandma Bone’s three unmarried sisters. Charlie only saw them at Christmas, and he’d formed the impression that they were deeply disappointed in him. They always left a strange assortment of gifts: paint-boxes, musical instruments, masks and cloaks, and even a chemistry set. Charlie had found none of these things the least bit useful. He liked football and TV, and that was about it.
Grandma Bone leant across the table. Her eyes sparkled mysteriously. ‘My sisters are coming to assess you, Charlie. And if it is found that you are worthy – that you are, as I suspect, endowed – then they will provide the necessary funds to send you to Bloor’s Academy.’
‘Me? At Bloor’s?’ Charlie was aghast. ‘It’s for geniuses.’
‘Don’t worry, love. You won’t pass the test,’ said Maisie confidently. She got up muttering, ‘Of course, it’s old Maisie who has to do all the preparation for our Lady Mucks, isn’t it? I don’t know why I bother.’
There was to be a dinner for the aunts, Charlie’s mother explained. The best silver, the finest crystal and the treasured porcelain, would be carried up from the cellar and laid in the chilly dining-room, a room that was only ever used when the Yewbeam aunts came. Maisie was defrosting chicken and fish and goodness knows what else, as fast as she could.
Charlie would have been worried if he hadn’t been completely convinced that he wouldn’t pass the aunts’ test. He remembered how he’d tried to paint a picture for them and failed miserably. How he’d unsuccessfully attempted to play a violin, a flute, a harp and a piano. He had put on the masks they provided: animals, clowns, pirates, cowboys and spacemen, but only managed to act the part of Charlie Bone. Finally, it had to be admitted that he was not gifted.
So as he waited for the great aunts to arrive, Charlie was not as fearful as he should have been.
Benjamin, on the other hand, was extremely fearful. Charlie was his best friend, his only friend. Anything that happened to Charlie would, indirectly, happen to him. Sinister events were closing in on his friend. Benjamin sat by his bedroom window and watched Charlie’s house. As darkness fell the street lamps came on and lights winked in the building behind the chestnut tree: in the basement, the attic and all the bedrooms. What was going on?
The wind intensified. Thunder and lightning coincided. That meant that the storm was right above. Benjamin clung to Runner Bean, and the big dog hid his face in Benjamin’s sleeve.
The street was now deserted except for three shadowy figures. On they came, a line of black umbrellas hiding all but the hems of three dark coats and six boots: four black and two red. In spite of the wind, there was a strange rhythm in their movements, almost as if a dance were taking place beneath those wide umbrellas. The figures stopped beside the chestnut tree, as Benjamin feared they would. And then they mounted the steps to Charlie’s house.
For the first time in his life, Benjamin was glad to be himself and not Charlie Bone.
At number nine the dining-table was laid, and damp logs smouldered in the grate. When the doorbell rang, Charlie was sent to answer it. The three great-aunts swept into the house, stamping their feet on the tiled floor and shaking out their wet umbrellas. Their coats were hurled across the hall, landing on Charlie as if he were a coatstand.
‘Pick them up, boy,’ commanded Aunt Lucretia, as Charlie scrambled beneath the wet garments. ‘They’re valuable moleskin, not rags.’
‘Now, don’t be harsh, Lucretia,’ said Aunt Eustacia. ‘Charlie’s got a secret to tell us, haven’t you, pet?’
‘Erm,’ mumbled Charlie.
‘Don’t be shy.’ Aunt Venetia, the youngest, came swaying up to him. ‘We want to know, everything.’
‘Yewbeams, come in. Come in!’ Grandma Bone called from the dining-room.
The three sisters sailed through the door; Lucretia, the eldest, first, Venetia, the youngest, last. Snatching glasses of sherry from Grandma Bone, they gathered round the dwindling fire, shaking their damp skirts and patting their abundant hair. Lucretia’s white as snow, Eustacia’s iron-grey, Venetia’s still black and folded round her head like raven’s wings.
Charlie backed away and made for the kitchen where Maisie and his mother were busy round the stove.
‘Take the soup in will you, Charlie,’ said his mother.
Charlie didn’t want to be alone with the great-aunts, but his mother looked hot and weary, so he did as she asked.
The soup tureen was very heavy. Charlie could feel the glint of Yewbeam eyes, following him round the long dining-table. He plonked the tureen on a mat and ran to fetch the bowls, before Grandma Bone could complain about the drop of soup that had spilled over.
When everything was ready, Grandma Bone rang a bell, which Charlie thought was rather silly. Everyone could see that the meal was on the table.
‘Why do we need a bell?’ he asked.
‘Tradition,’ snapped Grandma Bone. ‘And Paton has no sense of smell.’
‘But Uncle Paton never eats with us.’
‘Today,’ said Grandma Bone emphatically, ‘he will.’ ‘And there’s an end to it,’ said Maisie with a grin, which soon faded when the four sisters glared at her.
Uncle Paton arrived looking irritated, and the meal began. Maisie had done her best, but ten minutes was rather short notice to devise a meal of any distinction. The soup was salty, the chicken dry and the trifle had a sad, drowned look. No one complained, however. They ate fast and heartily.
Maisie and Charlie’s mother cleared the table. Paton and Charlie helped. And then it was time for the assessment. Charlie discovered that his mother was not allowed to be present. ‘I won’t go in there without you!’ he said. ‘I won’t.’
‘Charlie, you must,’ said his mother. ‘The Yewbeams hold the purse-strings. I have nothing.’
‘It beats me why you want Charlie to go to that ridiculous academy,’ said Maisie.
‘For his father’s sake,’ said Charlie’s mother.
Maisie clicked her tongue and said nothing more.
Charlie’s