Irma who had been straining her ears cried out at last in her irritation: ‘I suppose you know you’ll be late – I said: “I suppose you –”’

‘A merry plague upon you, O blood of my blood,’ the shrill voice broke in. ‘What is Time, O sister of similar features, that you speak of it so subserviently? Are we to be the slaves of the sun, that second-hand, overrated knob of gilt, or of his sister, that fatuous circle of silver paper? A curse upon their ridiculous dictatorship! What say you, Irma, my Irma, wrapped in rumour, Irma, of the incandescent tumour?’ he trilled happily. And his sister rose rustling to her full height, arching her nostrils as she did so, as though they itched with pedigree. Her brother annoyed her, and as she seated herself again before the mirror in her boudoir she made noises like a lady as she applied the powder-puff for the hundredth time to her spotless length of neck.

‘Sourdust will be there, too,’ said Mrs Slagg, ‘because he knows all about things. He knows what order you do things in, precious, and when you must start doing them, and when you ought to stop.’

‘Is that everyone?’ asked Fuchsia.

‘Don’t hurry me,’ replied the old nurse, pursing her lips into a prune of wrinkles. ‘Can’t you wait a minute? Yes, that makes five, and you make six, and his little Lordship makes seven …

‘And you make eight,’ said Fuchsia. ‘So you make the most.’

‘Make the most what, my caution?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Fuchsia.

While, in various parts of the Castle, these eight persons were getting ready for the Gathering the twins were sitting bolt upright on the couch watching Steerpike drawing the cork out of a slim, dusty bottle. He held it securely between his feet and bending over with the corkscrew firmly embedded was easing the cork from the long black cormorant throat.

Having unwound the corkscrew and placed the undamaged cork on the mantelpiece, he emptied a little of the wine into a glass and tasted it with a critical expression on his pale face.

The aunts leaned forward, their hands on their knees, watching every movement.

Steerpike took one of the Doctor’s silk handkerchiefs from his pocket and wiped his mouth. Then he held the wineglass up to the light for a long time and studied its translucence.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ said Clarice slowly.

‘Is it poisoned?’ said Cora.

‘Who poisoned it?’ echoed Clarice.

‘Gertrude,’ said Cora. ‘She’d kill us if she could.’

‘But she can’t,’ said Clarice.

‘And that’s why we’re going to be powerful.’

‘And proud,’ added Clarice.

‘Yes, because of today.’

‘Because of today.’

They joined their hands.