‘It’s not true!’ shouted Fuchsia, turning from them and twirling a great lock of black hair round and round her wrist. ‘I don’t believe it! Let me go! Let me go!’

As no one was touching her, her cry was unnecessary and she turned and ran with strange bounds along the corridor that led from the landing. Before she was lost to view, Steerpike could hear her voice shouting from the distance, ‘Oh how I hate! hate! hate! How I hate people! Oh how I hate people!’

All this while Mr Flay had been gazing out of a narrow window in the octagonal room and was preoccupied with certain matters relating to how he could best let Lord Groan know that he, Flay, his servant for over forty years, disapproved of having been put aside as it were at the one moment when a son had been born – at the one moment when he, Flay, would have been invaluable as an ally. Mr Flay was rather hurt about the whole business, and he very much wanted Lord Groan to know this, and yet at the same time it was very difficult to think of a way in which he could tactfully communicate his chagrin to a man quite as sullen as himself. Mr Flay bit his nails sourly. He had been at the window for a much longer time than he had intended and he turned with his shoulders raised, an attitude typical of him and saw young Steerpike, whose presence he had forgotten. He strode over to the boy and catching him by his coat-tails jerked him backwards into the centre of the room. The great picture swung back across the spy-hole.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘back! You’ve seen her door, Swelter’s boy.’

Steerpike, who had been lost in the world beyond the oak partition, was dazed, and took a moment to come to.

‘Back to that loathsome chef?’ he cried at last, ‘oh no! couldn’t!’

‘Too busy to have you here,’ said Flay, ‘too busy, can’t wait.’

‘He’s ugly,’ said Steerpike fiercely.

‘Who?’ said Flay. ‘Don’t stop here talking.’

‘Oh so ugly, he is. Lord Groan said so. The doctor said so. Ugh! So hideous.’

‘Who’s hideous, you kitchen thing,’ said Flay, jerking his head forward grotesquely.

‘Who?’ said Steerpike. ‘The baby. The new baby. They both said so. Most terrible he is.’

‘What’s this?’ cried Flay. ‘What’s these lies all about? Who’ve you heard talking? Who’ve you been listening to? I’ll tear your little ears off, you snippet thing! Where’ve you been? Come here!’

Steerpike, who had determined to escape from the Great Kitchen, was now bent on finding an occupation among those apartments where he might pry into the affairs of those above him.

‘If I go back to Swelter I’ll tell him and all of them what I heard his lordship say and then …’

‘Come here!’ said Flay between his teeth, ‘come here or I’ll break your bones. Been agaping, have you? I’ll fix you.’ Flay propelled Steerpike through the entrance at a great pace and halted halfway down a narrow passage before a door. This he unlocked with one of his many keys and thrusting Steerpike inside turned it upon the boy.