But Prim no longer looked like she wanted to lecture Rue – instead, she was wiggling the little pink book as though it were some strange new species of musical instrument worthy of further examination in order to make it toot.

“That can wait. First, Rue my darling, my sweet, my precious…”

“You sound like Quesnel – what has your bloomers in a twist?”

“Language,” said her friend without rancour.

“I await your pleasure.” Rue’s voice was laden with sarcasm.

“What are you doing with my mother’s book?”

Rue felt a tingle of shock. Instinctively, she looked around to see if Prim had been overheard. Apparently not, so she hissed: “Aunt Ivy wrote a book? Wait, wait. Aunt Ivy can write?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

HONEYSUCKLE ISINGLASS’S SECRETS REVEALED

“I believe I can quite confidently claim that Aunt Ivy has never written anything more strenuous than a note to the butcher in her entire life.” Rue was circling the meeting table, her main sensation being near-paralytic confusion. Although, obviously not exactly paralytic as she was quite definitely circling.

Primrose sat placidly, hands crossed in her lap, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Terrible dark family secret. I hardly dare spill…” She allowed herself to trail off, heightening the suspense.

“Aunt Ivy is really Honeysuckle Isinglass?” Rue gave up confusion in favour of the thrill of discovery.

“Well, to be perfectly correct, Honeysuckle Isinglass is really my mother, the Baroness of Wimbledon. The hive thought it was beneath a vampire queen to publish a travel memoir, so she had to take a pen name. You know how vampires are – the respectability of the supernatural mystique, the gravitas of the blood, the nobility of the fang, all that rot. Pity, really – the book might have done better if people knew who penned it.”

“Oh, was it received poorly?” Rue tried not to grin.

“Very badly indeed. Why on earth did you buy it, Rue? It’s about Egypt not India, you do realise?”

“Primrose Tunstell, do not change the subject. Explain Honeysuckle Isinglass.”

Prim elucidated further. “Queen Mums wrote it a few years after her metamorphosis. It’s supposed to be based on notes she took while visiting Alexandria, you know, with the acting troupe and your parents back in 1876. When we were still in nappies.”

“Aunt Ivy takes notes?”

Prim ignored this and continued. “It is an alarming piece of literature. Percy is particularly embarrassed by its existence.”

“I suppose Aunt Ivy is ridiculously proud of it?”

“Ridiculously. Of course, no one else ever mentions it if they can possibly help it, and Queen Mums rarely manages to bring it up in casual conversation. Not that she doesn’t try.”

“But, honestly – Honeysuckle Isinglass?”

“I believe that was your mother’s invention.”

“My mother will have her little bouts of fun.”

“The two of them must have been holy terrors in their day.” Primrose puffed out her cheeks at the idea.